The Most Controversial Thing I Said on this Site

Ricky Gervais

Wikimedia

Writing about dialects (or anything language-related), it’s hard to avoid disagreement.  Yet of all the things I’ve said here, my most controversial statement, it seems, is something fairly trivial. That would be my assertion that comedian Ricky Gervais speaks with an Estuary accent.  I’d like to take a moment to clarify.

Estuary English refers to a type of British accent that is “Londonized” or “Cockneyfied.”  As I’ve said before, this “accent” barely has an accepted definition to begin with.  It’s sometimes described as a happy medium between Received Pronunciation and Cockney, but I don’t know if that hits the mark.  In fact, the only definition I can muster is hopelessly vague:  it’s a type of speech with features associated with the Greater London Area.

Getting back to Mr. Gervais, though, let’s take a listen to his accent (apologies for possible YouTube ads):

The problem with seeking evidence for Estuary’s spread is that many London English features were already present in areas throughout Southern England.  Gervais is from Reading, a city which, given its geographical location between London and the West Country, seems especially hard to pin down in terms of local vs. non-local speech.

In fact, there were “Estuary” features in Reading’s accent that pre-date the coinage of the term.  The 1950s Survey of English Dialects profiled a speaker from Swallowfield, a rural village now incorporated into Reading.  The elderly interviewee, born in 1887, exhibited several features popularly associated with London:  t-glottalling (the ‘t’ in better is pronounced with a glottal stop); backing of the first element in the diphthong in kite and time; and fronting of the first element in the diphthong in mouth and loud.  So it’s hard to say how the accent has changed recently to fit a more “London” mold.

Why, then, do I consider Gervais an Estuary speaker?  I must admit, my classification stems primarily from his frequent vocalization of the letter ‘l’ (i.e. he turns the ‘l’ at the end of “bottle” and “ball” into an “oo” or “w” sound).  That doesn’t strike me as part of the ‘traditional’ Reading accent, but I can’t say for sure: I don’t know what the city may (or may not) have once sounded like.

I’d like to put this to something of a vote, though:  could Gervais be described as an Estuary speaker?  Or would his accent be better classified along local lines?

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The Accent(s) of the Pacific Northwest

Olympic National Park

Photo: John Hunter

I’m moving to the Pacific Northwest in about six weeks.  I will soon be able to participate in a hotly debated topic: is there such a thing as a Pacific Northwest accent?  And if there is, what does it sound like?

As I’ve mentioned before, I mistook a number of Northwest natives for Canadians some years back.  In this interviewBill Gates exemplifies some of the features that led me to this wrong conclusion:

Like many Canadians, Gates uses a vowel for words like “lot” and “top” which tends to be more back and rounded (i.e. an “aw” or IPA ɒ].  He also exhibits a vowel in words like “trap” or “that” which is somewhat more back as well (i.e. IPA [a]).  Both are features of some varieties of California English, so one might presume these pronunciations to be more indicative of the West Coast than our neighbors to the North.

Yet Gates also tends toward a monophthongal pronunciation of words like “face” (i.e. “fehs”), and a back and monopthongal pronunciation of words like “goat” (i.e. “goht”).  These features, along with the ones I’ve just mentioned, would indeed be more typical of Canada.  Still, Gates doesn’t exhibit Canadian raising in words like “about:” in this sense, his accent is still firmly American.

All this being said, Gates strikes me as one of a slightly endangered breed:  a Seattleite with parents from the Northwest.  Young natives of the city are likely to have parents from New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, or some other far-flung place.  Given the tremendous amount of transplantation that has occurred in the region, I think it will be some time before the accents of Seattle (and no doubt Portland as well) will resettle into something that can be easily identified.

Like other areas of the West, the region feels a linguistic crucible, a place where new varieties of English are stirred together and create more exceptions that rules.  For example, like Gates, singer-songwriter Brandi Carlile has spent much of her life in and around Seattle.  But as you can see from this interview, she speaks with what might be described as a slight “twang” (note how “I” and “time” tend toward “ah” and “tahm”).

I realize that Carlile may have one of those unique “musicians’ accents,” similar to New Jersey native Bruce Springsteen’s rather un-New Jersey speech. (I don’t want to conclude anything based on this single speaker).  But her accent may also be indicative of a region that hasn’t quite found its voice yet, a place where younger people readily adopt the features of the sub-cultures they identify with.

Any Northwesterners care to elaborate?

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Apologies About the Comments

A very quick note of apology.  Due to a hectic schedule, I’ve been out of the loop and have had limited time to work on this blog over the past few days.  Unbeknownst to me, the comments have been disabled for some readers for the past day or two.  I upgraded one of the WordPress plugins that I use, and it somehow resulted in “hiding” the comments function.  Alas, as I hadn’t posted anything until yesterday, it was a problem I didn’t catch until this morning.

I personally would never disable comments: that would make for an extremely depressing blog.  So if you ever notice a glitch like this, feel free to let me know!

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The Anglo-Indian Dialect

Below is an interesting short film created from outtakes of The End of the Raaj, a recent documentary about the Anglo-Indian community. This snippet discusses the Anglo-Indian dialect, and the various words and terms associated with this sub-culture. It’s a long clip, but if you have the time, it’s worth watching:

This extended trailer for the complete documentary (by Anglo-Indian-Australian filmmaker Paul Harris) offers a crash course on this unique group. “Anglo-Indian” began as a term referring to English people (and things related to English people) in the sub-continent. Later on, as you might surmise from the above clip, the term became associated with Indian people with substantial amounts of English ancestry.

Obviously, the snippet I’ve posted above does not represent one type of dialect. Many of the interviewees are expats. Those who clearly grew up in India, however, exhibit a fascinating variety of accents. Some older speakers have something like a modified type of British Received Pronunciation, making clear the impression of similarity between Welsh and Indian English: both may pattern after “Standard” Southern British while maintaining striking remnants of non-English languages.

I must admit that when Indian friends have used the term “Anglo-Indian,” it is usually accompanied by not a little mockery. The history of the Anglo-Indian population clearly raises questions about colonialism, class and Indian history which I am extremely ill-equipped to answer. The dialect, however, has much to say about both the past and future of Indian English.

On an unrelated note, a few life developments have kept the posting a bit sparse on this site of late. I’ll have more to say tomorrow!

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Anne Hathaway’s Accent in ‘One Day’

In news of the dialect work of movie stars, the romantic comedy One Day opens soon. As I did with Mel Gibson’s accent in The Beaver, I’d like to briefly examine Anne Hathaway‘s “Yorkshire accent” in this adaptation of the popular novel. Here’s the trailer:

[Ed. Note: Writing this originally, I was unaware there were several clips from the film online. Having watched two of these, I have to say: I’m pretty impressed. Compare this clip to this clip from later in the film. She clearly makes the latter sound less “Northern” than the former, which is a pretty darn nuanced thing for an actor to do.]

You’ll notice I put “Yorkshire accent” in quotation marks. To me, this phrase makes as much sense as referring to a “Northeastern accent” in the United States. We’re talking about a large tract of the country with numerous dialects which, although similar, have some serious differences as well (e.g. some are rhotic, some are non-rhotic).

With that in mind, I can’t reliably assess Hathaway’s accent. I’m not quite sure where she’s supposed to be from. Her character is described in various synopses as a “working-class” girl working hard to get an education and “better herself.” That would suggest someone inclined to soften the marked regionalisms in their accent, complicating my impression of the dialect work here.

In terms of generally “Northern” English features, she seems consistent with the raising of words like “touched” and “but.”  Pretty much all other features of Northern English vary, however, so I won’t comment on other aspects of her accent.

Of course, the film’s release will no doubt prompt a number of ill-informed rants, editorials and hatchet jobs. To which I’d say: give Hathaway a break. I can’t pinpoint which type of Yorkshire accent she’s supposed to be using here, but I didn’t find it overly distracting or “American”-sounding.  I’ll reserve my judgements until I see the actual movie (which looks kind of cute, no?)

What do we think?

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‘Thou’ on Google NGram Viewer

For dialect enthusiasts and language buffs, Google’s NGram Viewer is the kind of thing that keeps us up till the wee hours.  For those out of the loop: type any word (or phrase) into Google’s NGram search, and you’ll get a graph of how frequently this word was used in literature for a give time frame.  Cool!

I recently decided to use this tool to revisit an old topic we discussed, the archaic (or dialect) word thou.  Here’s the graph Google NGram gave me (which you can find in a better view here):

Some fascinating things can be gleaned here. First, thou seems to have had a ‘final hurrah’ during the golden age of Elizabethan literature. Most of what I’ve read suggests that the word was dying out in London by the time of Shakespeare. Paradoxically, this same time seems to be the golden era of literary ‘thou.’  So while the word may have been uncommon on the streets, writers of the period preserved it.

I was surprised to see such a precipitous drop in the early 1600’s given the publication of the King James Bible. But notice the spike in thou usage in the mid-17th-Century. Looking at a more close-up view of the chart, this increase almost perfectly aligns with the publication of the revised Book of Common Prayer in 1662.  (For Americans, this is the prayer book used by the Anglican church.)  So it seems this book, rather than the King James Bible itself, led to the notion that God uses the second person singular.

This publication seems to lead to a brief increase in liturgical thou:  Browsing over the Google Book results from 1650-1700, the vast majority of thou appearances are in various religious texts.  Then, sharply at the turn of the 18th-Century, thou falls out of usage. From 1700 till the present, the word is presumably reserved for references to the Bible, Elizabethan drama, or various English dialects.  Thou shalt never again relive thy heyday in the time of Marlowe and Shakespeare.

Thoughts?

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Is the Glasgow Accent Being “Cockneyfied?”

The Scottish Borders

Photo: Stara Blazkova

I’ve often discussed Estuary English, the London-influenced accent spreading throughout England. One piece of evidence?  Young people in Glasgow seem to be adopting ‘Cockney’ pronunciations. If the Glasgow accent is indeed becoming more ‘Southeastern,’ this would be a powerful indicator of London’s linguistic dominance.  After all, if kids as far-flung as Scotland talk like Londoners, Estuary must be colonizing Britain!

The “Cockney in Glasgow” theory is summarized by this dubious Wikipedia entry:

Studies have indicated that working-class adolescents in areas such as Glasgow have begun to use certain aspects of Cockney and other Anglicisms in their speech … Researches [sic] suggest the use of English speech characteristics is likely the influence of London and South East England accents featuring heavily on television.

I have some qualms about the above paragraph (of the 9 links cited, only 1 is a “study”). But taking these claims at face value: Is the Glasgow accent really becoming more like Cockney? Or are these changes mere coincidence?

Let’s look at the three “Estuary” features found in Glasgow:

Non-rhoticity: That is, some younger Glaswegians drop the ‘r’ at the end of words like car, butter, and core.

L-vocalization: Like Cockneys, some younger Glaswegians turn the ‘l’ at the end of syllables into different types of ‘w’- or ‘oo’-like sounds. So battle might sound like “battow” or “battoo.”

TH-fronting: Like Cockney, the English /th/ may become ‘f’ or ‘v’–both becomes “bof,” bother becomes “bovver,” etc.

To give you an idea of what a contemporary, adolescent Glasgow accent sounds like, I refer you to this video, which I posted a few months back:*

I have several reservations about the “Glasgow Cockney” theory.  First off, as per the video, Glasgow ‘r-dropping’ is different from London ‘r-dropping.’ The young man interviewed exhibits a kind of ‘swallowed r’ (for you phoneticians, that would be ‘a pharyngealized r’).* That’s unlike London, where the ‘r’ entirely disappears after vowels.

I find the other features of Glasgow “Cockneyfication” even less convincing. In the US, /th/-fronting (i.e. ‘both’ = ‘bof’) and l-vocalization (‘trouble’ = ‘trubbow’) go hand in hand in several accents or dialects: African American Vernacular English, Mid-Atlantic (Philadelphia/Baltimore) English, and some varieties of Southern English. I don’t believe Cockney has influenced any of those accents.  Why Glasgow?

And what about geography? Why do these features skip past Northern England to land feet first in Scotland? Our overexcited Wikipedian’s answer is ‘the media,’ that vague linguistic bogeyman (bogeymen?) blamed for the English talking like Americans; everybody in the British Isles talking like Londoners; public school students talking like Cockneys; and x ethnicity talking like y ethnicity.  More evidence is needed.

Joking aside, I won’t completely reject the notion that hours of EastEnders has led Scottish teenagers to drop their r’s. I just need more convincing. After hearing countless permutations of the complaint, “the young people talk funny because of the TV,” I’m become wary of such assumptions.

Any plausible theories?

*Don’t mean to imply anything about Glasgow or the Glasgow accent by posting this. Alas, it’s a really good accent sample!

**Okay, not exactly. Here’s the Inner Pedant version: Much as l-vocalization begins with post-vocalic /l/ being velarized, I would assume the process with /r/ begins with post-vocalic r being pharyngealized, then the apical gesture being reduced until only a pharyngeal consonant remains.

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Language Log on the Accents in “The Wire”

West Baltimore

Wikimedia

Over at Language Log, Eric Bakovic has an interesting take on accent work in films and television. The first half of the piece discusses accents on the The Wire, one of the most linguistically fascinating series in the history of television (Thanks to Nancy Friedman for pointing the article out to me).

Quoth Bakovic:

Although I understand that many folks familiar with Baltimore-area speech could somewhat reliably distinguish the Baltimore-native actors from others, there were probably very few who would have picked out West as British or even as not American (or Idris Elba for that matter, another Brit who played Russell “Stringer” Bell on the show). These folks are actors, after all — really good ones who do what it takes to play their characters as authentically as possible, speech and all.

I have to second Bakovic on this point. I may have had my minor quibbles with Dominic West‘s accent in the first season of the series, but as a whole, The Wire is perhaps the most impressive body of dialect work I’ve  seen in film or television.

And I really do mean dialect work, with a capital ‘d.’ The language of the show was far more impressive than the mere fact of British actors playing Americans. The dialogue was bursting with unique syntax, morphology, and slang. Each episode’s unique blend of African American Vernacular English, Baltimorese and various professional jargons was part of what earned the show such a rabid following (even if the dialogue was sometimes so thick it strained comprehensibility).

And about those jargons: what I found particularly remarkable about The Wire was the way it treated the lingo of police, drug dealers, union men, and politicians as part of the same problem. Whether drug lord Stringer Bell talked about killing someone or a police chief discussed a case of police brutality, both men used highly codified forms of language as a way of softening the horror of the situation. Much like the “business English” recently discussed on the Macmillan Dictionary Blog, language in The Wire was often used to sugarcoat cruelty and violence.

Any fans of the series out there wish to comment?

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Did We Speak More “Properly” 50 Years Ago?

A TieLike countless others, I’m a fan of Mad Men. One of the things I find fascinating about the show is the choice its creators made about the speech of the characters. The series almost completely eschews regional dialects (it takes place in New York, yet there are hardly any New York accents*), instead going for a slightly fanciful array of “period dialects.”

I recently stumbled on an excellent old John Mcwhorter article that unpackages the curious speech habits of the series’ dramatis personae. I was particularly struck by this assertion:

More generally, however, the writers at Mad Men seem to have an idea that in the early sixties, people spoke more “properly” than they do now. And they did, in formal and public settings. Until the late sixties, there was a sense that language was to be cossetted and dressed up in public in the same way that one wore deodorant.

Did people indeed once have a more “formal” register than they do now? This is a difficult question to answer in America. If we were having this conversation about the other side of the pond, it would be a no brainer: given how different British attitudes were toward speech a mere fifty years ago, it’s no surprise that the public school student of 2011 doesn’t talk like the public school student of 1961.

But in America? I would hazard to guess that people of my grandparents’ generation weren’t any more likely to take elocution lessons than I was. So why would there be more of a distinction between formal and informal registers in the early 60’s than there is now?

I doubt that we ever, as Americans, abandoned the “formal register.” I certainly speak with more crisply pronounced consonants at a job interview than I do hanging out in a car with my brother. The details of what this register entails may differ from one generation to the next, but I don’t think the phenomenon is going away.

However, I do think this type of “elevated” speech is used differently now than it was in the 1950s. Particularly when it comes to media: until the mid-twentieth Century, “realistic” film was usually more heightened, formal, and idealized. What the market forces were that dictated this I’ve never quite understood. But television seemed to usher in a new era of narrative media, one where the focus is on characters who are normal, average and recognizable rather than those who are dashing, glamorous and speak like aristocratic 19th-Century New Englanders.

While watching Alfred Hitchcock Presents, a show from the 1950’s, I often notice this change in action. The older generation of actors largely speak with artificial “mid-Atlantic accents”, while younger actors (such as Robert Morse and John Cassavetes) speak in startlingly informal registers. It’s an interesting example of how rapidly attitudes were changing at the time.

Of course, there’s always the simple fact of language change. Each generation weakens some aspects of the previous generation’s speech. What, then, makes older dialects “formal” sounding?

*At times, Mad Men seems almost willfully anachronistic in this regard.  There’s something bizarre about watching the very Californian-sounding Elisabeth Moss sit down to dinner with her Brooklyn-accented family.  But I have to admit I don’t mind this.  It somehow fits with one of the larger themes of this series, the way that Americans try to make themselves into individualistic, transient, non-regional supermen.

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But, buts, bus: The Scouse ‘T’

Map of LiverpoolScouse, the native accent of Liverpool, has comparatively unique features when compared to the surrounding area. Where Manchester and Leeds can arguably sound like variations of the same accent, Scouse seems to be in a world all its own.

One of the most unique Scouse features is the way the accent renders the letter ‘t.’ At the beginning of a word or a stressed syllable, /t/ is affricated, becoming something of a /ts/ sound: tree becomes ‘tsree,’ town becomes ‘tsown,’ and Tom becomes ‘tsom.’

But in between vowels and at the end of words, Liverpool /t/ is an exotic consonant popularly termed the ‘slit t.’ This might crudely be described as a sound between /t/ and /s/. Like /t/, it is pronounced with the tip of the tongue making contact with the alveolar ridge (the hard ridge right behind the top row of teeth). Like an /s/, however, the ‘slit t’ is a fricative, pronounced by passing air through the small opening created by the tongue’s position (hence the ‘slit’). To outsiders, then, the word butter might sound slightly like ‘busser.’

The ‘slit t’ is also found in Irish English, giving rise to a commonly-held assumption that Irish immigration to Liverpool led Scouse to adopt this ‘Irish sound.’ Given the city’s longstanding ties to the Emerald Isle, this seems a plausible theory.  Yet as I’ll explain later in the post, I have some reservations about the Liverpool-Ireland connection.

First though, a bit of background information.  The ‘slit t’ is part of a greater phenomenon called lenition, whereby stop consonants becomes ‘weaker’ or ‘softer.’ In Scouse, lenition not only affects /t/, but extends to /k/ (which can become the /x/ sound in Scottish loch) and /p/ (which can become the /ɸ/ sound heard in Japanese Fuji).

You can frequently hear the lenited /k/ in the speech of footballer and Liverpool local Steven Gerrard.  Notice the frequence of the ‘kh’ (i.e. /x/) sound in this interview:

Anyway, /p/ and /k/ lenition is not typically found in Irish English, perhaps weakening the argument that Scouse ‘slit t’ is a relative of Irish ‘slit t.’  [Ed. Note:  I expand upon this point in the comments below]. In Liverpool, lenition is common to several consonants, not just /t./

The rebuttal to this objection, put forth by linguist Raymond Hickey*, is that lenition in Scouse doesn’t necessarily come from Irish English, but rather the Irish Language itself. In particular, lenition of /k/,/t/,/d/ and /p/ bears a more-than-passing resemblance to the phenomenon of Irish consonant mutation.

This ‘mutation,’ contrary to what it sounds like, does not describe a consonant with extra eyes and green skin. Rather, it is a process whereby the first letter in an Irish word changes to a ‘softer’ consonant to serve some grammatical function. For example, the Irish word cos (meaning ‘leg’) might transform to chos depending on the grammatical context. This results in the /k/ sound changing to the ‘kh’ (i.e. /x/) sound (again, as in Scottish ‘loch‘).

Is Irish consonant mutation indeed the source of the Scouse /t/,/k/ and /p/? In his fascinating New dialect formation in nineteenth-century Liverpool: A Brief History of Scouse,** linguist Patrick Honeybone mentions two big objections to the connection between Scouse and Irish consonant mutation (both of which I find compelling):

1.) Irish consonant mutation occurs primarily at the beginning of words, rather than the middle or end of words (as in Scouse).

2.) If Irish consonant mutation is what led to lenition in Scouse, then why do we not see a similar pattern in actual Irish English accents?

But another thing puzzles me about the Irish-Scouse theory.  Many American cities, Boston being an excellent example, greeted similarly large masses of Irish immigrants in the 19th-Century.  Yet to my knowledge, no American accent adopted any type of Scouse-style lenition.  Not to mention that the nearby city of Manchester saw more than its share of Irish immigration, again with little indication of lenition being part of the local speech.

So why is Scouse so exceptional in this regard?

*Hickey, R. (1996). Lenition in Irish English. Belfast Working Papers in Linguistics
13: 173-193.

**Honeybone, P. (2007) ‘New-dialect formation in nineteenth century Liverpool: a brief history of Scouse.’ In Grant, A. & Grey, C. (eds) The Mersey Sound: Liverpool’s Language, People and Places. Liverpool: Open House Press, 106-140

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