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For years, artists have been making music that questions their very existence. One of the most famous that comes to mind is Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’; the refrain “how does it feel?” is sung at the listener as Dylan questions every aspect of himself. It exemplifies the shift that took place in rock'n'roll in the twentieth century, as music changed from being underground to a modern and loved medium that became caged as a result. As Dylan questioned how it felt, he was both referring to the fame he had found in his music, along with the restrictions that came with that fame. 

Other songs that have a similar impact are by the likes of Prince, Bob Marley, Bruce Springsteen, and many would be surprised to hear: John Barnes. What John Barnes does with his verse in 'World In Motion' is a lot more than people may think. He doesn’t just provide a fun rap for James Corden and Mathew Horne to sing in that episode of Gavin & Stacey, he provides a verse that questions his existence as a human. Here’s how: 

To fully understand the relevance of the philosophy laced within John Barnes verse, you first need to understand the conversation between himself and the record label before writing it. Let me take you back. 

Producer: Hey John Barnes, thanks for coming in. (Paraphrasing)

John Barnes: Hey Mr/Mrs/Ms/Miss Producer, how’s it going? (Paraphrasing) 

Producer: Not bad, you get here okay? (Paraphrasing) 

John Barnes: Traffic was a bit of nightmare. (You get the idea)

Producer: Haha, isn’t it always? (I don’t actually know what was said)

John Barnes: Always. (But I imagine it went something like this) 

Producer: Haha. (Paraphrasing) 

John Barnes: Haha. (This bit is actually spot on) 

(The conversation went on for a little bit longer as the producer poured John Barnes a coffee and John Barnes practiced doing keepy uppys in the corner of the room with one of those fluffy things that you put on the ends of microphones)

Producer: So anyway, this verse, you got any ideas?

John Barnes: I was kinda hoping you music types would sort that out. 

Producer: Well, I’d really like your input so that it’s genuine. How’s about you try write some lines for it? 

John Barnes: Me write some lines? What would I write about?

Producer: Well, you know, yourself, the team, what you guys do.

John Barnes: Well, I kick the ball. (Also spot on)

Producer: Okay, and?

John Barnes: And…?

Producer: … 

John Barnes: … 

That night after that exchange, John Barnes found himself questioning his entire existence. “I kick the ball and?” repeated over and over in his head in the same way that Dylan repeats “how does it feel?” And? And? And? Over and over and over. Like there was supposed to be something else. Like he could offer any more than his everything with his everything being kicking the ball. And? John didn’t even know who he was anymore, let alone write an entire verse about it. And that’s reflected in the final line. John’s only contribution to the verse, and the crux at which the existential crisis is held, can be seen in:  

We ain’t no hooligans

This ain’t a football song 

Let that line sink in. “This ain’t a football song.” You need to bear in mind when this line is actually said. It’s almost the final piece of the song. After the intro which intercuts commentary from England’s 1966 win of the World Cup, after a full strategic talk from John himself, he declares the entirety of it nothing to do with football. So, what the hell is it about? 

This line is a clear reflection of John’s mental state at the time of writing it. 

Producer: So, have you written anything?

John Barnes (Having not left the studio all night and drenched in his own sweat): Have I?... What?

Producer: The song? Have you written anything? 

John Barnes: Oh… I erm… 

Producer: No worries, we have the verse here if you’d like to hear it?

(The producer proceeded to play John the entire verse as we know it today. Nothing changed. Except one line.)

You’ve got to hold and give

But do it at the right time 

You can be slow or fast

But you must get to the line 

They’ll always hit you and hurt you 

Defend and attach

There’s only one way to beat them

Get round the back

So Catch me if you can 

Cause I’m the England man

And what you’re looking at 

Is the master plan 

We ain’t no hooligans 

No violence in this song 

Three lions on my chest 

I know we can’t go wrong 

John Barnes insisted that line be changed when he heard the song in its entirety. The clips of commentary, the beat, the strategy, the chanting of “In-ger-land” at the end, all they were was a constant reminder of the fact that he wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

And? And? And?

This song wasn’t a song about football. This song highlighted the futility of everything. Football coming home won’t change the fact that we are all on a dying rock falling through space where the only certainty is death. The roars of those three lions won’t drown out the voice telling you that you aren’t good enough. And you can hold and give as much as you want, at the most applicable time there is, but that won’t alter the fact that this ain’t a football song.

John knew exactly what this song was: this song was a representation of everything that we should be aware of when we live our lives. What keeps the world in motion and the air flowing through our lungs? Is it football? No. Is it music? No. It’s love. It always will be and always has been love. And John saw that with absolute clarity that night. 

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