Question for the reader: In your opinion, what are the best words in the English language? Judge them however you’d like. Does your mind turn to the most profound phrases from religious texts or mantras? A perfectly crafted line from a Shakespearian sonnet? Would it be the words that revealed that the person in front of you was going to be someone special in your life? A compliment or parting message from a loved one? “Life, laugh, love” or “Bless this mess?” (Please don’t.)
Author’s thesis: I submit that the very best words in good old American English have the power to frame every human condition ever experienced. In some cases they unite people of varied races, ethnicities, and religious beliefs/non-beliefs. They’ve been said quietly in the most sacred of moments and screamed with the most profane intentions. And they are, debatably, not even words.
Think about this: if I were to wake you from a dead sleep and shouted “One, two, three, four!” How would you react?
Would you tell me, “My baby don’t mess around because she loves me so, and this I know for sure?”
Or would you recount how “She was just seventeen?”
How about lamenting that, “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive?”
If I stuttered the count slightly would you nasally say, “Everybody’s talking about bagism, shagism…”
Maybe you wouldn’t say anything. Maybe you’d whistle the intro to Guns N’ Roses “Patience” or hum the guitar intro to Billy Joel’s “A Matter of Trust.”
If you’re a fan of current indie music, read: younger than 40, maybe you go right into “Straight Line Was a Lie” from the criminally underrated band The Beths. (Side note: at some point we need to discuss the culturally impactful couple of decades New Zealand has had.)
When they’d play live, The Ramones had a reputation for starting each song with a rapid-fire count-in. George Stroumboulopoulos, a Canadian broadcaster, once asked Markey Ramone, why Dee Dee Ramone always did the count-in. Markey’s response was, “You know Dee Dee was always good with numbers.” Perfect response. There’s no need to over-analyze an act of magic.
Author’s summation: Maybe suggesting the count-in to a song counts as language is cheating or neglects timeless poetry and is a modern quirk. But the Greeks invoked muses before their works with the goal of summoning something bigger than one person. An invitation to connect. I’d say the count-in does the same thing.
If all of this feels like an overstatement, I politely suggest you attend a concert by a major artist and witness, no feel, firsthand what happens to tens of thousands of people when the performer counts into one of their most beloved songs. It’s inexpressible.
Maybe the best thing about these four words is that they open us up to a world beyond what words can do.