Band Camp

Let me begin by admitting that I spend too much time listening to talk radio. Fifteen minutes each weekday. Over the past five years, my ears have been repeatedly assaulted by what I call Bandcampanese. It’s that upward inflection — no musical education here — at the end of a spoken sentence. You probably know it as uptalking. When and where did it start, and what should we do about it so that I don’t take one step closer to the edge of insanity?

If you pinned me to the ground and poured jalapeno honey in my shorts, I’d lay the blame for this miscarriage of audio appeal at the heart of the San Fernando Valley, beginning in the late 1970s and codified by Frank and Moon Unit Zappa’s 1982 song, “Valley Girl”. From that time through the mid-90s, work and isolation from the tiniest speck of contemporary culture kept me in a blissful state of ignorance. In 1999, the movie “American Pie” caught my eyes and ears; Alyson Hannigan’s character Michelle Flaherty, the all-time music nerd, launched Bandcampanese with the line, “And one time, at band camp.” Since then, it’s pounded my ears, especially on radio, where audio isn’t eclipsed by video. First it was only young females, heirs to the original Valley Girl. Now it’s hard to find a media voice that doesn’t employ that uplilt, male or female, prepubescent or geriatric.

Around 1970 I became so fascinated by the pastor’s preaching at our local church in Rosetree, PA that I stopped trying to dodge Sunday mass. Father Simons began every sermon with “My dear people,” the first two words in a falsetto, your first glimpse of the glories of God in his heaven. On “people” he dropped down four octaves to a baritone bordering on bass, teetering on the lowest step of purgatory, the singe of hell toasting your tootsies. Fluffy white angel food cake hovering ever so gently above your face, transformed as it crosses your gums into deep-freeze motor oil. For you Temptations fans, Eddie Kendricks to Melvin Franklin. At the time, most male voices, especially in the media, came across as authoritative, informative, and minimally concerned. Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, Eric Sevareid: We are not here to entertain you, Dippo. Only tough guys like Cagney and Edward G. Robinson clambered up the vocal scale, usually while sporting a curled lip or a gat. Other actors, Cary Grant comes to mind, avoided the higher pitch in favor of fast talk. Upward inflections were reserved for comedic roles of questionable masculinity. Felix Unger.

Somewhere in the late aughts, in the aftermath of the Great Recession (everything from 2008 through 2016, the entire Obama presidency, was blamed on the GR), Bandcampanese, like a slow virus, infected males in the media, the equivalent of black Labs starting to meow. As always, gay male characters were far ahead of the curve. “Oh my God, don’t you get it? He’s trying to DEFECT!” (Moscow on the Hudson, 1984). Even then, it was nothing more than high-pitched squealing, so even the dumbest oaf in the audience could laugh and think, Oh, I get it. He’s a homo.

That’s how we got here. Now, from politics to finance to sports, it’s impossible to tune in without hearing that lilt at the end of a sentence. It screams, “I’m being sincere, don’t you believe me? Don’t you like me?” It leaves me feeling like there’s a question somewhere in there but I haven’t a clue as to the answer. On the upside, whenever I hear Bandcampanese, my posture improves 100% at the end of every sentence. Less traumatic than Brezhnev-faced Sister Rosario whacking me across the back with her deadly three-sided brass ruler: “Sit up straight, Francis Price!” Ah, the Catholic Church. Molding young minds and bodies, even if it kills them.

There. I’ve pitched my bitch. In the interest of public service, I feel an obligation to provide some semblance of solution to a problem that exists solely inside my brainpan. How can we provide an accurate transcript of Bandcampanese? In English, emphasis is usually conveyed via boldface or italics, which are most effective when highlighting a word or two. This is something much bigger, or I wouldn’t waste your time and mine. A Bandcampanese sentence is almost always declarative, requiring a period, but the final lilt makes it sound interrogative, worthy of a question mark. It ends on a note that is high-pitched but not exciting, so the exclamation point is not an option. How about this? Picture the round upper part of a question mark perched atop the business end of an upward-pointed arrow. Plop a ? on a /. I think it’s perfect.

Now for a name. After a good 15 minutes of deep thought, I’ve got it. The upsy. It sounds kind of funny (I’m easily amused). It makes me dream of a chipper world where everything is optimistic and on the up and up. My head bounces when I say it. Up. See? This entire mess came to me while hiking. Saying it aloud had me up on my toes, like a dog who just heard “walk”.

Introducing a new word to the English language is commonplace. According to the Global Language Monitor — thank God he’s here — 800 to 1000 are added each year. Aside from the bullet, which Mr. GLM considers iffy, the newest form of punctuation, the quotation mark, was added in the mid-16th century. It is time. Spread the word and make the upsy an official part of our everyday communication. Michelle Flaherty, mobilize your minions! And leave the flute at home.