The lights dim. A red glow hits the stage. Then, that rhythmic, metallic dripping sound starts. If you’ve ever seen a high school drama department try to be "edgy" or sat through a professional touring production of the musical Chicago, you know exactly what’s coming. It’s the "Cell Block Tango." Most people just call it the Chicago song he had it coming, and honestly, it’s probably the most recognizable moment in musical theater history.
But why?
It isn’t just the fishnets or the chairs. It’s the sheer, unadulterated audacity of the storytelling. We are talking about six women in the Cook County Jail explaining—with zero remorse—why they murdered the men in their lives. It shouldn’t be a "bop," yet it’s the definitive highlight of the show. John Kander and Fred Ebb, the geniuses behind the music and lyrics, tapped into something primal here. They didn't just write a song; they wrote a manifesto on "justifiable" homicide that has lived in the public consciousness since 1975.
The Real Murders Behind the Lyrics
Bob Fosse didn't just pull these stories out of thin air. That's the part people usually miss. The entire musical is based on a 1926 play by Maurine Dallas Watkins, who was a reporter covering the actual "Murderess Row" for the Chicago Tribune. When you hear the Chicago song he had it coming, you're actually listening to a highly stylized version of 1920s true crime.
Take "Pop," for instance. Bernie. He liked to chew gum. No, not just chew it—pop it. In the song, the character Annie kills him because he wouldn't stop. It sounds ridiculous, right? But Watkins’ original reporting was filled with these tiny, domestic irritations that pushed women over the edge in an era where divorce was a scandal and domestic abuse wasn't even a legal concept.
Then there’s the "Six Merry Murderesses" themselves. While the characters in the song are composites, they represent the "Beulah Annans" and "Belva Gaertners" of the world. These were real women who became media sensations. The public loved them. They were "jazz babies" who shot their lovers and then claimed they couldn't remember a thing because the music was too loud or the gin was too strong. The song captures that exact flavor of cynical, media-savvy 1920s nihilism.
Why the "He Had It Coming" Hook Works
Musically, the song is a masterpiece of tension. You have that steady, driving beat—the "tango" part—that feels like a heartbeat or a ticking clock. It’s relentless.
The phrase "he had it coming" is a classic example of a "reversal of roles." In the 1920s (and, let's be real, for much of history), the narrative was usually about the "fallen woman." But here, the women take the power back. They aren't victims of their own passions; they are executioners of justice. Or at least, that’s how they want the jury to see it.
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The repetition is key.
He had it coming.
He had it coming.
He only had himself to blame.
By the time the third woman starts her monologue, the audience is basically nodding along. "Yeah, he did run into her knife ten times. It happens!" It’s a brilliant bit of psychological manipulation. The song forces you to side with the villains by making their grievances feel relatable, even if their solutions are... extreme.
The Breakdowns: Not All Murders are Created Equal
One of the coolest things about the Chicago song he had it coming is how each monologue reflects a different "type" of crime.
The "Cicero" story (the one with the sisters) is about betrayal. "Lipschitz" is about a guy who claimed he was "finding himself" while sleeping around. Then you have the Hungarian woman, Hunyak. Her "story" is the only one told in a language most of the audience doesn't understand (until she says "not guilty"), and she’s the only one who is actually innocent.
It’s a gut punch.
In a song full of flashy, rhythmic confessions, the one person who didn't do it is the one who can't explain herself. It grounds the cynicism of the show. It reminds us that the legal system isn't about truth; it's about who tells the best story. The women who sing "he had it coming" are the ones who survive because they know how to perform.
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Fosse’s Fingerprints and the Visual Language
You can't talk about this song without talking about Bob Fosse. The original choreography is legendary. It’s all about isolation—moving a wrist, a shoulder, a hip, but nothing else. It’s cramped. It’s suggestive. It’s dangerous.
When the women use the red scarves to represent blood, it’s a stroke of theatrical genius. It’s minimalist but incredibly violent. Modern productions almost always stick to the Fosse "template" because it’s baked into the DNA of the music. The sharp, staccato movements match the "Pop, Six, Squish" syllables perfectly.
I’ve seen dozens of versions of this—from the 2002 Oscar-winning movie with Catherine Zeta-Jones to random YouTube covers—and the ones that fail are always the ones that try to be too "big." This song needs to feel like a secret whispered in a dark alley. It’s about the "smallness" of the motives.
Impact on Modern Pop Culture
It’s kind of wild how much the Chicago song he had it coming has influenced modern media. We see echoes of it in everything from music videos to TikTok trends.
Remember the "thank u, next" era? Or the way Ariana Grande or Taylor Swift sometimes lean into the "media-defined villain" persona? That’s all Chicago. The idea of taking the narrative the public has given you and leaning into it with a wink and a smile started right here.
- TikTok Trends: There have been countless "Cell Block Tango" challenges where creators use the audio to list their own "pet peeves" or "deal-breakers."
- Parodies: Shows like Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and Glee have done their own versions, proving that the structure of the song is infinitely adaptable.
- True Crime Obsession: Our current cultural fixation with true crime podcasts is basically just a modern version of the 1920s "yellow journalism" that inspired the song in the first place.
The Ethics of Loving a Murder Anthem
Is it weird that we love a song about killing people? Maybe.
But "Cell Block Tango" isn't really about the act of murder. It’s about the feeling of being pushed to the edge. It’s a revenge fantasy. Most people have had a "Bernie" in their life—someone who does something small and annoying until you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.
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The song provides a safe, theatrical outlet for that frustration. It’s campy. It’s over-the-top. When Velma Kelly belts out that she "used to be a duo," we aren't mourning her husband; we're cheering for her stage presence. That’s the magic of Chicago. It turns the macabre into a spectacle.
Common Misconceptions About the Song
A lot of people think this is the opening number of the show. It’s not. "All That Jazz" holds that spot. "Cell Block Tango" usually shows up about twenty minutes in, once the protagonist, Roxie Hart, gets to jail.
Another big one? People think the women are "strong female leads" in the modern sense. Actually, they’re meant to be deeply flawed, manipulative, and often quite mean. The show isn't a "girl power" anthem in the way we think of it today; it’s a satire of how society turns criminals into celebrities. If you miss the satire, you miss the point.
How to Experience "Cell Block Tango" Today
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world of the Chicago song he had it coming, you have options.
The 2002 film is the obvious starting point. Catherine Zeta-Jones won an Oscar for a reason. Her performance as Velma Kelly is the gold standard for this specific song. The way the editing cuts between the reality of the jail and the fantasy of the stage is brilliant.
But if you can, see it live. The "minimalist" revival that has been running on Broadway since 1996 is actually better in many ways. Without the movie's big sets, you’re forced to focus on the dancers and the rhythm. It’s more intimate. More threatening.
Actionable Ways to Explore the Chicago Lore
- Read the original reporting: Look up Maurine Dallas Watkins’ articles from the 1924 trials of Beulah Annan and Belva Gaertner. You will be shocked at how much of the "dialogue" in the play comes directly from real-life quotes.
- Compare the versions: Watch the 1975 original Broadway cast recording clips (if you can find them) vs. the 2002 movie vs. the current Broadway cast. Notice how the "energy" of the tango changes.
- Listen to the Hungarian lyrics: Look up the translation for Hunyak's monologue. It’s a tragic story about a "neighbor" who turned her in, and it completely changes how you view that section of the song.
- Analyze the Fosse style: Watch a documentary on Bob Fosse (like FX's Fosse/Verdon) to understand why the "turned-in toes" and "jazz hands" weren't just stylistic choices—they were a revolution in how the human body moves on stage.
The Chicago song he had it coming remains a titan of the genre because it refuses to apologize. It doesn't ask for your sympathy; it demands your attention. Whether you're a theater nerd or just someone who likes a good "vengeance" track, the "Cell Block Tango" is the ultimate reminder that a great story, a tight rhythm, and a little bit of "razzle dazzle" can make even the most scandalous crimes feel like world-class entertainment.
Next time you hear someone popping their gum a little too loudly, just remember: you've got the perfect soundtrack for your internal monologue. Just maybe... leave the knitting needles at home.
Practical Next Steps:
- Stream the Soundtrack: Start with the 1996 Broadway Revival cast recording for the cleanest vocal performances.
- Watch the Film: Pay close attention to the "lighting cues" during the tango—the shift from white to red light signifies the transition from the "lie" to the "truth."
- Research the "Cousin" Song: If you love this, check out "The Gun Song" from Stephen Sondheim's Assassins for another brilliant, dark take on why people pull the trigger.