How Ferrari's legacy inspired elements of Florence and the Machine's "Dance Fever" Album - a 2000 word essay.

On 16 June, 2022, on some other social media, I posted the words:

If my interests were expressed in Venn Diagrams you'd see an overlap of relating an interpretation of Florence and The Machine's song "Cassandra", and the recent mechanical failures of the Ferrari F1 team.

Recently, in a discussion on nonsense, I remembered this post and mentioned it @honeydue - and now, I feel I must assert my position and back up my statements in more depth than any comment could possibly deserve.

Full disclaimer, while I am listening to this post, I am listening the song Cassandra by Florence and the Machine on repeat. Each time the song ends, I'm adding a one to a tally. I'll let you know how many times it has played when I am done writing this post.

The playback count is currently two. First, I would like to address an initial fuck up in my Venn diagram. There is no Roman Heritage to the myth of Cassandra. But, it makes for some elaborate embellishment, and some unsteady footing on which to commence my argument. I concede this one error, among many others that I may make in the course of writing discourse that to me, is highly entertaining, and to others, probably very banal and grasping at the finest of straws.

Therefore, I will change my Venn diagram.

The playback count is now three. I write slowly.

Some more background on Cassandra - she was a woman in Greek Mythology who was given a gift (or the curse) of prophecy. She spoke about the future, and that was her gift. Apollo, (men?, man?) gave her this gift cursed her to never be believed, after she refused his romantic advances. A Girl's gotta have a choice.

She warned people about Troy, and was ignored, she warned people about other disasters, and was ignored. Is the curse hers, or one that humanity must endure because of a man's selfish desire to be with a woman?

I won't go into gender studies, as I have no desire to do so, and it deviates even further from the topic at hand here.

So now that we know about Cassandra, the Myth, we can start to learn about Cassandra, the song, as it is performed by Florence Welch, and her machine(s) that make up her band. Firstly, its a beautiful song:

I used to see the future and now I see nothing
They cut out my eyes and sent me home packing
To pace around the kitchen for scraps of inspiration
Crying like Cassandra, I
Used to tell the future, but they cut out my tongue
And left me doing laundry to think on what I've done
It wasn't me, it was the song

Hello, Cassandra, and Hello, Scuderia Ferrari, and your recent Formula 1 expeditions. Ferrari used to see victory (or shall we say Nike - another member of the Greek pantheon) on a regular basis. It was all that they foresaw on a race weekend, with the likes of Lauda, M Schumacher, and other greats.

Now, with renowned, pretty, bitterly sad boi, Charles LeClerc, and Lewis Hamilton behind the wheel, they often see nothing in the future, other than hints of pace ₁.

As a result, Maranello, the home of the Ferrari factory continues to pace around the kitchen, to look for inspiration. They have tried to change the car, and innovate. They have changed technical personnel, and Italians, an emotional, proud nation, crying, yearn for the sweet taste of victory.

After every race, the laundry must be done, and they must think on what they've done. But save some brave souls who wonder, it wasn't me, it was the song - the rise of Hamilton and Verstappen in recent years (and the magnificent engineering work of Adrian Newey ₂ ) cry out among the province of Modena for hope. More hope than they could ever have.

I used to move into the future, bring it all back
Let it bleed through my fingers, a treasure in my hands
Now I creep out when there's no one about
'Cause they put crosses on the doors to try and keep me out

Moving into the future is what I will boldly interpret as fucking off down the road to an enormous lead, flipping the steering wheel left to right, perfectly executing strategy and speed in a chaotic environment.

Bring it all back, clearly refers to one thing, and one thing alone, a prophecy (like Cassandra) of the next line in the song - a treasure in my hands - be these treasures trophies, World Championship Points, or the ultimate - victory and podiums.

The Italian Media is known for being ruthless. And for a car manufacturer which is the closest thing Formula 1 has ever had to a National Team, there is nowhere for Ferrari or its personnel to hide. When they are not doing well, the sense of shame that is pushed down upon their shoulders by a nation forces them to only creep out when there's no one about, for fear of the shame.

Side story: I went to an Italian restaurant in Melbourne, Australia a week before the Australian Grand Prix. Even there, there was Ferrari propaganda. Tens of Thousands of kilometers away from the birthplace of the Scuderia, there was a shrine to Charles LeClerc alongside the carbonara and Mediterranean salads and pizzas.

Honest to good (not god!), there was a poster of LeClerc photoshopped to look like a saint.

Ferrari have a long history of mythology - both through religious fervor for their homeland (and their homeland's zeal for their pilgrim, ever travelling throughout the globe, (Ferrari)) - but like long standing intuitions, nations and other things that have been around a long time, they are subject to neglect, decay, and collapse, as evidenced, in the consequential next lines of the song:

The garden's overgrown
And I run in the middle of the road

Ask anyone who knows anything about racing. (Except maybe George Russell ₃ ) The middle of the road is the last place that you want to be. This has polynomial (multiple meanings) storytelling value.

1. The middle of the road is not the apex of a turn on the track. This is not the most efficient, fastest way around the circuit, and certainly not the way to victory.
2. The middle of the road is in terms of the constructor's standings, where you are fighting with the midfield, teams who have a chance to perform well, but do not do so consistently.

Sixteen. That's how many times Cassandra has now played back in my head via my headphones. I'm not even done here. We've still got more verses to tighten our comparison and our argument.

Well, can you see me? I cannot see you
Everything I thought I knew has fallen out of view
In this blindness I'm condemned to
Well, can you hear me? I cannot hear you
Every song I thought I knew, I've been deafened to
And there's no one left to sing to

Ferrari only saw victory, once a upon a time. They only saw the podium. It was their destiny to be on the top step. They don't see each other anymore. First place, too, has fallen out of view, it blocked by other competitor's rear wings, a blindness I'm condemned to.

Even the cheers of the Tifosi ₄ themselves fall quiet, and perhaps, even the mighty Ferrari power units, propelling the car around the track. Not because it doesn't roar anymore, but because the cheers of past victory have resulted in them being deafened to their past success.

One day, there may not even be anyone left to sing to.

Ferrari merchandise keeps selling hard. The next verse is probably the most difficult, emotionally, and conceptually. There's a lot of hard truth here, and perhaps a sense of a loss of tact.

All the gods have been domesticated
And Heaven is now overrated

Since his horrific skiing accident, Michael Schumacher has not been seen in public, and his medical condition is not discussed. Rumors abound of a vegetative state, and the god is now nothing more than a bed-ridden German man, a legend of motorsport, to which not even the gates of Heaven would open. His suffering (and that of his loved ones, watching a great man in this alleged state) shows the lack of mercy present in the institution.

However, the line "Heaven is now overrated" is delivered with a slight tinge of contempt by Welch as she sings, as though it is not a place that someone would want to go, perhaps, vexed at the fact:

And the churches, they all closed their doors
But you can take your complaints straight to the Lord

I am asserting that churches slamming their doors shut is a play for ignorance. Speaking now as Ferrari, as a "church", to its supporters:

Ferrari:

You're not dead. We will not hold a funeral. We refuse to acknowledge your failure to continue living, and simultaneously, we will not allow you to grieve for something that we refuse to acknowledge is dead. We cannot even admit fault, so we suggest take your complaints straight to the abstract concept of an entity who may not even exist, let alone be interested in hearing you.

But yet, somehow, hope is present:

I try to still look with wonder on the world
As the roses bloom
And the riot van still plainly in view

Roses are often red, the national colour of the state of Ferrari. The Riot Van, a tool of enforcement (ironically, in the Welch home-land of Britain, a Ford Transit, and not a Ferrari) - holds fully armored men, designed to stop crowds of fashionistas and motorsports hooligans from threatening public infrastructure or fragile carbon fibre looms.

The chorus is then repeated, before we move into haunting, spoken word,

Oh, drunken gods of slaughter
You know I've always been your
Favorite daughter

Need I say more than what Welch states? Ferrari will always be Italy's favorite daughter. There is no other that comes close to the romance of horsepower and speed.

Then back to another chorus, but changed, to conclude:

Well, can you see me? I cannot see you
Everything I thought I knew is falling out of view
And if I run fast enough, could I break apart
As empires crumble and cathedrals flatten in my heart?

This is beautiful image, and has been known to happen on the race track. Some cars do literally run fast enough, and have parts of their suspension, bodywork, wings, or even their tyres quite literally (and very dramatically) break apart.

A rhetorical question is asked before the song abruptly ends.

As Empires Crumble

Rome. Gone. The greatest empire of the Italian peninsula, gone. Ferrari's hopes for Word Driver's Championships, or World Constructor's Championships. Gone.

and Cathedrals Flatten in my heart

I think they're called churches in Italy, but it is close enough. The aging factories of Maranello need to be rebuilt. The atrium, the once strong, beating heart of Ferrari now lays flat, in dire need of a triple bypass - and not in the road sense, in the sense of open Heart Surgery. Ferrari (the org) Italians (the people) - and us (the observers) need to acknowledge that deep, invasive surgery is required to put things right.

The song ends, and so too, does this comparison, but on the album, the next song immediately begins. Heaven is Here opens with a classic style of Italian mourning:

Oh, bring your salt, bring your cigarette
Draw me a circle and I'll protect
Heaven is here if you want it

Are the doors to Cathedral suddenly about to be swung open for mourning Tifosi? Perhaps. We now make reference again to a boy, who is clearly Charles LeClerc, and...

Oh, bring your, boy, bring your bottle
Open your mouth, pour it down his neck
Heaven is here if you want it

And all of the fish, let them flounder
I went to the water, drank every drop
I'll turn your sea to a desert

Fish may as well be The Tifosi. A sea of joy turned to a desert, and to conclude with the next couple of verses, with much less comment than the rest of this discourse:

More catholic taste than the Devil
All gilded and golden, yes, I'm your girl
Hell, if it glitters, I'm going

And I ride in my red dress
And time stretchеs endless
With my gun in my hand
You know I always get my man

Red is the colour of Ferrari. Always has. Always will be. And one day, with their (gun) - their car, their superstar driver, the belief that they will rise from the ashes like a phoenix (also normally red) - is strong, enduring, and endless.

Therefore, Florence and the Machine and the beautiful writing on on the album Dance Fever, and these two simple tracks can be directly related to Formula, Ferrari, vengeance and a longing to restore the glory of empires currently sitting deceased.

Footnotes for non F1 people

1. pace: the speed at which the car laps during a race
2. Adrian Newey: the best car designer on the planet. No other engineer in Formula 1 has ever designed as many winning cars.
3. In a Grand Prix, George Russel crashed his car, and was literally stuck in the middle of the road, car upside down. "Red flag, red flag, red flag, I'm in the middle of the road." He cried, notably terrified of being hit by another vehicle from behind.
4. Tifosi - A Ferrari , or Italian loyalist, a fanatic.

I am being quite serious in the comparisons I am drawing between Ferrari's legacy and this brilliant album by Florence and the Machine

I invite peer review from Formula 1 aficionados - @galenkp, @cryptoandcoffee. I invite peer review from everyone else, too, whether they like Formula 1, Florence and the Machine, or even me.

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. There's no race to think about on the day I type this, so I had to entertain myself somehow - while I await probably my favourite race of the year - Belgium.