This song is from Suzanne Vega's one-person show about the author Carson McCullers. It's a retelling of the plot from her story "The Ballad of the Sad Cafe."
The basic plot is about a woman, Amelia, who marries the wrong man. He almost ruins her life, but she chases him off (with violence). For a while, she is happy with a new man. But then the first one comes back to finish the job (with violence). What made it worse was that the new man helps him.
Framing this story, Vega expresses that his is a very Southern story: "On any Southern afternoon... a face appears inside a house." The face is described as being "terrible... sexless... white... and dim."
It's the face of Amelia, "waiting by the window... sitting by the shutter/ Remembering the laughing/ In he cafe down below."
It makes sense that her face would bear a "terrible" look, if she is remembering the brief good times with the second man. After all, was it all a lie, if he could turn on her with so little provocation, and to aid the man who wanted to hurt her at that?
Why exactly this story is so Southern, I am not sure. It does smack of Tennessee Williams.
Maybe the humidity makes everything sultry and torrid.
Next Song: Carson's Last Supper
Showing posts with label break up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label break up. Show all posts
Monday, February 13, 2017
Monday, September 19, 2016
Instant of the Hour After
This is a rare track. It can be found on Volume 3 of the mostly acoustic "Close Up" series of remixes.
It seems to be about a drunk couple fighting, and she is trying to wind it down so they can sleep: "That's enough out of you tonight, my darling... I detest all this drunken brawling/ Now, let's see if you can make it into this bed." Probably, though, he can: "You're not as drunk as you seem."
Still, they are "trapped here inside of this bottle." Both of them are trapped by the alcoholism, although it's unclear if she is also an alcoholic or 'only' someone who qualifies for Al-Anon.
As for the fight itself, it must have been quite the circus, but now, "The show is over/ The monkey is dead."
She is of two minds about her significant other: "How I love you/ How I loathe you." To the degree she does love him, it comes in waves so peaked that they become spikes: "It's a sharp, quick love."
Something casts a "sweet shadow" on his "cheek." Perhaps he did make it into bed, and these are the blankets she tenderly draws up over him. And he doesn't seem to calm down and ease into sleep, but rather simply 'conk out' suddenly from a state of stress: "The pulse in your neck, how I'll know it, right to the end."
Alternately, these images could be of love-making. The "sharp, quick love" could be him entering her, the "sweet shadow" could be of her face on his, and the "end" could be his climax.
This seems less likely, however, considering his words, which sound like those of a literary critic: "Reverberating acuity... lousy simile... vacant majesty." These sound like the ramblings of a drunk intellectual as he drifts off. And one who didn't like what he'd just read or heard, at that.
Of course, they could have made love and then he passed out muttering.
Yet another possibility is that the song is about her critics, and she is only using the relationship image as a metaphor.
The next "hour" passes like an "instant." And in that moment, she realizes "Right now/ It's you and me."
This is where the image being trapped in a bottle of liquid comes in. Of course, they'd have to be small to be trapped in a bottle, so she imagines them as "flies" who are "drowning" in the liquid.
"When the frenzy's over"-- the fighting, the sex, or both-- "We're crawling specimens/ Spent and exhausted/ We press to the sides" of the "bottle."
She knows she has to do something about the situation. But the situation itself is simply too exhausting, physically and emotionally, for her to plan and enact such an escape.
A nearly drowned fly may know it has to leave the bottle in order to prevent himself from nearly drowning again, but right now he's too drained from just having nearly drowned to figure out where the bottle's opening is and how to get there.
Next Song: Daddy is White
It seems to be about a drunk couple fighting, and she is trying to wind it down so they can sleep: "That's enough out of you tonight, my darling... I detest all this drunken brawling/ Now, let's see if you can make it into this bed." Probably, though, he can: "You're not as drunk as you seem."
Still, they are "trapped here inside of this bottle." Both of them are trapped by the alcoholism, although it's unclear if she is also an alcoholic or 'only' someone who qualifies for Al-Anon.
As for the fight itself, it must have been quite the circus, but now, "The show is over/ The monkey is dead."
She is of two minds about her significant other: "How I love you/ How I loathe you." To the degree she does love him, it comes in waves so peaked that they become spikes: "It's a sharp, quick love."
Something casts a "sweet shadow" on his "cheek." Perhaps he did make it into bed, and these are the blankets she tenderly draws up over him. And he doesn't seem to calm down and ease into sleep, but rather simply 'conk out' suddenly from a state of stress: "The pulse in your neck, how I'll know it, right to the end."
Alternately, these images could be of love-making. The "sharp, quick love" could be him entering her, the "sweet shadow" could be of her face on his, and the "end" could be his climax.
This seems less likely, however, considering his words, which sound like those of a literary critic: "Reverberating acuity... lousy simile... vacant majesty." These sound like the ramblings of a drunk intellectual as he drifts off. And one who didn't like what he'd just read or heard, at that.
Of course, they could have made love and then he passed out muttering.
Yet another possibility is that the song is about her critics, and she is only using the relationship image as a metaphor.
The next "hour" passes like an "instant." And in that moment, she realizes "Right now/ It's you and me."
This is where the image being trapped in a bottle of liquid comes in. Of course, they'd have to be small to be trapped in a bottle, so she imagines them as "flies" who are "drowning" in the liquid.
"When the frenzy's over"-- the fighting, the sex, or both-- "We're crawling specimens/ Spent and exhausted/ We press to the sides" of the "bottle."
She knows she has to do something about the situation. But the situation itself is simply too exhausting, physically and emotionally, for her to plan and enact such an escape.
A nearly drowned fly may know it has to leave the bottle in order to prevent himself from nearly drowning again, but right now he's too drained from just having nearly drowned to figure out where the bottle's opening is and how to get there.
Next Song: Daddy is White
Monday, August 22, 2016
Unbound
This song forms the second half of a pair; the first was "Bound," the previous song on the album.
Many larger plants come with their roots wrapped in cloth and bound with twine for easier, cleaner transportation. Often the cloth is organic-- left on once the plant is settled into its new earthy home, the roots will penetrate the cloth as they grow and it decomposes.
However, this one plant was the exception. "I knew a plant/ Whose roots were bound/ And then returned/ Into the ground." But in this case, "every day/ It struggled so."
The solution? Simply remove the cloth: "I dug it up/ I cut the twine." It worked: "I watched it drink/ I watched it feed/ And grow beyond/ Its simple need."
This process had an impact on the gardener, too. Once she freed the roots, she felt, "I made it mine." Now the plant was not bound by a physical barrier, but wrapped in an emotional relationship. Well, on the gardener's part, in any case. The plant's side of the story remains untold.
In case you thought the song was only about transplantation techniques for garden flora, the speaker explains why this plant's story resonated with her: "I was once/ Bound at the root/ Confined with twine/ Both mind and foot." Both her ability to think and travel independently were being hampered.
But "I cut it loose/ And now I'm free." The song, once again, seems to be about Vega's divorce. Here, we really see the psychological restraint and restriction the marriage must have had.
"Now I'm (as) free/ As anything alive could be." Now, she can, like her plant, "grow beyond (her) simple need" and perhaps, even supply the needs of others. Funny how that works.
Next Song: "As You Are Now."
Many larger plants come with their roots wrapped in cloth and bound with twine for easier, cleaner transportation. Often the cloth is organic-- left on once the plant is settled into its new earthy home, the roots will penetrate the cloth as they grow and it decomposes.
However, this one plant was the exception. "I knew a plant/ Whose roots were bound/ And then returned/ Into the ground." But in this case, "every day/ It struggled so."
The solution? Simply remove the cloth: "I dug it up/ I cut the twine." It worked: "I watched it drink/ I watched it feed/ And grow beyond/ Its simple need."
This process had an impact on the gardener, too. Once she freed the roots, she felt, "I made it mine." Now the plant was not bound by a physical barrier, but wrapped in an emotional relationship. Well, on the gardener's part, in any case. The plant's side of the story remains untold.
In case you thought the song was only about transplantation techniques for garden flora, the speaker explains why this plant's story resonated with her: "I was once/ Bound at the root/ Confined with twine/ Both mind and foot." Both her ability to think and travel independently were being hampered.
But "I cut it loose/ And now I'm free." The song, once again, seems to be about Vega's divorce. Here, we really see the psychological restraint and restriction the marriage must have had.
"Now I'm (as) free/ As anything alive could be." Now, she can, like her plant, "grow beyond (her) simple need" and perhaps, even supply the needs of others. Funny how that works.
Next Song: "As You Are Now."
Monday, August 1, 2016
Frank and Ava
Frank Sinatra and Ava Gardner had a brief, tempestuous marriage. It only lasted 5-6, years but was filled with passion-- both the good and bad kinds. Whole books have been written about it, since their affairs and external friendships involved many other celebrities, as well as colorful characters like big-game hunters, starlets, and matadors. It involved, indeed, everything from drunken scenes to slashed wrists.
The song, however, makes no reference to any specific couple, as their last names are not given. So this is about that famous couple... but only as a metaphor for all such high-emotional, disastrous relationships (Vega herself had recently been divorced; she mentions "you and me" toward the end.).
Vega lays the blame for the failed relationship at both their feet. Ava could be imperious and act the "queen." Frank's love could be overwhelming, but explosive; his heart was a "tinderbox," and "the fire of his desire meant/ That everything must come undone."
Conclusion? "It's not enough, to be in love." The love must be between two compatible people, ones with the emotional maturity, stability, and stamina to maintain that love, through the natural ebbs and flows of time. Expecting first-kiss fireworks all the time is unrealistic and leads to shattered expectations.
Her aloofness didn't help. While he's hot for her, "she's cool." Which "makes him cruel." So they "needle" each other until "the jewels go raining down upon the ground." Either some jewelry box was knocked over, or someone was hit or shaken hard enough to make their jewelry fall off.
Eventually, the bad was acknowledged to outweigh the good, and they divorced: "They woke up, and they broke up."
While they were busy making each other miserable and being "volatile," of course, they wasted the time they could have spent on others: "Life passed, it went so fast."
Although it was doomed, it was a tragedy. Surely the public longed for two such attractive and talented people to find happiness together amidst the glamour of Hollywood. And while they were fire and ice, they were still attracted to each other: "They never could forget their chemistry."
So, more like oil and water, as it "proved go keep them both apart for life."
It's not enough to be in love. You have to find the right person, at the right time. And "indoor fireworks," as Elvis Costello put it, "can still burn your fingers." So while passion is important and should definitely be a part of any healthy relationship, it can't be the only part.
"Love does not consist in gazing at each other," noted The Little Prince author Antoine de Saint-Exupery, "but in looking outward together in the same direction." It also does not consist in gazing at the other person and hoping to find a reflection of yourself, or seeking a source of the fulfillment of all your needs.
It doesn't consist of looking at yourself, either. Even if you are as good-looking as a movie star.
Next Song: Edith Wharton's Figurines
The song, however, makes no reference to any specific couple, as their last names are not given. So this is about that famous couple... but only as a metaphor for all such high-emotional, disastrous relationships (Vega herself had recently been divorced; she mentions "you and me" toward the end.).
Vega lays the blame for the failed relationship at both their feet. Ava could be imperious and act the "queen." Frank's love could be overwhelming, but explosive; his heart was a "tinderbox," and "the fire of his desire meant/ That everything must come undone."
Conclusion? "It's not enough, to be in love." The love must be between two compatible people, ones with the emotional maturity, stability, and stamina to maintain that love, through the natural ebbs and flows of time. Expecting first-kiss fireworks all the time is unrealistic and leads to shattered expectations.
Her aloofness didn't help. While he's hot for her, "she's cool." Which "makes him cruel." So they "needle" each other until "the jewels go raining down upon the ground." Either some jewelry box was knocked over, or someone was hit or shaken hard enough to make their jewelry fall off.
Eventually, the bad was acknowledged to outweigh the good, and they divorced: "They woke up, and they broke up."
While they were busy making each other miserable and being "volatile," of course, they wasted the time they could have spent on others: "Life passed, it went so fast."
Although it was doomed, it was a tragedy. Surely the public longed for two such attractive and talented people to find happiness together amidst the glamour of Hollywood. And while they were fire and ice, they were still attracted to each other: "They never could forget their chemistry."
So, more like oil and water, as it "proved go keep them both apart for life."
It's not enough to be in love. You have to find the right person, at the right time. And "indoor fireworks," as Elvis Costello put it, "can still burn your fingers." So while passion is important and should definitely be a part of any healthy relationship, it can't be the only part.
"Love does not consist in gazing at each other," noted The Little Prince author Antoine de Saint-Exupery, "but in looking outward together in the same direction." It also does not consist in gazing at the other person and hoping to find a reflection of yourself, or seeking a source of the fulfillment of all your needs.
It doesn't consist of looking at yourself, either. Even if you are as good-looking as a movie star.
Next Song: Edith Wharton's Figurines
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Solitaire
Before we discuss the lyrics, it should be noted that the skittish shuffle of the rhythm track is one of Vega's finest.
The song is about, as it says, "playing solitaire." It may seem like an odd choice for a song, but recall this is a breakup album, and someone who is recently separated might not be ready to go out just yet, or even want to watch TV (all the shows and movies are about relationships anyway) before going to bed. So, out come the cards.
It's also a great thing to do to focus on something other that that thing you are avoiding, without also having to really focus on it, either. In fact, you can do it while "tired." It will help you "unwind" and relax, too.
Aside from the rules, there are certain strategies and "superstitions" that could help: "Otherwise, you're going to lose." So let's begin... shuffle and deal...
But first, we should note that there are two sides to the game. Finding and making patterns can be fulfilling-- "black on the red, and the red on the black... Jack on the Queen and the 10 on the Jack/ it's a happy repetition."
It can even be empowering: "Take what's wrong and make it go right." Who doesn't yearn for that kind of control (especially when enduring the end of a relationship)?
And then, once you really get into it, "Compulsion makes you listen."
What was that? Oh, just the other side of the coin-- success is addictive, and make you want to try again. Failure makes you try again, too-- no one wants to stop on a down note. So, a compulsion is bred: "Do it again, when you find you're all done... You see, you almost won." Oh, c'mon... one more game!
It starts with "try your luck," and ends with "shuffle up your luck." The game itself is tied to superstition-- how will the thing you are about to attempt turn out? Play solitaire and see-- the game's outcome will predict yours.
This leaves "you and your fate in a kind of check-mate." Who is in control-- your will or random chance? Maybe you can tip the balance with some Divine aid: "weave it like a prayer." Maybe the game itself can help you tap into that chaos and subvert it to your will with Heavenly help.
In basic solitaire, 79% of the time, the game is winnable... but no one wins 79% of the time: "You are your only competition." You could win... but can you? Can you muster the insight, the focus? Can you see the way through the maze of numbers and colors? Or will you run smack into a dead end (that you'll never know if you could have avoided)?
Perhaps the question is a matter of intent. If you don't care, you will most likely lose simply because you aren't mentally present. You have to "wrestle down what you want."
If you don't care, you will lose... but then, you didn't care, so did it matter? Yet, if it didn't matter, why did you bother at all?
On the other hand, you could care a whole lot... and still lose. But then, you'll be crushed. You really tried, and still failed. What does that say about you?
"Wonder if you'll spend the night... playing solitaire." The song's repeated question is a tease, a cruel joke. Before the pause, it's an invitation to a night of "romance." After the pause... oh, for crying out loud, what's on TV?
Sitting all alone with a pack of cards was supposed to help us forget the break-up. Now it's just another metaphor for it: What could I have done to make it work? What chances did I miss? Was the failure in the cards, or was it me?
OK, come one... just one more game.
Next Song: St. Claire
The song is about, as it says, "playing solitaire." It may seem like an odd choice for a song, but recall this is a breakup album, and someone who is recently separated might not be ready to go out just yet, or even want to watch TV (all the shows and movies are about relationships anyway) before going to bed. So, out come the cards.
It's also a great thing to do to focus on something other that that thing you are avoiding, without also having to really focus on it, either. In fact, you can do it while "tired." It will help you "unwind" and relax, too.
Aside from the rules, there are certain strategies and "superstitions" that could help: "Otherwise, you're going to lose." So let's begin... shuffle and deal...
But first, we should note that there are two sides to the game. Finding and making patterns can be fulfilling-- "black on the red, and the red on the black... Jack on the Queen and the 10 on the Jack/ it's a happy repetition."
It can even be empowering: "Take what's wrong and make it go right." Who doesn't yearn for that kind of control (especially when enduring the end of a relationship)?
And then, once you really get into it, "Compulsion makes you listen."
What was that? Oh, just the other side of the coin-- success is addictive, and make you want to try again. Failure makes you try again, too-- no one wants to stop on a down note. So, a compulsion is bred: "Do it again, when you find you're all done... You see, you almost won." Oh, c'mon... one more game!
It starts with "try your luck," and ends with "shuffle up your luck." The game itself is tied to superstition-- how will the thing you are about to attempt turn out? Play solitaire and see-- the game's outcome will predict yours.
This leaves "you and your fate in a kind of check-mate." Who is in control-- your will or random chance? Maybe you can tip the balance with some Divine aid: "weave it like a prayer." Maybe the game itself can help you tap into that chaos and subvert it to your will with Heavenly help.
In basic solitaire, 79% of the time, the game is winnable... but no one wins 79% of the time: "You are your only competition." You could win... but can you? Can you muster the insight, the focus? Can you see the way through the maze of numbers and colors? Or will you run smack into a dead end (that you'll never know if you could have avoided)?
Perhaps the question is a matter of intent. If you don't care, you will most likely lose simply because you aren't mentally present. You have to "wrestle down what you want."
If you don't care, you will lose... but then, you didn't care, so did it matter? Yet, if it didn't matter, why did you bother at all?
On the other hand, you could care a whole lot... and still lose. But then, you'll be crushed. You really tried, and still failed. What does that say about you?
"Wonder if you'll spend the night... playing solitaire." The song's repeated question is a tease, a cruel joke. Before the pause, it's an invitation to a night of "romance." After the pause... oh, for crying out loud, what's on TV?
Sitting all alone with a pack of cards was supposed to help us forget the break-up. Now it's just another metaphor for it: What could I have done to make it work? What chances did I miss? Was the failure in the cards, or was it me?
OK, come one... just one more game.
Next Song: St. Claire
Monday, May 30, 2016
If I Were a Weapon
How far we have come since "If You Were in My Movie."
This is a couple that should be glad, at least, that they are breaking up.
He says that she reminds him of a "gun." In trying to unpack that, she guesses he means that she is "lethal at close range" with her words, and also capable of shutting down communications (she has a "silencer") and shocking people.
She feels, however, that she is a "needle." She's always "pulling on the thread," which could either mean that he is as annoying as a loose thread... or that when she pulls on the thread of one of his lies, it unravels endlessly into an unbroken string of falsehoods. Also, he doesn't listen; she is always "making the same point" and "wondering if [he] heard."
Meanwhile, what weapon does she think he is? A "hammer." He's very "blunt" in his honesty. He's "heavy at the end," which seems to mean that when he starts to say something hurtful, he never stops before finishing. And he is "coming down on [her]" with criticism and threats from on high.
She then admits that she has a secret weapon. She likens it to a "pocket knife" in that the blade is "concealed." This language implies that she knows a secret of his that can hurt him. She doesn't want to use it, but she will if she is backed into a corner. How do we know it's his? Once he "sees" it, he will want it "back." Perhaps it is an incriminating photograph or receipt.
She concludes that: "If I am that weapon/ I am pointing now at you." What has been a name-calling contest has now escalated to threats.
Why did it get to this point? This is not just a stand-off. He has a "hostage." Evidently, the divorce involves a custody battle, and he's winning.
If he forces her hand, she will ruin his reputation. But if he backs down on the custody issue, she is willing to continue to negotiate: "We'll talk this down until we see this through."
This is a couple that needs to no longer be a couple. It is good that they are separating. Does it hurt? Yes, but if they stay together, they will just keep causing each other more pain.
I may not be a marriage counselor, but if a couple's fights are about what kind of "weapon" the other person is, they probably they should no longer share a mailbox.
Next Song: Harbor Song
This is a couple that should be glad, at least, that they are breaking up.
He says that she reminds him of a "gun." In trying to unpack that, she guesses he means that she is "lethal at close range" with her words, and also capable of shutting down communications (she has a "silencer") and shocking people.
She feels, however, that she is a "needle." She's always "pulling on the thread," which could either mean that he is as annoying as a loose thread... or that when she pulls on the thread of one of his lies, it unravels endlessly into an unbroken string of falsehoods. Also, he doesn't listen; she is always "making the same point" and "wondering if [he] heard."
Meanwhile, what weapon does she think he is? A "hammer." He's very "blunt" in his honesty. He's "heavy at the end," which seems to mean that when he starts to say something hurtful, he never stops before finishing. And he is "coming down on [her]" with criticism and threats from on high.
She then admits that she has a secret weapon. She likens it to a "pocket knife" in that the blade is "concealed." This language implies that she knows a secret of his that can hurt him. She doesn't want to use it, but she will if she is backed into a corner. How do we know it's his? Once he "sees" it, he will want it "back." Perhaps it is an incriminating photograph or receipt.
She concludes that: "If I am that weapon/ I am pointing now at you." What has been a name-calling contest has now escalated to threats.
Why did it get to this point? This is not just a stand-off. He has a "hostage." Evidently, the divorce involves a custody battle, and he's winning.
If he forces her hand, she will ruin his reputation. But if he backs down on the custody issue, she is willing to continue to negotiate: "We'll talk this down until we see this through."
This is a couple that needs to no longer be a couple. It is good that they are separating. Does it hurt? Yes, but if they stay together, they will just keep causing each other more pain.
I may not be a marriage counselor, but if a couple's fights are about what kind of "weapon" the other person is, they probably they should no longer share a mailbox.
Next Song: Harbor Song
Monday, May 2, 2016
Soap and Water
We talk about some breaks being "clean" breaks. The speaker here uses the metaphor of "soap," not unlike Lady MacBeth. Well, the speaker here isn't trying to cleanse herself of murder-guilt, just relationship-residue. In both cases, the stain is metaphorical, but they try to use actual soap to remove it.
The speaker asks a lot of the soap. She wants it to "take the day from my hand," and let her begin the night anew.
She wants to "scrub the salt" from her skin. What salt? Was she cooking, or sailing in the sea? More likely this is the salt of tears on her face, or wiped away by her hand.
And she wants it to "slip me loose of this wedding band." Well, when a ring is stuck, one uses soap, or butter, or Vaseline, or something else slick to lubricate it loose. This seems more... permanent. She wants to wash away her marriage.
It's not only her outsides that she wants cleansed-- her "heart," too. After it is clean, she will "hang" it on a "(clothes)line" to dry, where the wind-whipped "sand" will "scour" it. Then she wants it "bleach(ed)" and disinfected with "vinegar" and then polished to a "shine."
This is an almost violent amount of cleaning, even for an organ as resilient as a heart. She must really be needing to get rid of him. Not just from her house, but from her life and psyche.
Lastly, she asks the soap to "wash the year from my life." Evidently, it has been a very difficult year, and she wants it erased from her memory.
She wants the soap to do the job of starch and an iron, to "straighten all that we trampled." She realizes that the divorce, like necessary medicine, can also have side effects on the route to healing.
And, in having "torn" the family bonds, she left a "cut," which she now wants the soap to disinfect and "heal." What cut? The one "we call husband and wife."
In the two choruses, she addresses the child of this now-ending marriage. In both, she says, "Daddy's a dark riddle." Not just a "riddle," as some of those can be fun or at least unobtrusive, but a "dark" one. Rather than try anymore to solve the riddle, she has decided to simply cut him loose-- she doesn't even care to try to find the answer anymore. There are some boxes labeled "Danger" that are simply not worth opening.
Then she describes herself, alternately, as "a headful of bees" and "a handful of thorns." In doing so, she acknowledges that the split, while necessary, was also harmful. Yes, the relationship was more harmful and had to end, but maybe there might have been a way to minimize the damage caused during the split, and by it.
But... was there? Or was she going through an emotional turmoil herself, what with her marriage ending? Did she lash out, stinging, inappropriately at times? Well, that was wrong... but there was still a reason for it. Her head was buzzing with preoccupations both practical and emotional; as far as supporting others, all she had to offer was "a handful of thorns."
So lastly, she acknowledges that this experience must have been tempestuous for her (their) daughter. "You are my little kite," she says-- totally at the mercy of forces she could not control-- her father's cold absence, her mother's scatterbrained frustration and psychological exhaustion. These, she refers to as a "wayward breeze"-- it's powerful, it's random, and there's nothing the poor kite can do about it.
She also knows that the child was aware of the routine fighting going on between her parents. These, she likens to "household storms" their kite of a child was "caught up" in.
A wayward breeze is bad enough-- a forgotten playdate, a missed birthday party. But for a child to have to hear her the thunder and lightning of her parents fighting is very difficult.
Maybe now the fighting is over, because the father isn't there anymore for her to fight with. But think of a "storm"... and its aftermath. Sure, the sun is out now. That doesn't mean everything is fine, though; what about the felled trees, the downed power lines, the flooded basements left in the storm's wake?
These can be cleaned up and cleared away with some effort. Then, to really make the house look normal again, you're going to need a roller and a can of paint, a mop and a bucket... and a lot of soap and water.
Are there clean breaks? Maybe with inanimate objects. With people, though...
Next Song: Songs in Red and Gray
The speaker asks a lot of the soap. She wants it to "take the day from my hand," and let her begin the night anew.
She wants to "scrub the salt" from her skin. What salt? Was she cooking, or sailing in the sea? More likely this is the salt of tears on her face, or wiped away by her hand.
And she wants it to "slip me loose of this wedding band." Well, when a ring is stuck, one uses soap, or butter, or Vaseline, or something else slick to lubricate it loose. This seems more... permanent. She wants to wash away her marriage.
It's not only her outsides that she wants cleansed-- her "heart," too. After it is clean, she will "hang" it on a "(clothes)line" to dry, where the wind-whipped "sand" will "scour" it. Then she wants it "bleach(ed)" and disinfected with "vinegar" and then polished to a "shine."
This is an almost violent amount of cleaning, even for an organ as resilient as a heart. She must really be needing to get rid of him. Not just from her house, but from her life and psyche.
Lastly, she asks the soap to "wash the year from my life." Evidently, it has been a very difficult year, and she wants it erased from her memory.
She wants the soap to do the job of starch and an iron, to "straighten all that we trampled." She realizes that the divorce, like necessary medicine, can also have side effects on the route to healing.
And, in having "torn" the family bonds, she left a "cut," which she now wants the soap to disinfect and "heal." What cut? The one "we call husband and wife."
In the two choruses, she addresses the child of this now-ending marriage. In both, she says, "Daddy's a dark riddle." Not just a "riddle," as some of those can be fun or at least unobtrusive, but a "dark" one. Rather than try anymore to solve the riddle, she has decided to simply cut him loose-- she doesn't even care to try to find the answer anymore. There are some boxes labeled "Danger" that are simply not worth opening.
Then she describes herself, alternately, as "a headful of bees" and "a handful of thorns." In doing so, she acknowledges that the split, while necessary, was also harmful. Yes, the relationship was more harmful and had to end, but maybe there might have been a way to minimize the damage caused during the split, and by it.
But... was there? Or was she going through an emotional turmoil herself, what with her marriage ending? Did she lash out, stinging, inappropriately at times? Well, that was wrong... but there was still a reason for it. Her head was buzzing with preoccupations both practical and emotional; as far as supporting others, all she had to offer was "a handful of thorns."
So lastly, she acknowledges that this experience must have been tempestuous for her (their) daughter. "You are my little kite," she says-- totally at the mercy of forces she could not control-- her father's cold absence, her mother's scatterbrained frustration and psychological exhaustion. These, she refers to as a "wayward breeze"-- it's powerful, it's random, and there's nothing the poor kite can do about it.
She also knows that the child was aware of the routine fighting going on between her parents. These, she likens to "household storms" their kite of a child was "caught up" in.
A wayward breeze is bad enough-- a forgotten playdate, a missed birthday party. But for a child to have to hear her the thunder and lightning of her parents fighting is very difficult.
Maybe now the fighting is over, because the father isn't there anymore for her to fight with. But think of a "storm"... and its aftermath. Sure, the sun is out now. That doesn't mean everything is fine, though; what about the felled trees, the downed power lines, the flooded basements left in the storm's wake?
These can be cleaned up and cleared away with some effort. Then, to really make the house look normal again, you're going to need a roller and a can of paint, a mop and a bucket... and a lot of soap and water.
Are there clean breaks? Maybe with inanimate objects. With people, though...
Next Song: Songs in Red and Gray
Monday, April 18, 2016
(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May
This type of song is known as a "response" song. In this case, it is response to a song sung by Rod Stewart called "Maggie May." At the time, this Maggie May person, as depicted in that song, would have been called, perhaps, a "Mrs. Robinson," while today she would be called a "MILF" or "cougar."
In that song, the speaker doesn't know what he wants, and is clearly ambivalent about his feelings for her, but in the end decides to leave.
Vega sees this type of relationship from the woman's viewpoint. "I'll never be your Maggie May/ the one you loved and left behind." (How does she know this so certainly? Spoiler Alert: she leaves him).
[One quibble: "That isn't me in bed you'll find" is an unfortunately forced rhyme. That poor phrase is doing some major contortions.]
She compares herself to a geisha in the next verse, interestingly. Although how accurate to the geisha lifestyle she is, I have no idea. I suppose there are many reasons to adopt such a lifestyle, and many ways to enact it.
Then, this small bridge: "And so you go/ No girl could say no/ To you." Wait... wasn't she the one who was going to "go" and leave him? Maybe in his mind, he will do the leaving.
As far as the next line, there is no issue. You might ask, again, "How can it be that no girl can refuse him... didn't she just do that?" Ah, but she is no "girl," is she? Isn't that the point? She's a full-grown woman.
One reason she knows it cannot last is that he has no guile, and so no suspicion. In fact, "we may... change" how we "appear," but she knows he will never "see within," or "ha[ve] that sight."
To make up for the lyrical mis-step above, Vega offers this clever bait and switch. We expect she is going to say that people "change from day to day," but the line is that people change "from day to night," adding a sexual element to such alterations.
Now comes the "spoiler" promised above. She will never be his Maggie May, because "I'll love you first and let you go." It's the old "You can't quit-- you're fired!" gambit.
Why? "Because it must be so." She is wise enough to know that, since it can't last, the quicker she pulls off the Band-Aid, the better.
What about his feelings? "You'll forgive or you will not." Cold, but also realistic. She can't be responsible for his reaction.
"And so a world turns on its end," with the breakup. This sounds like a catastrophe... but doesn't the world spin on its magnetic pole already? This may be taken two ways-- it's the end of the world, or it's business as usual-- because the breakup also can have differing interpretations.
Still, she will miss him, or at least remember him: "I'll see your face in dreams."
The song ends with an admission. She left him-- among other reasons-- because he couldn't keep up with how people change from "day to night." But... she can't either. In these dreams, she says, "nothing's as it seems."
How bad is her intuition? In these dreams, he "still appear[s] some kind of friend."
And so perhaps she dislikes that aspect of his personality because she shares it.
Yeah, that's not going to work...
Next Song: It Makes Me Wonder
In that song, the speaker doesn't know what he wants, and is clearly ambivalent about his feelings for her, but in the end decides to leave.
Vega sees this type of relationship from the woman's viewpoint. "I'll never be your Maggie May/ the one you loved and left behind." (How does she know this so certainly? Spoiler Alert: she leaves him).
[One quibble: "That isn't me in bed you'll find" is an unfortunately forced rhyme. That poor phrase is doing some major contortions.]
She compares herself to a geisha in the next verse, interestingly. Although how accurate to the geisha lifestyle she is, I have no idea. I suppose there are many reasons to adopt such a lifestyle, and many ways to enact it.
Then, this small bridge: "And so you go/ No girl could say no/ To you." Wait... wasn't she the one who was going to "go" and leave him? Maybe in his mind, he will do the leaving.
As far as the next line, there is no issue. You might ask, again, "How can it be that no girl can refuse him... didn't she just do that?" Ah, but she is no "girl," is she? Isn't that the point? She's a full-grown woman.
One reason she knows it cannot last is that he has no guile, and so no suspicion. In fact, "we may... change" how we "appear," but she knows he will never "see within," or "ha[ve] that sight."
To make up for the lyrical mis-step above, Vega offers this clever bait and switch. We expect she is going to say that people "change from day to day," but the line is that people change "from day to night," adding a sexual element to such alterations.
Now comes the "spoiler" promised above. She will never be his Maggie May, because "I'll love you first and let you go." It's the old "You can't quit-- you're fired!" gambit.
Why? "Because it must be so." She is wise enough to know that, since it can't last, the quicker she pulls off the Band-Aid, the better.
What about his feelings? "You'll forgive or you will not." Cold, but also realistic. She can't be responsible for his reaction.
"And so a world turns on its end," with the breakup. This sounds like a catastrophe... but doesn't the world spin on its magnetic pole already? This may be taken two ways-- it's the end of the world, or it's business as usual-- because the breakup also can have differing interpretations.
Still, she will miss him, or at least remember him: "I'll see your face in dreams."
The song ends with an admission. She left him-- among other reasons-- because he couldn't keep up with how people change from "day to night." But... she can't either. In these dreams, she says, "nothing's as it seems."
How bad is her intuition? In these dreams, he "still appear[s] some kind of friend."
And so perhaps she dislikes that aspect of his personality because she shares it.
Yeah, that's not going to work...
Next Song: It Makes Me Wonder
Monday, April 11, 2016
Widow's Walk
A "widow's walk" is a small walkway, really more of a platform, above the roof of many coastal homes, from New England to Italy, where they originated. The idea is that the wife of a sailor can watch the water to see if her husband is coming home... or if she has become a widow.
This song owes something to the great, ancient ballad "Sir Patrick Spens," about a ship that went down in a storm. It is safe to say, however, the main inspiration was the break-up of Vega's marriage.
The speaker begins "Consider me a widow, boys." So her husband died-- very sad. Well, no, she continues, "It's not the man, but the marriage that was drowned."
"So I walk the walk," she says, which has a double meaning. One is that she is authentic, she doesn't only "talk the talk," but fulfills it by "walking the walk." The other meaning is that she walks the "widow's walk," the structure described above.
This we know because she already mentioned "drown[ing]" but now continues that she is "wait[ing]" and is "watchful" of the "sky," while "looking for a kind of vessel." She is clearly evoking the image of a sailor's wife on a widow's walk, worried at the weather and gazing hopefully for the safe return of her husband's boat. But, she says, she has "never found" this kind of vessel.
She has four more things to say. One is to ask, "Does the weather say a better day is nearing?" She does hold out hope for the future, and has not discounted the possibility of future relationships, er, voyages.
The second is that she will "set [her] house in order now." This is a typical response to a loss. For one, it is a practical necessity. Emotionally, it helps distract us from the pain and helps us reclaim a sense of control in a chaotic situation.
The third is that she will "wait upon the Will." This could mean her husband's last will and testament, or in the case of a divorce, the judge's rulings. But the fact that it is capitalized indicates that this refers to the Divine Will. She feels she is bad at controlling her life, so she asks that God take the helm for now.
The last comment relates to that: "It's clear that I need better skill at steering." Oh, God has the wheel for now. But as soon as she regains her confidence, she will switch from "Sir Patrick Spens" to "Invictus," which ends: "I am the master of my fate/ I am the captain of my soul," and take back the helm.
She keeps returning to the site of the wreck, hoping to learn something. I think that, ultimately, she does, and the lesson is:
Ship happens.
Next song: "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May"
This song owes something to the great, ancient ballad "Sir Patrick Spens," about a ship that went down in a storm. It is safe to say, however, the main inspiration was the break-up of Vega's marriage.
The speaker begins "Consider me a widow, boys." So her husband died-- very sad. Well, no, she continues, "It's not the man, but the marriage that was drowned."
"So I walk the walk," she says, which has a double meaning. One is that she is authentic, she doesn't only "talk the talk," but fulfills it by "walking the walk." The other meaning is that she walks the "widow's walk," the structure described above.
This we know because she already mentioned "drown[ing]" but now continues that she is "wait[ing]" and is "watchful" of the "sky," while "looking for a kind of vessel." She is clearly evoking the image of a sailor's wife on a widow's walk, worried at the weather and gazing hopefully for the safe return of her husband's boat. But, she says, she has "never found" this kind of vessel.
Still, she did find some kind of vessel, because she "saw it splinter" and tear apart when it "hit the rocks."
She has becomes somewhat obsessed about the incident. She finds that she "keep[s] returning" to "where I did see the thing go down... as if there's something at the site/ I should be learning."
She does "grieve" at the demise of the ship, even though, she says, "I knew the ship was empty by the time" it shattered on the rocks. How did she know this?
"We watch the wind and set the sail," she says, at the beginning of the voyage, "but save ourselves when all omens point to 'fail.'" When they saw the storm was surging, and knew that a crash was imminent, they abandoned ship-- as anyone would.
So she blames no one: "We could not hold on when fate became unruly." She chalks the whole disaster up to "fate."
She has four more things to say. One is to ask, "Does the weather say a better day is nearing?" She does hold out hope for the future, and has not discounted the possibility of future relationships, er, voyages.
The second is that she will "set [her] house in order now." This is a typical response to a loss. For one, it is a practical necessity. Emotionally, it helps distract us from the pain and helps us reclaim a sense of control in a chaotic situation.
The third is that she will "wait upon the Will." This could mean her husband's last will and testament, or in the case of a divorce, the judge's rulings. But the fact that it is capitalized indicates that this refers to the Divine Will. She feels she is bad at controlling her life, so she asks that God take the helm for now.
The last comment relates to that: "It's clear that I need better skill at steering." Oh, God has the wheel for now. But as soon as she regains her confidence, she will switch from "Sir Patrick Spens" to "Invictus," which ends: "I am the master of my fate/ I am the captain of my soul," and take back the helm.
She keeps returning to the site of the wreck, hoping to learn something. I think that, ultimately, she does, and the lesson is:
Ship happens.
Next song: "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May"
Monday, January 11, 2016
Casual Match
The title is a pun-- a "casual match" seems to imply a relationship that was not formal or serious, perhaps more along the lines of what today is called "friends with benefits."
But the song turns the phrase into a metaphor by taking it more literally-- a casually tossed match, of the kind used to light candles and cigarettes, that has caused a fire in some poor farmer's field.
Taking the metaphor back to the relationship, then, the man involved seems to have done something offhanded that-- oops-- torched the entire relationship.
It could be that the relationship between the speaker and her subject was a formal one, but the "casual match" was a fling that the man had with another woman. While it was just a one-night-stand to him-- a "hook-up," as they say today-- it was enough to cause the woman a wildfire of misery and anger. We start to see more evidence of this soon...
But that's the chorus. The song starts with the woman trying to see "what had had set this inner field alight." So the "field" is not a real one but a metaphor for her emotional state. And it's on fire... but why?
The fire's own light indicates the one who set it: "The outline of a man against the night." Perhaps she was wakened by his nighttime return home. He opened the door to the house at night, and she saw his silhouette against the streetlight.
Strangely, he tries to comfort her rather than, say, deny the obvious-- "It's not what you think!"-- or apologize. It's "I'm sorry you got hurt," not "I'm sorry I hurt you." If only she weren't so sensitive...
She is having none of that: "Take back your sympathy." She immediately ends the relationship, too: "I'd rather break the thread/ That bound us close." His making his cheating about her is the last straw.
Then she decides that they should agree "we called a bluff." But who was the one bluffing? Were they both? Did she already suspect him? Did he suspect that she suspected?
Well, it sounds like his infidelity fits what she already knows... they two of them haven't been intimate in a long time-- the hot match landed "in a very dry field." So it's not that big of a shock to her that he had been getting his... needs met elsewhere.
Now that we're back on the agricultural metaphor, she asks, rhetorically, "Gee, you threw a lit match in dry straw-- wonder what's going to happen?" The way he phrases this is within the farming metaphor: "What will be the season's yield?" (The amount of crops harvested is said to be a "yield," as in, "We had a great yield of wheat this year.")
Her eyes are black now, with her pupils dilated in rage. But she uses the fire metaphor this time: "My eyes have gone to coal." Coal is not necessarily on fire, but it is fuel and will catch fire easily.
In such a "moment" she says, "the heat of love becomes the chill of doubt." She was in love with him, but an instant, that "heat" has evaporated, like someone throwing cold water on a flame.
She asks the question again, about what his actions will result in, "what will be the season's yield." This time, she answers: "Fire and ash." It's all over, with no chance to rebuild it.
She does admit that she does not have definitive proof of his cheating-- "Look for the sign, but it is not revealed." There is no lipstick on his collar, so to speak.
But it is too late. Her suspicions are too intense; she simply can't trust him.
This relationship has gone down in flames. And the guy? He's toast.
Next Song: Thin Man
But the song turns the phrase into a metaphor by taking it more literally-- a casually tossed match, of the kind used to light candles and cigarettes, that has caused a fire in some poor farmer's field.
Taking the metaphor back to the relationship, then, the man involved seems to have done something offhanded that-- oops-- torched the entire relationship.
It could be that the relationship between the speaker and her subject was a formal one, but the "casual match" was a fling that the man had with another woman. While it was just a one-night-stand to him-- a "hook-up," as they say today-- it was enough to cause the woman a wildfire of misery and anger. We start to see more evidence of this soon...
But that's the chorus. The song starts with the woman trying to see "what had had set this inner field alight." So the "field" is not a real one but a metaphor for her emotional state. And it's on fire... but why?
The fire's own light indicates the one who set it: "The outline of a man against the night." Perhaps she was wakened by his nighttime return home. He opened the door to the house at night, and she saw his silhouette against the streetlight.
Strangely, he tries to comfort her rather than, say, deny the obvious-- "It's not what you think!"-- or apologize. It's "I'm sorry you got hurt," not "I'm sorry I hurt you." If only she weren't so sensitive...
She is having none of that: "Take back your sympathy." She immediately ends the relationship, too: "I'd rather break the thread/ That bound us close." His making his cheating about her is the last straw.
Then she decides that they should agree "we called a bluff." But who was the one bluffing? Were they both? Did she already suspect him? Did he suspect that she suspected?
Well, it sounds like his infidelity fits what she already knows... they two of them haven't been intimate in a long time-- the hot match landed "in a very dry field." So it's not that big of a shock to her that he had been getting his... needs met elsewhere.
Now that we're back on the agricultural metaphor, she asks, rhetorically, "Gee, you threw a lit match in dry straw-- wonder what's going to happen?" The way he phrases this is within the farming metaphor: "What will be the season's yield?" (The amount of crops harvested is said to be a "yield," as in, "We had a great yield of wheat this year.")
Her eyes are black now, with her pupils dilated in rage. But she uses the fire metaphor this time: "My eyes have gone to coal." Coal is not necessarily on fire, but it is fuel and will catch fire easily.
In such a "moment" she says, "the heat of love becomes the chill of doubt." She was in love with him, but an instant, that "heat" has evaporated, like someone throwing cold water on a flame.
She asks the question again, about what his actions will result in, "what will be the season's yield." This time, she answers: "Fire and ash." It's all over, with no chance to rebuild it.
She does admit that she does not have definitive proof of his cheating-- "Look for the sign, but it is not revealed." There is no lipstick on his collar, so to speak.
But it is too late. Her suspicions are too intense; she simply can't trust him.
This relationship has gone down in flames. And the guy? He's toast.
Next Song: Thin Man
Friday, December 25, 2015
Headshots
"Headshot" is a term from modeling and theater. It refers to the photo of a model or actor's face that accompanies their resume or c.v. Such things are not allowed in most professions, given the potential for discrimination, but they are allowed-- even required-- in those fields where your face is one of your qualifications.
Evidently, someone was advertising their business, which was taking such photos. They used one of the headshots they had taken in the ad to show the quality and style of their photography. They then plastered these posters across the city; "He's everywhere," from a wall to a lamppost. "Turn the corner, and he's still there."
Apparently, there was no other information on the posters: "The sign said 'headshots'... a picture of a boy and a number you could call... and that was all."
Since there were so many posters, the lighting conditions in each case was different, which made each photo look different (even though it was the exact same image each time). In one case, a "shadow" fell across just the eyes in the image, and the viewer noted that this "can... make the difference/ In what you see."
As in "Marlene on the Wall," the speaker imagines the image being able to see the people looking at it, "Watching all the people/ Who are passing unaware."
While Marlene Dietrich's image simply "regards" her viewers in that song, the boy in this headshot seems to pass "judgment" on those who pass him. Perhaps he holds an air of arrogance or disdain... or perhaps this is just read into his expression by the viewer.
This negative interpretation of the boy's expression could be explained by the viewer's negative mood, in turn explained by the fact that the "day" was "cold and gray." Or maybe something more than just the weather?
"The boy becomes a picture/ Of guilt and sympathy." So... now the boy is not disdainful but pitiful and pitying for some reason.
"And so I think of you/ (and) Of the days we were together." The boy's image is nothing, really, but a reminder of a lost love. "I knew that you loved me/ That was the difference/ In what we see." (We know the relationship is in the past because of the word "were," "memory," and "history.")
A shadow across the picture of a face-- which was not part of the original image but only an accident of its placement-- can change the way one sees that face nevertheless. Similarly, her love for her lover was altered by the fact that she knew her love was returned. If she knew it was unrequited, she would have felt differently, as she now does.
That reciprocated love was nothing she caused, and yet it changed the way she saw him-- just like the shadow changed the way she saw the boy's face.
The song closes with the words "that's history," to mean that the relationship is over (and that maybe she should stop obsessing about it). But it's also the way we see past events-- through the lens of the present.
One generation, for instance, sees in a historic figure like Andrew Jackson a bold general and strong president. A later generation may see the same person as violent and bigoted. Jackson himself, of course, no longer has any say in the matter. He's just a face on some currency.
There have been numerous psychological studies on this issue. One study runs thus: In one case, a person is told they have failed a test, in the other that they passed admirably. In each case, an un-involved person is standing perhaps 10 feet away. Later, the test-takers are asked what they think of that person. Those who did well saw them favorably: "He seemed like a nice guy." Those who failed disliked him: "He was just standing there, listening to the teacher tell me I failed! What a jerk!"
The bad news for the speaker is that everything seems to remind her of her rejection, since even a nondescript poster-face seems to be judging her as a loser.
The good news for us is that if someone treats us poorly, we can now know that it may have nothing to do with us-- maybe we were just there when that other person was mad at the weather or heard some bad news.
Next Song: Caramel
Evidently, someone was advertising their business, which was taking such photos. They used one of the headshots they had taken in the ad to show the quality and style of their photography. They then plastered these posters across the city; "He's everywhere," from a wall to a lamppost. "Turn the corner, and he's still there."
Apparently, there was no other information on the posters: "The sign said 'headshots'... a picture of a boy and a number you could call... and that was all."
Since there were so many posters, the lighting conditions in each case was different, which made each photo look different (even though it was the exact same image each time). In one case, a "shadow" fell across just the eyes in the image, and the viewer noted that this "can... make the difference/ In what you see."
As in "Marlene on the Wall," the speaker imagines the image being able to see the people looking at it, "Watching all the people/ Who are passing unaware."
While Marlene Dietrich's image simply "regards" her viewers in that song, the boy in this headshot seems to pass "judgment" on those who pass him. Perhaps he holds an air of arrogance or disdain... or perhaps this is just read into his expression by the viewer.
This negative interpretation of the boy's expression could be explained by the viewer's negative mood, in turn explained by the fact that the "day" was "cold and gray." Or maybe something more than just the weather?
"The boy becomes a picture/ Of guilt and sympathy." So... now the boy is not disdainful but pitiful and pitying for some reason.
"And so I think of you/ (and) Of the days we were together." The boy's image is nothing, really, but a reminder of a lost love. "I knew that you loved me/ That was the difference/ In what we see." (We know the relationship is in the past because of the word "were," "memory," and "history.")
A shadow across the picture of a face-- which was not part of the original image but only an accident of its placement-- can change the way one sees that face nevertheless. Similarly, her love for her lover was altered by the fact that she knew her love was returned. If she knew it was unrequited, she would have felt differently, as she now does.
That reciprocated love was nothing she caused, and yet it changed the way she saw him-- just like the shadow changed the way she saw the boy's face.
The song closes with the words "that's history," to mean that the relationship is over (and that maybe she should stop obsessing about it). But it's also the way we see past events-- through the lens of the present.
One generation, for instance, sees in a historic figure like Andrew Jackson a bold general and strong president. A later generation may see the same person as violent and bigoted. Jackson himself, of course, no longer has any say in the matter. He's just a face on some currency.
There have been numerous psychological studies on this issue. One study runs thus: In one case, a person is told they have failed a test, in the other that they passed admirably. In each case, an un-involved person is standing perhaps 10 feet away. Later, the test-takers are asked what they think of that person. Those who did well saw them favorably: "He seemed like a nice guy." Those who failed disliked him: "He was just standing there, listening to the teacher tell me I failed! What a jerk!"
The bad news for the speaker is that everything seems to remind her of her rejection, since even a nondescript poster-face seems to be judging her as a loser.
The good news for us is that if someone treats us poorly, we can now know that it may have nothing to do with us-- maybe we were just there when that other person was mad at the weather or heard some bad news.
Next Song: Caramel
Sunday, September 27, 2015
In Liverpool
Liverpool, of course, is now best known as the home of The Beatles. However, it is also a city where other things happen, and I don't see another reference to them in the song.
The other reference that is in the song is to a "hunchback," since the best-known church-bell ringer is Quasimodo, the fictioanl Hunchback of Notre Dame (and if someone can explain to me why a college with the French name of "Notre Dame" ["Our Lady," i.e. the Virgin Mary] is home to the Fightin' Irish and not the Fightin' French, I'd be much obliged, as I've always wondered.) Not that it is relevant to the song... in which a church-bell ringer appears prominently.
The song, because of that bell-ringer, is one of Vega's most enigmatic. So we will leave the bell-ringer aside for a moment and focus on the verses, which seem a straightforward break-up song.
It starts with the setting for the remembrance of loves past. We are in Liverpool, England, and it is a Sunday, when people are in church and the church-bell ringers are at work there. As everyone is worshipping, there is "No traffic/ On the avenue... No sound, down in this part of town."
We also learn a bits about the now-gone lover, piecemeal. So far, we learn that he is "pale and thin," the last trait of which reminds us of the lover from the song "Gypsy," who had "a long and slender body." In the next verse, we learn that he is from a different time-zone, since he is "Homesick/ For a clock that told the same time" as the one he is used to.
We learn that the she was somehow affected by him: "If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms/ You'll probably swallow some of their history." This could be an illusion to many things, but I think it might be a disease he had contracted earlier in his "history" that he has now passed to her. It could also simply be a character trait, like melancholy. On a personal note, an ex-girlfriend of mind told me that my love of my faith and faith-community awoke a similar yen in her she had not know was there. So it could be something of this nature as well.
Now that they are apart, the speaker says, "I'll be the girl who sings for her supper," which implies the speaker is in fact Vega herself, who as a professional musician does exactly that; the allusion is to a Mother Goose rhyme: "Little Tommy Tucker/ Sings for his supper/ What shall he eat?/ White bread and butter." In the rhyme, Tommy can't even afford a "knfe" to butter his bread with, so he ends up "without any wife." Alone, just like our singer, here.
We learn two more things about the lover: He is "monk"-like, and he has a high forehead. Perhaps the disease he shared was not of the intimate kind? Perhaps he was like a monk in that there was no intimacy at all... and that was the bit of his history that colored their relationship-- the inability to get close, for having been hurt before.
"He'll be the man who's already working," the song continues. Wait, "He" who? Hmm. Perhaps the non-lover was unable to be close to her because he was unable to get close to women, since he was more interested in men. And now this mysterius "he" is already employed, to boot, at something more stable that "singing for his supper."
What does his job, "spreading a memory all through the sky" involve, however? Could this be mean he makes eulogies, or writes obituaries? Does he scatter cremated ashes as part of his job? A "memory" does not have to be a "memorial," though. It could be that he is a radio reporter who focuses on nostalgic stories.
In any case, that is this other individual. Our speaker is still in Liverpool, and it is still Sunday. "No reason to even remember you now," she muses... "except"...
The "boy in the belfry," the church-bell ringer. What has he been up to that has triggered this flood of memory? "He's been ringing the bells in the church for the last half an hour." That is certainly a long time to continually ring church bells! Usually, they toll the hour or signal an event like a wedding, funeral, or emergency. You would think that after the first five or ten minutes someone would have gone up to the belfry to see why the boy was ringing them for so long.
But no one does, and we'll never know what his reason was. "He's throwing himself down from the top of the tower." He has committed suicide, again for an unknown reason.
All she can do is speculate. "He's crazy," she muses. But what drove him to that state? Well, to her, the bells "sound like he's missing something/ Or someone that he knows he can't have now."
Why, of all things, would she assume that was his reason for all that bell-ringing? Simply because misses someone: "If he isn't, I certainly am." We often impute reasons to others that are based solely on our own experiences and states of mind.
The speaker hears bells, and her memory of a lost love is awakened. She thinks over the whole relationship, and tries to makes sense of it. Perhaps the church bells reminded her of the man's monkish behavior. Then she realizes, "Those bells have been going on a while now... what's that about?" She looks over to the bell tower and sees the bell-ringer leaping to his death. "Only one thing could have caused all of that," she thinks. "Heartbreak."
More likely, this is not something she witnessed, but perhaps read about, and imagined herself there. Either that, or the feeling of loss called to her mind the idea of wanting everyone to know about he death of this relationship, and the only way to express such an immense loss was with church bells.
Next Song: 99.9F
The other reference that is in the song is to a "hunchback," since the best-known church-bell ringer is Quasimodo, the fictioanl Hunchback of Notre Dame (and if someone can explain to me why a college with the French name of "Notre Dame" ["Our Lady," i.e. the Virgin Mary] is home to the Fightin' Irish and not the Fightin' French, I'd be much obliged, as I've always wondered.) Not that it is relevant to the song... in which a church-bell ringer appears prominently.
The song, because of that bell-ringer, is one of Vega's most enigmatic. So we will leave the bell-ringer aside for a moment and focus on the verses, which seem a straightforward break-up song.
It starts with the setting for the remembrance of loves past. We are in Liverpool, England, and it is a Sunday, when people are in church and the church-bell ringers are at work there. As everyone is worshipping, there is "No traffic/ On the avenue... No sound, down in this part of town."
We also learn a bits about the now-gone lover, piecemeal. So far, we learn that he is "pale and thin," the last trait of which reminds us of the lover from the song "Gypsy," who had "a long and slender body." In the next verse, we learn that he is from a different time-zone, since he is "Homesick/ For a clock that told the same time" as the one he is used to.
We learn that the she was somehow affected by him: "If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms/ You'll probably swallow some of their history." This could be an illusion to many things, but I think it might be a disease he had contracted earlier in his "history" that he has now passed to her. It could also simply be a character trait, like melancholy. On a personal note, an ex-girlfriend of mind told me that my love of my faith and faith-community awoke a similar yen in her she had not know was there. So it could be something of this nature as well.
Now that they are apart, the speaker says, "I'll be the girl who sings for her supper," which implies the speaker is in fact Vega herself, who as a professional musician does exactly that; the allusion is to a Mother Goose rhyme: "Little Tommy Tucker/ Sings for his supper/ What shall he eat?/ White bread and butter." In the rhyme, Tommy can't even afford a "knfe" to butter his bread with, so he ends up "without any wife." Alone, just like our singer, here.
We learn two more things about the lover: He is "monk"-like, and he has a high forehead. Perhaps the disease he shared was not of the intimate kind? Perhaps he was like a monk in that there was no intimacy at all... and that was the bit of his history that colored their relationship-- the inability to get close, for having been hurt before.
"He'll be the man who's already working," the song continues. Wait, "He" who? Hmm. Perhaps the non-lover was unable to be close to her because he was unable to get close to women, since he was more interested in men. And now this mysterius "he" is already employed, to boot, at something more stable that "singing for his supper."
What does his job, "spreading a memory all through the sky" involve, however? Could this be mean he makes eulogies, or writes obituaries? Does he scatter cremated ashes as part of his job? A "memory" does not have to be a "memorial," though. It could be that he is a radio reporter who focuses on nostalgic stories.
In any case, that is this other individual. Our speaker is still in Liverpool, and it is still Sunday. "No reason to even remember you now," she muses... "except"...
The "boy in the belfry," the church-bell ringer. What has he been up to that has triggered this flood of memory? "He's been ringing the bells in the church for the last half an hour." That is certainly a long time to continually ring church bells! Usually, they toll the hour or signal an event like a wedding, funeral, or emergency. You would think that after the first five or ten minutes someone would have gone up to the belfry to see why the boy was ringing them for so long.
But no one does, and we'll never know what his reason was. "He's throwing himself down from the top of the tower." He has committed suicide, again for an unknown reason.
All she can do is speculate. "He's crazy," she muses. But what drove him to that state? Well, to her, the bells "sound like he's missing something/ Or someone that he knows he can't have now."
Why, of all things, would she assume that was his reason for all that bell-ringing? Simply because misses someone: "If he isn't, I certainly am." We often impute reasons to others that are based solely on our own experiences and states of mind.
The speaker hears bells, and her memory of a lost love is awakened. She thinks over the whole relationship, and tries to makes sense of it. Perhaps the church bells reminded her of the man's monkish behavior. Then she realizes, "Those bells have been going on a while now... what's that about?" She looks over to the bell tower and sees the bell-ringer leaping to his death. "Only one thing could have caused all of that," she thinks. "Heartbreak."
More likely, this is not something she witnessed, but perhaps read about, and imagined herself there. Either that, or the feeling of loss called to her mind the idea of wanting everyone to know about he death of this relationship, and the only way to express such an immense loss was with church bells.
Next Song: 99.9F
Monday, June 15, 2015
Gypsy
This is one of Vega's loveliest songs altogether. It is a love song-- technically a break-up song, but not the acrimonious kind. The Japanese farewell, "sayonara," means "since it must be so," and that is the sighing, bittersweet sort of farewell this song evokes.
The song begins with a recognition that the two lovers are from different worlds. "You come from far away," it begins, and refers to the couple as a pair of "strangers."
He comes from a land of "sunrise," but they meet and form their relationship at "night." This is "where" they come to "know each other now," by dint of having recognized "the sign" of their mutual attraction.
The chorus is at once tender-- "hold me like a baby/ That will not fall asleep"-- and passionate: "Let me hear you through the heat." Not many relationships manage to encompass both sorts of affection.
The next verse refers to the foreign lover as being a "jester." The verse unfolds with more words that evoke a Medieval or Renaissance setting: "courtyard," "women/ With the dimples and the curls," "mischievous," "blowing skirts."
There is a hint of playful jealousy here-- all sorts of women "distract" the fellow, that rogue... but he remains hers.
More old-timey imagery in the next verse: an "earring," a "potter," a "tale." She describes his features and traits colorfully. His hands are like "water," his young face belies his accumulated "wisdom," he can tell a story as well as a "fool" (here a synonym for the above "jester"). Yet, while a fool causes chaos, this fellow is an "arranger of disorder."
As much as she loves this man, she knows it has to end. Yet, he has influenced her future choices. She describes to him her new beau-- not to cause him envy, but to to compliment him by saying: "See how much you affected my life! I can now only date men like you. And since I can't have you..."
And who is her new swain? He is also a storyteller, "a spinner/ Of strange and gauzy threads." He also has hands she admires, that are "sweetest" and "softest."
And he also is a traveler... but now someone she can travel with. "We'll blow away forever," she says, "and go on to different lands." Remember the first word in the song was "you," which now switches to "we," meaning her and... not him.
She now bids farewell to the first man, saying that he is not to seek her now that she has "another." Still, he should be gratified in knowing that he is with her in any case, in her heart: "with me you will stay."
How will he know that she still misses him and cherishes their time together? "You will hear yourself in song." Namely, this one.
Next Song: Wooden Horse
The song begins with a recognition that the two lovers are from different worlds. "You come from far away," it begins, and refers to the couple as a pair of "strangers."
He comes from a land of "sunrise," but they meet and form their relationship at "night." This is "where" they come to "know each other now," by dint of having recognized "the sign" of their mutual attraction.
The chorus is at once tender-- "hold me like a baby/ That will not fall asleep"-- and passionate: "Let me hear you through the heat." Not many relationships manage to encompass both sorts of affection.
The next verse refers to the foreign lover as being a "jester." The verse unfolds with more words that evoke a Medieval or Renaissance setting: "courtyard," "women/ With the dimples and the curls," "mischievous," "blowing skirts."
There is a hint of playful jealousy here-- all sorts of women "distract" the fellow, that rogue... but he remains hers.
More old-timey imagery in the next verse: an "earring," a "potter," a "tale." She describes his features and traits colorfully. His hands are like "water," his young face belies his accumulated "wisdom," he can tell a story as well as a "fool" (here a synonym for the above "jester"). Yet, while a fool causes chaos, this fellow is an "arranger of disorder."
As much as she loves this man, she knows it has to end. Yet, he has influenced her future choices. She describes to him her new beau-- not to cause him envy, but to to compliment him by saying: "See how much you affected my life! I can now only date men like you. And since I can't have you..."
And who is her new swain? He is also a storyteller, "a spinner/ Of strange and gauzy threads." He also has hands she admires, that are "sweetest" and "softest."
And he also is a traveler... but now someone she can travel with. "We'll blow away forever," she says, "and go on to different lands." Remember the first word in the song was "you," which now switches to "we," meaning her and... not him.
She now bids farewell to the first man, saying that he is not to seek her now that she has "another." Still, he should be gratified in knowing that he is with her in any case, in her heart: "with me you will stay."
How will he know that she still misses him and cherishes their time together? "You will hear yourself in song." Namely, this one.
Next Song: Wooden Horse
Monday, June 1, 2015
Calypso
Vega is not the only one to have been enchanted by this mythical nymph, whose name means "to hide or deceive."
Jacques Cousteau named his boat for her, and John Denver wrote a song with this same title about that scientist. There have been other US and UK military ships with the name as well. The piece of tech that is branded Calypso is, aptly, an underwater camera.
There is an entire genre of Latin dance with this name; Harry Belafonte recorded an album of its music. Calypso is also the name of a moon of Saturn, an asteroid, and what NASA called its "Cloud-Aerosol Lidar and Infrared Pathfinder Satellite Observations (CALIPSO)" orbiter.
And "Calypso" is a town in North Carolina, a cave in Malta, a soap opera in Venezuela, an airplane in Belgium, and an orchid found almost everywhere.
But the most appropriate use of the name must be Calypso Deep, the lowest point in the Mediterranean...
Because Calypso, according to Homer, lived on the Mediterranean coast. And it was she who kept Odysseus in thrall for seven of the ten years between his leaving the Trojan War and his return to his beloved Penelope. Yes, of all of the monsters he faced in The Odyssey, the most victorious over him used no other weapon than song.
Vega tells the tale from the sea nymph's viewpoint. She has Calypso introduce herself and explain that she saved Odysseus from "drowning."
The time of this song? The day he leaves after seven years. "Now today, come morning light, he sails away/ After one last night, I let him go."
She is aware that the only reason he stayed is that she made him. She had hoped that he would eventually simply love her of his own. But, while she "could taste the salt on his skin," she knew it was both "salt of the waves and of tears and while he pulled away, I kept him here for years."
While she was beautiful-- "my garden overflows... My hair blows long as I sing into the wind"-- she knew that her willowy wiles were no match for Penelope's pull on him.
She is well aware that his departure is permanent. "It's a lonely time ahead," she acknowledges, but "I do not ask him to return."
Instead, "I will stand upon the shore with a clean heart and my song in the wind."
There is no proper chorus, but five times in this short song, Calypso repeats "I let him go." It seems she is of two minds about this decision.
One is that she proud of herself. It would have been easy to continue to imprison Odysseus eternally-- she could have made him immortal. But she knew that the relationship was forced, and so false. And she finally could not allow the situation to endure. So she did the grown-up thing and let him go. "Yes, the whole mess was my fault-- but I fixed things in the end and now I want credit for that," she seems to say.
So much for her mind. Her heart is very upset with the new reality, however. "I let him go!" it weeps. "How could I have done such a thing! He's gone forever, and I'm alone again, and he could have just stayed here, and I could have been at least falsely happy instead of truly miserable. This is just awful. Yes, the situation had to end, but I'm still so, so sad that it did."
The first thing Calypso told us about herself was not that she was immortal or magical or even musical, but that she has "lived alone." Now that Odysseus is gone, she foresees "a lonely time ahead." Her solitary status is how she defines herself.
If she could only find someone to love her for her many gifts, to love her for her "sweetness," her beauty, and her talent. And not someone who was already taken, someone she had to force to stay. Surely in all the sea there is a lonely sailor with no one waiting at home, who would willingly stay and hear her sing eternally while combing and combing her long hair.
Maybe he won't be Odysseus. But Jason's a hunk, too.
Next Song: Language
Jacques Cousteau named his boat for her, and John Denver wrote a song with this same title about that scientist. There have been other US and UK military ships with the name as well. The piece of tech that is branded Calypso is, aptly, an underwater camera.
There is an entire genre of Latin dance with this name; Harry Belafonte recorded an album of its music. Calypso is also the name of a moon of Saturn, an asteroid, and what NASA called its "Cloud-Aerosol Lidar and Infrared Pathfinder Satellite Observations (CALIPSO)" orbiter.
And "Calypso" is a town in North Carolina, a cave in Malta, a soap opera in Venezuela, an airplane in Belgium, and an orchid found almost everywhere.
But the most appropriate use of the name must be Calypso Deep, the lowest point in the Mediterranean...
Because Calypso, according to Homer, lived on the Mediterranean coast. And it was she who kept Odysseus in thrall for seven of the ten years between his leaving the Trojan War and his return to his beloved Penelope. Yes, of all of the monsters he faced in The Odyssey, the most victorious over him used no other weapon than song.
Vega tells the tale from the sea nymph's viewpoint. She has Calypso introduce herself and explain that she saved Odysseus from "drowning."
The time of this song? The day he leaves after seven years. "Now today, come morning light, he sails away/ After one last night, I let him go."
She is aware that the only reason he stayed is that she made him. She had hoped that he would eventually simply love her of his own. But, while she "could taste the salt on his skin," she knew it was both "salt of the waves and of tears and while he pulled away, I kept him here for years."
While she was beautiful-- "my garden overflows... My hair blows long as I sing into the wind"-- she knew that her willowy wiles were no match for Penelope's pull on him.
She is well aware that his departure is permanent. "It's a lonely time ahead," she acknowledges, but "I do not ask him to return."
Instead, "I will stand upon the shore with a clean heart and my song in the wind."
There is no proper chorus, but five times in this short song, Calypso repeats "I let him go." It seems she is of two minds about this decision.
One is that she proud of herself. It would have been easy to continue to imprison Odysseus eternally-- she could have made him immortal. But she knew that the relationship was forced, and so false. And she finally could not allow the situation to endure. So she did the grown-up thing and let him go. "Yes, the whole mess was my fault-- but I fixed things in the end and now I want credit for that," she seems to say.
So much for her mind. Her heart is very upset with the new reality, however. "I let him go!" it weeps. "How could I have done such a thing! He's gone forever, and I'm alone again, and he could have just stayed here, and I could have been at least falsely happy instead of truly miserable. This is just awful. Yes, the situation had to end, but I'm still so, so sad that it did."
The first thing Calypso told us about herself was not that she was immortal or magical or even musical, but that she has "lived alone." Now that Odysseus is gone, she foresees "a lonely time ahead." Her solitary status is how she defines herself.
If she could only find someone to love her for her many gifts, to love her for her "sweetness," her beauty, and her talent. And not someone who was already taken, someone she had to force to stay. Surely in all the sea there is a lonely sailor with no one waiting at home, who would willingly stay and hear her sing eternally while combing and combing her long hair.
Maybe he won't be Odysseus. But Jason's a hunk, too.
Next Song: Language
Monday, February 2, 2015
Cracking
It has to be intimidating, deciding which song to put first... on one's first album. This, after all, will be the first series of sounds the listener will hear and forever associate with that performer. It's a very powerful form of the "first impression" idea-- the firm handshake, sincere eye contact, and genuine smile that determine if you are going to like this person or not.
This speaker (we cannot assume it is the author, as a rule) chooses to start with an invitation: "Walk with me/ And we will see/ What we have got." Friendly enough.
But first she presents an ambiguity, an pronoun without an antecedent. "It's a one time thing," she says. Um, what is? Perhaps she means a first impression. It is a "one time thing"-- there is no second first impression. However, we are constantly meeting new people. We don't notice how special it is because it "just" occurs frequently.
The speaker, who has asked us to walk with her, then notes that her pace is "ticking." This could refer to the sound itself, but then why not "clicking," the sound often made by women's "footsteps"? Because they are so regular. They are coming one per second, like the ticks of a clock, or "water dripping from a tree." This happens after a rain, or perhaps a thaw. The choice of the image tells us that we are outside, or at least near a window.
"Walking a hairline" likely has nothing to do with hair, but with a "hairline fracture." We can take this from the title, "Cracking," but also from the fact that, in general, people do not walk on hairlines in the "receding hairline" sense of the word. This is a more poetic way to say not that she is "walking on a thin line"-- or as the other cliche has it, a "walking a tightrope"-- but not on a thing at all, not a line or string or wire.
No, she is walking on a crack, a faultline, between two tectonic plates. The ground is cracking apart, and she is unsure as to which side she will choose. So far, the crack is just a hairline, and she can easily straddle the rift. So far. Perhaps that is why she is walking both rapidly-- one footfall per second-- yet also "very carefully," a word she enunciates in individual, ticking syllables.
Now we learn something about her emotional state. "My heart is broken," she says, and something about the way she delivers what must be the ultimate songwriting cliche-- the broken heart-- makes us hear it anew. The way she says this, it makes us think that, for the first time, the speaker truly appreciates this image. Her heart, like a teacup, has been shattered. The pieces are jagged and painful, and a beautiful thing is irreparably destroyed. The heart is also broken in the way a watch can be broken-- perfectly unchanged to the eye, yet now useless.
But then she continues, "It is worn out at the knees," like a pair of jeans, like something soft, not something brittle. How much time has her heart spent on its metaphoric knees for this to have happened? How much praying, begging... how much crawling? How much quick walking, as if walking away from the pain of the relationship?
Her heart is not working, and she details this: "Hearing muffled/ Seeing blind." Her heart is having a hard time processing input. She is becoming emotionally inert; she says, still of her heart, "Soon, it will hit the Deep Freeze" [sic]. It will come a solid lump of ice, in reaction to the fissure she treads.
While her heart is broken and her relationship is in break-up mode, she responds by trying to become solid, stolid, and stable.
It's not going to happen. "Something is cracking." Try though she might to respond to her situation by withdrawing, something is cracking. She can't even locate its source: "I don't know where."
She has a few guesses. "Ice on the sidewalk," which indicates that the dripping trees were in fact thawing, meaning that spring is imminent. This is also indicated by the ice breaking up underfoot. In fact, one of these cracks is likely the "hairline" she walked earlier that leant itself so well as a metaphor to her emotional state. Other things that could be "cracking" are "Brittle branches/ In the air." The branches died in the winter, but were held in place by the ice that killed them. Now that the ice is melting, the branches are free to snap off and fall.
She has been walking on the sidewalk, her shoes "ticking" on the hard cement. But now that the winter is ending, the Sun returns. After so much gloom, especially, she finds the Sun "blinding." Even her "blind" heart can sense the light, it is so intense.
And now what has been inert is now "dizzy." The colors we have had so far-- of black dead branches, gray sidewalks, and white ice-- are now overwhelmed by the Sun's "golden" rays.
And we have another color, "green." This new life is in motion as well, "dancing." She has reached "the park," where the grass and flowers and bushes and budding trees are waving in the spring wind.
The effect is irresistible. The sheer amount of energy she encounters-- light, color, movement, new growth-- has shattered her emotional inertia. Notably, it is "afternoon." The apex has been reached... and then passed.
The Sun is glad to see her, but in the way a teacher is glad to see that a tardy student has finally arrived. The Sun scolds her, wants to know "where the hell" she has been. Doesn't she know she is supposed to be in the sunlight, where the life is? Why had she been wasting time in the "hell" of an emotional winter? What does she have to say for herself?
At the outset, the speaker told us something about a "one time thing." We thought it was the meeting itself, our first impression. But now, perhaps not. Perhaps she is telling us about the relationship, that a break-up situation "happens a lot," but that each time is unique, a "one time thing."
If the relationship caused her to withdraw emotionally to that point, we certainly hope that this one in particular was a one time thing.
IMPACT:
Vega's eponymous debut went platinum in the UK, and also sold well in the US.
Next Song: Freeze Tag
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