Vega considers this the first song she ever wrote, at 14. It's a country song, dedicated to her kid brother, Matthew. But it wasn't released until her Close Up 4 album.
While it's about being a big sister, the tone is fairly maternal; she even leads off by calling him "Sonny boy." She notices that needs new shoes, and also "just about everything," so she plans a shopping trip.
Perhaps she saw his beat-up shoes by the door first, then his face once she got further inside the house. Because most people would first notice his black eye that isn't mentioned until the second verse.
Yes, his eye is "black and swollen," because he got into "another fight." She calls him a "troublemaker," and irresponsible for needing medical attention when they "don't have much money."
She seems to back off a bit-- "Maybe I shouldn't yell/ I know you're just a kid." But really, it's only her tone she is apologizing for, not her message. She is, in fact, in earnest: "I don't expect you to get everything just right/ But I think you ought to use a little more sense."
She admits that she tends to "worry too much," and that she should accept that "what [he's] got to do, [he'll] go ahead and do it."
Until now, she has ended every statement with "I know everything will be all right," or "I think everything will be all right." After she tells him to use more sense, she says, "Maybe then things will be all right." So they will be... and now are not. And, it's his, or at least his impulsiveness', fault.
But now the she realizes that she can't be there to police him at all times, this is going to keep happening. And she lets slip a note of doubt: "I sure hope things will be all right." Maybe her intuition is smarter than her optimism..?
Well, right now, it's bedtime, so all she wants is to kiss him goodnight. So she tucks him in...
...with a not-quite-comforting observation: "I know if you were gone, I'd miss the sound of laughter." Wait, she's 14 and he's her kid brother, so even younger. What makes her think he's "going" anywhere, and somewhere she'd "miss" him? He's certainly going to be coming home every evening for the foreseeable future, right, and not off to college or the army or an overseas business trip. Or does she think his impulsiveness is going to get him, well, killed?
If she is that worried about him getting into "trouble" he can't get out of, she needs to tuck him in, then go have a conversation with her parents about him.
Next Song: The Silver Lady
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood. Show all posts
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Monday, August 29, 2016
As You Are Now
This song is a lullaby to Vega's daughter, Ruby.
In it, she promises to save souvenirs of her daughter's life: her "tears," her "teeth" that fell out as a child, and her "hair" which was, we assume, regularly cut.
Now, the album's copyright date is 2007, and Ruby was born in 1994, which would make the "child" about 13 when the album came out. Since she had long since stopped losing her teeth, we have to imagine that the song was written long before.
So why include it on an album at this point? Because this is a divorce album. While many of the songs herein are about her ex and their break-up, Vega is more than just an ex-wife. She is also a mother, and she wants her child to be reassured that her love for her continues unabated.
What better way that to say, "Listen to this song I wrote you when you were just a girl! You're still my daughter now, and I still love you as much."
How does one, in practical terms, collect tears? By collecting "salty tissues." She calls these tears "diamonds," referring to the salt crystals left behind after she, it says, dries the tissues in the sun.
And teeth? In a "cardboard box." These are like another gemstone, "pearls," and they remind her of "laughter." There is a pun here-- the teeth are kept in "ticking," which is tough but decorative cotton or linen fabric. The line is that the teeth are kept "through the ticking and the tocks," as in the tick-tock of passing time.
The hair-- evidently a ponytail snipped off all at once-- will be woven into a "braid of gold/ For you to keep when you are old."
The mother then finishes the lullaby with a "kiss" on her "milky skin." Then she tucks the child, and her "soul," in a "sheet of silk."
The child will have given her mother all of these keepsakes of her growth and development. What will the mother pay her with for these gifts? Why, the kiss itself: "Put this kiss upon your brow."
Then comes the line that gives us the title: "Treasure you as you are now."
It doesn't, you will note, say "I will treasure you." No, the verbs are "put" and then "treasure." So who should be doing the putting and treasuring?
The child. She should put her mother's kiss on herself. She should treasure herself. As she is now. Whenever "now" is.
Her mother will have memories of the baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen, and the young woman, and she will collect mementos of those moments. The child however, needs to treasure each moment as it comes, and herself as she experiences it.
Alternately, one could read the verse as one long sentence: "now I kiss... put... treasure." In this, perhaps more literal, reading, the mother kisses the daughter on her forehead (and the "sheet," for some reason... and, somehow, her "soul") and treasures her as she is now.
The tenses are of note. She says she will collect the tears, teeth, and hair... but that she is "now" kissing, tucking, and treasuring her. Which implies that, at the time of the song's writing, the child had yet to lose any teeth, but still had time to grow a substantial ponytail. On average, the first "baby" teeth fall out at 6 or so, and therefore that's not really on a parent's radar until the kid approaches that age. We're going to say Ruby was 5 when the song was written... or that it was written to make it seem so.
Again, the song is now offered to the young adolescent whose parents are divorcing as a way of saying, "While a wife and husband can stop loving each other, a parent never stops loving a child. I still have your baby teeth and your childhood ponytail, and I still treasure you as well."
Next Song: "Angel's Doorway."
In it, she promises to save souvenirs of her daughter's life: her "tears," her "teeth" that fell out as a child, and her "hair" which was, we assume, regularly cut.
Now, the album's copyright date is 2007, and Ruby was born in 1994, which would make the "child" about 13 when the album came out. Since she had long since stopped losing her teeth, we have to imagine that the song was written long before.
So why include it on an album at this point? Because this is a divorce album. While many of the songs herein are about her ex and their break-up, Vega is more than just an ex-wife. She is also a mother, and she wants her child to be reassured that her love for her continues unabated.
What better way that to say, "Listen to this song I wrote you when you were just a girl! You're still my daughter now, and I still love you as much."
How does one, in practical terms, collect tears? By collecting "salty tissues." She calls these tears "diamonds," referring to the salt crystals left behind after she, it says, dries the tissues in the sun.
And teeth? In a "cardboard box." These are like another gemstone, "pearls," and they remind her of "laughter." There is a pun here-- the teeth are kept in "ticking," which is tough but decorative cotton or linen fabric. The line is that the teeth are kept "through the ticking and the tocks," as in the tick-tock of passing time.
The hair-- evidently a ponytail snipped off all at once-- will be woven into a "braid of gold/ For you to keep when you are old."
The mother then finishes the lullaby with a "kiss" on her "milky skin." Then she tucks the child, and her "soul," in a "sheet of silk."
The child will have given her mother all of these keepsakes of her growth and development. What will the mother pay her with for these gifts? Why, the kiss itself: "Put this kiss upon your brow."
Then comes the line that gives us the title: "Treasure you as you are now."
It doesn't, you will note, say "I will treasure you." No, the verbs are "put" and then "treasure." So who should be doing the putting and treasuring?
The child. She should put her mother's kiss on herself. She should treasure herself. As she is now. Whenever "now" is.
Her mother will have memories of the baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen, and the young woman, and she will collect mementos of those moments. The child however, needs to treasure each moment as it comes, and herself as she experiences it.
Alternately, one could read the verse as one long sentence: "now I kiss... put... treasure." In this, perhaps more literal, reading, the mother kisses the daughter on her forehead (and the "sheet," for some reason... and, somehow, her "soul") and treasures her as she is now.
The tenses are of note. She says she will collect the tears, teeth, and hair... but that she is "now" kissing, tucking, and treasuring her. Which implies that, at the time of the song's writing, the child had yet to lose any teeth, but still had time to grow a substantial ponytail. On average, the first "baby" teeth fall out at 6 or so, and therefore that's not really on a parent's radar until the kid approaches that age. We're going to say Ruby was 5 when the song was written... or that it was written to make it seem so.
Again, the song is now offered to the young adolescent whose parents are divorcing as a way of saying, "While a wife and husband can stop loving each other, a parent never stops loving a child. I still have your baby teeth and your childhood ponytail, and I still treasure you as well."
Next Song: "Angel's Doorway."
Monday, May 23, 2016
Priscilla
Dar Williams has a lovely song called "The Babysitter's Here," about the relationship children develop with those who care for them, whether they are related or not. Williams' babysitter, for instance, was in a play that she went to see.
The speaker here remembers that a woman "20 years older," named Priscilla (the name is only given in the title), used to play with her. It is not made clear if this is a babysitter, but it seems that if it were an older cousin or aunt, that would bear mentioning. Also, it does not say that her parents were there, so it seems they were not. A non-relative tending a child by herself, I think, qualifies as a babysitter.
Mostly, they would dance. Regardless of the type of "music" they played (also not given but also, it seems, not important) it was played "loud." They'd aim a lamp at themselves like a spotlight and perform for an imaginary audience.
Their dance style was "awkward ballet." Priscilla had a proper tutu, "her skirt of layers of chiffon." The child's tutu was more makeshift-- the fabric from a broken umbrella. But they "were in costume/ and this was a game."
And what kid doesn't love an adult willing to be as dance-y as they are?
Priscilla also made the child a paper doll, decked out in ribbons and lace. What a sweet gesture.
Sometimes, communication happens with words. With this babysitter, the connection was through movement: "Something will shine through the body."
It is important for children to have many influences in their lives. Vega is not a dancer as such, yet she felt the need to write a song about a woman she danced with, not the person who taught her to sing or play guitar or write songs.
"I think of her now I'm older/ I still love to dance," she says. She might have grown out of her dance-y ways... unless she had seen, as a child, another grown-up still dance in the hallway. And give her permission to still dance, 20 years and more later.
Next Song: If I Were a Weapon
The speaker here remembers that a woman "20 years older," named Priscilla (the name is only given in the title), used to play with her. It is not made clear if this is a babysitter, but it seems that if it were an older cousin or aunt, that would bear mentioning. Also, it does not say that her parents were there, so it seems they were not. A non-relative tending a child by herself, I think, qualifies as a babysitter.
Mostly, they would dance. Regardless of the type of "music" they played (also not given but also, it seems, not important) it was played "loud." They'd aim a lamp at themselves like a spotlight and perform for an imaginary audience.
Their dance style was "awkward ballet." Priscilla had a proper tutu, "her skirt of layers of chiffon." The child's tutu was more makeshift-- the fabric from a broken umbrella. But they "were in costume/ and this was a game."
And what kid doesn't love an adult willing to be as dance-y as they are?
Priscilla also made the child a paper doll, decked out in ribbons and lace. What a sweet gesture.
Sometimes, communication happens with words. With this babysitter, the connection was through movement: "Something will shine through the body."
It is important for children to have many influences in their lives. Vega is not a dancer as such, yet she felt the need to write a song about a woman she danced with, not the person who taught her to sing or play guitar or write songs.
"I think of her now I'm older/ I still love to dance," she says. She might have grown out of her dance-y ways... unless she had seen, as a child, another grown-up still dance in the hallway. And give her permission to still dance, 20 years and more later.
Next Song: If I Were a Weapon
Monday, November 2, 2015
As a Child
Psychologists, filmmakers, and software designers have, since 1970, spoken about the "Uncanny Valley." People who are clearly real have a high acceptance by humans, as do depictions of people that are clearly false, such as paintings, photographs, cartoons, and obviously mechanical robots.
In between these "peaks" of acceptance is a "valley" inhabited almost-but-not-quite human things that tend to set people on edge. Dolls, puppets, ventriloquism dummies, zombies, androids, vampires, taxidermied animals, and even clowns all seem to inhabit this so-called "uncanny valley" that leaves viewers with unease and sometimes even fear. Therefore, they are often employed in horror movies and Twilight Zone episodes.
Vega's song seems to be exploring this terrain. In the first two verses, we imagine ourselves "as a child" who has a "doll." So lifelike is this synthetic creation, "it seems to/ Have a life."
A child might also create a miniature world on the beach, in a sandbox, in a dollhouse, in a couch-cushion fort, with blocks, with a train set... or even just by drawing in the "dirt in the street." This space, in a child's imagination, "becomes a town."
This is an enormous amount of control and power, as much destructive as it was creative: "All the people" in Dirttown "depend on you/ Not to hurt them/ Or bang the stick down." Like the doll, the Dirttowners "seem to have a life."
This image seems to recall that of the Mark Twain short story "The Mysterious Stranger." At one point in an encounter between an angel named Satan (after his uncle, the original Satan) and some children, he shows them a town he had made of clay:
"...and while he talked he made a crowd of little men and women the size of your finger, and they went diligently to work and cleared and leveled off a space a couple of yards square in the grass and began to build a cunning little castle in it... five hundred of these toy people swarming briskly about and working diligently and wiping the sweat off their faces as natural as life... Two of the little workmen were quarreling, and in buzzing little bumblebee voices they were cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and blood; then they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers, threw them away, wiped the red from his fingers on his handkerchief, and went on talking where he had left off."
This Satan doesn't make the people of dirt or hit them with a stick, but I believe the imagery and sentiment are largely the same.
Now we arrive at the point of Vega's discourse: "As a child/ You see yourself." Aha! A child is, in some sense, also an almost-person (again, this explains their prevalence in horror movies).
Developmental psychologists explain that first, babies see themselves as parts or extensions of their mothers; this is only fair, as they have been quite that for some time. Then they mature to the state of not-mother. They can only define themselves as individuals in opposition to their parents, and do so with "No!" and tantrums. Hopefully, they develop even further and begin to see themselves as whole and independent, not in relation to-- neither same-as nor different-from-- the other party.
"You wonder why/ You can't seem to move." Children are often uncoordinated. Their brains have to learn how to make their bodies do everything from walk to put food in their mouths. Then they have to master even more complex tasks, like using a crayon or scissors. As a result, they can sometimes "Feel like a thing."
The Yiddish word "klutz" captures this nicely. While it has come to mean "a clumsy person," it originally meant "a block of wood"; a klutzy person is just as graceful.
The next lines point to the beginning of exploration of the wider world: "Hand on the doorknob... one foot on the sidewalk." First, we leave the room for the rest of the house. Then we leave the house for the rest of the world.
At first, the task seems overwhelming: "Too much to prove" for this wood-block of a child.
But, over time, and with repetition, "you learn to/ you learn to/ you learn to/ have a life."
And that, ultimately, is what differentiates the fully human from the denizens of the uncanny valley. The doll and the Dirttowners only "seem" to have a life. They do not, because they cannot learn. Even a talking doll can only say those phrases on its internal recording. The uncanny ones can repeat, but they cannot gain experience from this repetition.
A doll says its five phrases perfectly and seems to have a life. You say a million things. Some are repeated, but many are original, and very many are flawed. But from mistakes come growth. A doll cannot grow; it can only break.
Alexander Pope, the poet, took the Latin expression "to err is human" and contrasted it with "to forgive, divine." But maybe Pope's quote could take something from Descarte's, "I think, therefore I am."
Fused, they form one thought that neatly expresses our song's message: "I err, therefore I am human."
And so, maybe not divine. But not uncanny, either.
Next Song: Bad Wisdom
In between these "peaks" of acceptance is a "valley" inhabited almost-but-not-quite human things that tend to set people on edge. Dolls, puppets, ventriloquism dummies, zombies, androids, vampires, taxidermied animals, and even clowns all seem to inhabit this so-called "uncanny valley" that leaves viewers with unease and sometimes even fear. Therefore, they are often employed in horror movies and Twilight Zone episodes.
Vega's song seems to be exploring this terrain. In the first two verses, we imagine ourselves "as a child" who has a "doll." So lifelike is this synthetic creation, "it seems to/ Have a life."
A child might also create a miniature world on the beach, in a sandbox, in a dollhouse, in a couch-cushion fort, with blocks, with a train set... or even just by drawing in the "dirt in the street." This space, in a child's imagination, "becomes a town."
This is an enormous amount of control and power, as much destructive as it was creative: "All the people" in Dirttown "depend on you/ Not to hurt them/ Or bang the stick down." Like the doll, the Dirttowners "seem to have a life."
This image seems to recall that of the Mark Twain short story "The Mysterious Stranger." At one point in an encounter between an angel named Satan (after his uncle, the original Satan) and some children, he shows them a town he had made of clay:
"...and while he talked he made a crowd of little men and women the size of your finger, and they went diligently to work and cleared and leveled off a space a couple of yards square in the grass and began to build a cunning little castle in it... five hundred of these toy people swarming briskly about and working diligently and wiping the sweat off their faces as natural as life... Two of the little workmen were quarreling, and in buzzing little bumblebee voices they were cursing and swearing at each other; now came blows and blood; then they locked themselves together in a life-and-death struggle. Satan reached out his hand and crushed the life out of them with his fingers, threw them away, wiped the red from his fingers on his handkerchief, and went on talking where he had left off."
This Satan doesn't make the people of dirt or hit them with a stick, but I believe the imagery and sentiment are largely the same.
Now we arrive at the point of Vega's discourse: "As a child/ You see yourself." Aha! A child is, in some sense, also an almost-person (again, this explains their prevalence in horror movies).
Developmental psychologists explain that first, babies see themselves as parts or extensions of their mothers; this is only fair, as they have been quite that for some time. Then they mature to the state of not-mother. They can only define themselves as individuals in opposition to their parents, and do so with "No!" and tantrums. Hopefully, they develop even further and begin to see themselves as whole and independent, not in relation to-- neither same-as nor different-from-- the other party.
"You wonder why/ You can't seem to move." Children are often uncoordinated. Their brains have to learn how to make their bodies do everything from walk to put food in their mouths. Then they have to master even more complex tasks, like using a crayon or scissors. As a result, they can sometimes "Feel like a thing."
The Yiddish word "klutz" captures this nicely. While it has come to mean "a clumsy person," it originally meant "a block of wood"; a klutzy person is just as graceful.
The next lines point to the beginning of exploration of the wider world: "Hand on the doorknob... one foot on the sidewalk." First, we leave the room for the rest of the house. Then we leave the house for the rest of the world.
At first, the task seems overwhelming: "Too much to prove" for this wood-block of a child.
But, over time, and with repetition, "you learn to/ you learn to/ you learn to/ have a life."
And that, ultimately, is what differentiates the fully human from the denizens of the uncanny valley. The doll and the Dirttowners only "seem" to have a life. They do not, because they cannot learn. Even a talking doll can only say those phrases on its internal recording. The uncanny ones can repeat, but they cannot gain experience from this repetition.
A doll says its five phrases perfectly and seems to have a life. You say a million things. Some are repeated, but many are original, and very many are flawed. But from mistakes come growth. A doll cannot grow; it can only break.
Alexander Pope, the poet, took the Latin expression "to err is human" and contrasted it with "to forgive, divine." But maybe Pope's quote could take something from Descarte's, "I think, therefore I am."
Fused, they form one thought that neatly expresses our song's message: "I err, therefore I am human."
And so, maybe not divine. But not uncanny, either.
Next Song: Bad Wisdom
Monday, April 27, 2015
Luka
This is, arguably, the song that put Suzanne Vega on the map.
It is a very powerful song, dealing with the issue of physical abuse, and from the point of view of the victim as well.
While some may feel this song is about a woman who had been beaten-- and the emotions and reactions presented certainly apply to such a victim-- the video makes it clear that the simple lyrics are coming from a child who has been attacked, and a male child at that.
But perhaps Vega chose the rare (in America) name "Luka" because it is indistinct in gender and origin, to universalize the song. (Probably the most famous "Luka" before this was the minor character in the Godfather film, the hitman Luca Brasi.)
The song begins with the victim introducing himself. It is important that we, the listeners, know that his apartment is above ours. Since we have heard the sounds of abuse coming through our ceiling, Luka feels it necessary to address them.
He does so by telling us to... not investigate. "If you hear something, late at night/ Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight/ Just don't ask me what it was."
Luka tries to explain away the bruises that we must see, or perhaps a limp: "I think it's 'cause I'm clumsy... I walked into the door again."
But, again, he waves away our offer of, perhaps, an ice pack or bandage. "Yes, I think I'm OK," he says. In fact, he dismisses our involvement altogether: "It's not your business, anyway."
Luka, however, does open up to us about the effect the abuse has had on him. For one, it has made him withdrawn: "I try not to talk too loud... I try not to act too proud." For another, it has made him feel that he has deserved and brought about the punishment-- and even doubt his own sanity: "Maybe it's because I'm crazy," he says, perhaps echoing and internalizing the verbal abuse that might have accompanied the physical pain.
Luka also reveals some of the dynamics of the abuse's patterns. At first, it seems, he resists and defends himself. This self-assertion only enrages his abusers-- he says "they," so it might be both of his parents. It is only once his spirit is broken and they have satisfied themselves that they maintain dominance that they cease the violence: "They only hit until you cry."
"After that, you don't ask why," Luka admits, and "you just don't argue" either. He realizes asking them to justify their actions is pointless. There is no "why," no reason. He doesn't deserve the abuse in the first place! And if crying makes the reason-less punishment stop, well then, here are your tears, folks-- you win again, you can stop now.
His ultimate wish is to withdraw completely. Luka is either being abused by his family-- with objects (or worse?) being "broken" and "thrown"-- or being asked to discuss the abuse by well-meaning outsiders. And so the abuse comes to define him. He is no longer "Luka, the kid who plays soccer," or "Luka, the kid who loves comic books." He is "Luka, the kid whose parents hit him." The only one who knows him any other way is himself. And so he tells us, "I'd like to be alone."
Then Luka is done talking. He has said all he can bear to say for now. But he also sets up the parameters for our next encounter. Now that we know all this, he says, "Just don't ask me how I am."
We now know very well how he is: utterly miserable.
IMPACT:
As was said, this was Vega's biggest chart success. It went to #3 in the US and remained on the charts for 19 weeks (almost 5 months). Vega also recorded the song in Spanish.
At the 1988 Grammys, Vega performed the song, which was nominated in three categories: Record of the Year (a producer's and performer's award), Song of the Year (a songwriter's award), and Best Female Pop Vocal Performance (as opposed to Classical). She did not win in any category, but she did get to perform before an audience of hundreds of millions.
But aside from the effect the song had on Vega's status and career, it gave voice to the millions of abuse victims who had suffered so long in silence. And it taught us how to recognize the signs of abuse.
While may songs are credited with changing lives, how many have actually saved lives?
Next song: Ironbound/Fancy Poultry
It is a very powerful song, dealing with the issue of physical abuse, and from the point of view of the victim as well.
While some may feel this song is about a woman who had been beaten-- and the emotions and reactions presented certainly apply to such a victim-- the video makes it clear that the simple lyrics are coming from a child who has been attacked, and a male child at that.
But perhaps Vega chose the rare (in America) name "Luka" because it is indistinct in gender and origin, to universalize the song. (Probably the most famous "Luka" before this was the minor character in the Godfather film, the hitman Luca Brasi.)
The song begins with the victim introducing himself. It is important that we, the listeners, know that his apartment is above ours. Since we have heard the sounds of abuse coming through our ceiling, Luka feels it necessary to address them.
He does so by telling us to... not investigate. "If you hear something, late at night/ Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight/ Just don't ask me what it was."
Luka tries to explain away the bruises that we must see, or perhaps a limp: "I think it's 'cause I'm clumsy... I walked into the door again."
But, again, he waves away our offer of, perhaps, an ice pack or bandage. "Yes, I think I'm OK," he says. In fact, he dismisses our involvement altogether: "It's not your business, anyway."
Luka, however, does open up to us about the effect the abuse has had on him. For one, it has made him withdrawn: "I try not to talk too loud... I try not to act too proud." For another, it has made him feel that he has deserved and brought about the punishment-- and even doubt his own sanity: "Maybe it's because I'm crazy," he says, perhaps echoing and internalizing the verbal abuse that might have accompanied the physical pain.
Luka also reveals some of the dynamics of the abuse's patterns. At first, it seems, he resists and defends himself. This self-assertion only enrages his abusers-- he says "they," so it might be both of his parents. It is only once his spirit is broken and they have satisfied themselves that they maintain dominance that they cease the violence: "They only hit until you cry."
"After that, you don't ask why," Luka admits, and "you just don't argue" either. He realizes asking them to justify their actions is pointless. There is no "why," no reason. He doesn't deserve the abuse in the first place! And if crying makes the reason-less punishment stop, well then, here are your tears, folks-- you win again, you can stop now.
His ultimate wish is to withdraw completely. Luka is either being abused by his family-- with objects (or worse?) being "broken" and "thrown"-- or being asked to discuss the abuse by well-meaning outsiders. And so the abuse comes to define him. He is no longer "Luka, the kid who plays soccer," or "Luka, the kid who loves comic books." He is "Luka, the kid whose parents hit him." The only one who knows him any other way is himself. And so he tells us, "I'd like to be alone."
Then Luka is done talking. He has said all he can bear to say for now. But he also sets up the parameters for our next encounter. Now that we know all this, he says, "Just don't ask me how I am."
We now know very well how he is: utterly miserable.
IMPACT:
As was said, this was Vega's biggest chart success. It went to #3 in the US and remained on the charts for 19 weeks (almost 5 months). Vega also recorded the song in Spanish.
At the 1988 Grammys, Vega performed the song, which was nominated in three categories: Record of the Year (a producer's and performer's award), Song of the Year (a songwriter's award), and Best Female Pop Vocal Performance (as opposed to Classical). She did not win in any category, but she did get to perform before an audience of hundreds of millions.
But aside from the effect the song had on Vega's status and career, it gave voice to the millions of abuse victims who had suffered so long in silence. And it taught us how to recognize the signs of abuse.
While may songs are credited with changing lives, how many have actually saved lives?
Next song: Ironbound/Fancy Poultry
Monday, February 9, 2015
Freeze Tag
This second song seems a continuation of-- or companion piece to-- the first, "Cracking." It, too, takes place in "wintertime," and while the first detailed a solitary walk to the "park," this one is about a couple going to "the playground."
First, a note to those unfamiliar with American childhood games of the mid- to late 20th Century. Freeze tag is a variation on regular tag. In this version, the tagger-- dubbed "It"-- chases the other children, but when she tags them, they "freeze," and become rooted to the spot, disallowed from running further. When all the other participants are tagged and "frozen," the last becomes the new "It," everyone "unfreezes," and the chase begins again. Children continue to be endlessly inventive with new variations, which leads them to discover the true fun of any game-- arguing about the rules!
Narratively, the song presents a paradox. This couple goes to the playground for some childlike fun, and to revel in their romance in which they are as open and innocent as children. However, once they imagine themselves as children, what do they imagine themselves doing? Pretending to be adults.
The couple goes to the playground as "the sun is fading fast," symbolizing the end of their youth, which they are there to try to recapture. I am reminded of a tradition my high-school sweetheart and I developed, which was to see every new and re-released Disney movie in the theater. We loved them as children, felt "too big" for them as grade-schoolers, and now wanted to enjoy them again as we approached adulthood and wallow in comforting nostalgia.
Such behaviors Vega depicts, using playground imagery, as "slides into the past"-- it's so easy to slip into the soothing familiarities of childhood-- and the ambivalent "swings of indecision" that make us waver between retreat there and advancement into exciting, yet frightening, maturity.
The "dimming diamonds" are likely the glints of light off the snow, now fading as the sunlight does.
The "tickling and trembling" refer to the touches freeze-tag players employ to immobilize each other, and the shivering with both cold-- real and game-imagined-- and with the anticipation of these flirtatious touches.
Now that it is dark, they "play" another game. This is a pun. They are playing at being actors, who in turn "play" roles in films. The night is as dark as in a movie hall. She first pretends to be Marlene Dietrich, and he the tragically fallen James Dean. Then they shift into a more noir mode: "You stand/ With your hand/ In your pocket/ And lean against the wall." Appropriately, they now imagine themselves as Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, major stars of such dramatically fraught, angst-ridden films.
By pretending to be others, they can be more freely themselves (Vega returns to the imagery of romantic role play in her later song "If You Were in My Movie"). And so they become more physically intimate: "We can only say 'yes' now/ To the sky, to the street, to the night." As the sunlight vanishes entirely, their movie end the way movies do: "Slow fade now to black."
But then another starts, one in which they are hero and heroine in a Camelot-based scenario: "Play me one more game of chivalry."
The songs lyrics end with another childhood game: "Do you see/ Where I've been hiding/ In his hide-and-seek?" She calls attention to the fact that she has been revealing aspects of herself through the choices of roles she has adopted. She is like Dietrich in this way, like Bacall in these other ways, like Maid Marian or Guinevere in still more. And she wants to know if he has picked up on this, and knows her better now. In a sense, a mask is a truer face.
The song's imagery revolves around childhood games, but the message is both adult and serious. The only reason a freeze-tag player holds still is that she is obeying the rules. Nothing is actually, physically holding her still.
How like life that is, Vega observes. What is holding them back from embracing adulthood, with all of its amazing freedoms and overwhelming responsibilities? What is keeping our lovers from embracing each other, physically and emotionally? Nothing that does not exist entirely in their own minds, and those others involved in their societal games.
The sun is fading fast. Now, they get to see what they look like in the dark.
Next Song: Marlene on the Wall
First, a note to those unfamiliar with American childhood games of the mid- to late 20th Century. Freeze tag is a variation on regular tag. In this version, the tagger-- dubbed "It"-- chases the other children, but when she tags them, they "freeze," and become rooted to the spot, disallowed from running further. When all the other participants are tagged and "frozen," the last becomes the new "It," everyone "unfreezes," and the chase begins again. Children continue to be endlessly inventive with new variations, which leads them to discover the true fun of any game-- arguing about the rules!
Narratively, the song presents a paradox. This couple goes to the playground for some childlike fun, and to revel in their romance in which they are as open and innocent as children. However, once they imagine themselves as children, what do they imagine themselves doing? Pretending to be adults.
The couple goes to the playground as "the sun is fading fast," symbolizing the end of their youth, which they are there to try to recapture. I am reminded of a tradition my high-school sweetheart and I developed, which was to see every new and re-released Disney movie in the theater. We loved them as children, felt "too big" for them as grade-schoolers, and now wanted to enjoy them again as we approached adulthood and wallow in comforting nostalgia.
Such behaviors Vega depicts, using playground imagery, as "slides into the past"-- it's so easy to slip into the soothing familiarities of childhood-- and the ambivalent "swings of indecision" that make us waver between retreat there and advancement into exciting, yet frightening, maturity.
The "dimming diamonds" are likely the glints of light off the snow, now fading as the sunlight does.
The "tickling and trembling" refer to the touches freeze-tag players employ to immobilize each other, and the shivering with both cold-- real and game-imagined-- and with the anticipation of these flirtatious touches.
Now that it is dark, they "play" another game. This is a pun. They are playing at being actors, who in turn "play" roles in films. The night is as dark as in a movie hall. She first pretends to be Marlene Dietrich, and he the tragically fallen James Dean. Then they shift into a more noir mode: "You stand/ With your hand/ In your pocket/ And lean against the wall." Appropriately, they now imagine themselves as Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, major stars of such dramatically fraught, angst-ridden films.
By pretending to be others, they can be more freely themselves (Vega returns to the imagery of romantic role play in her later song "If You Were in My Movie"). And so they become more physically intimate: "We can only say 'yes' now/ To the sky, to the street, to the night." As the sunlight vanishes entirely, their movie end the way movies do: "Slow fade now to black."
But then another starts, one in which they are hero and heroine in a Camelot-based scenario: "Play me one more game of chivalry."
The songs lyrics end with another childhood game: "Do you see/ Where I've been hiding/ In his hide-and-seek?" She calls attention to the fact that she has been revealing aspects of herself through the choices of roles she has adopted. She is like Dietrich in this way, like Bacall in these other ways, like Maid Marian or Guinevere in still more. And she wants to know if he has picked up on this, and knows her better now. In a sense, a mask is a truer face.
The song's imagery revolves around childhood games, but the message is both adult and serious. The only reason a freeze-tag player holds still is that she is obeying the rules. Nothing is actually, physically holding her still.
How like life that is, Vega observes. What is holding them back from embracing adulthood, with all of its amazing freedoms and overwhelming responsibilities? What is keeping our lovers from embracing each other, physically and emotionally? Nothing that does not exist entirely in their own minds, and those others involved in their societal games.
The sun is fading fast. Now, they get to see what they look like in the dark.
Next Song: Marlene on the Wall
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