The Ballad of Miss Amelia

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

Annemarie

This song is heart-wrenching, compelling, hyperliterate, intricate... a mini-novel. It shows that Vega is an artist still at the height of her powers.

Since the subject of the album the song is on is Carson McCullers (a female 20th Century American writer), the subject of this song is likely to be fellow author Annemarie Schwarzenbach, McCullers' lesbian crush, who typically dressed in men's clothes and with who she claimed to have shared a kiss. Of her, McCullers wrote: "She had a face I knew would haunt me the rest of my life." While they never achieved couplehood, McCullers dedicated her novel Reflections in a Golden Eye to Annemarie.

The song starts by referring to the quote about Annemarie: "I saw your face; I knew you'd haunt me for all of my life."

The next three words define how McCullers saw Annemarie-- as completely unattainable: "Rising above me." The rest of the song is a painful list of all the ways Annemarie is superior to her.

"Everyone sees you, everyone knows you," she says. Everyone also "loves... wants... needs... worships" Annemarie. So, even though McCullers would say, "If you would want me I'd be no man's wife," what's the point? After all, "Who could possibly hold one so fair?"

"How can I possibly compare?" she asks, "How can I possibly compete?" Annemarie, is "brilliant"; she "moves through the world with money and family... [and] perfect beauty."

Let's talk about that beauty for a minute. We already know her face is "haunting." But people "worship" Annemarie! At least our speaker does: "If I could see God, His face would be sacred like yours." Just... wow. "But God's face is hidden, and your face is suddenly all I can see."

This is beyond smitten-- this is obsessed.

Nevertheless, Annemarie has issues too, and it seems, a lot of them: "Who could contain you, with all of your pain?" She is "stormy," as well.

But even this the speaker finds attractive: "She glitters with trouble... How can I possibly complain?"

So the speaker, McCullers, feels that Annemarie is perfect, even in her imperfections. Are the perfections a way... in? No. Even pained, Annemarie is the impossible dream, the unreachable star: "Who could possibly make you complete?" Even if someone could, in theory, do so, it would not be the speaker: "Could I gather up all that you remain?"

The object of affection is summed up in three words: "Terror, pity, love-- Annemarie." The speaker is terrified of her... and how she feels about her, which makes her vulnerable. She pities the poor little rich girl, whose status makes her beyond the (what McCullers is sure would be) the healing power of her affection.

And "love" is what she considers all of these emotions to be, in sum.

Does she love her? She admires her, to the point of "worship." She is jealous of her status and stature, yet pities Annemarie for the isolation she has on her mountaintop. But does that amount to love?

You can love some you feel is out of your league. But the line, "How could I possibly compete?" makes me feel that the desire is more to achieve Annemarie, and to match her accomplishments, than to accompany her as a partner: "Oh, if I were Annemarie's girlfriend, life would be awesome. Everyone could see I was her equal."

But that will never be. So McCullers gets to play the martyr. No one else is good enough for her... except for the one person who is too good. So she gets to be the victim, and never has to actually have a relationship. She has trapped herself on Keats' Grecian Urn... on purpose.

Next Song: Twelve Mortal Men

Jacob and the Angel

This song is based on the Bible story of Jacob wrestling with angel.

The account in the song is not as detailed as the one in Genesis, but the general storyline is kept. One detail that is changed is that in the Bible, the fight takes place by a riverbank, not in a "room." Also, at first, Jacob does not know he is being accosted by an angel.

As in the Biblical account, the angel "smote him on the thigh" and then the two "wrestled... till morning" without speaking. At dawn, the angel "turned to fly and to flee," but Jacob held on until the angel (whom he had now identified as such) blessed him. At this point, the angel did so, although in the song the angel "smote" him again first.

Jacob learns "his other name," Israel, from the angel in this version. In the Bible, the angel (on behalf of God, presumably) gives him the name Israel: "he who strives with God."

Incidentally, this idea is probably unique to the Jews. "Islam" has a connotation of "submission" to God, as do the Christian Shaker and Quaker sects. The very observant Jews who call themselves "Haredi" do so, likewise, because they "tremble" before God (the words "Jew" and "Judaism" come from the tribe "Judah").

In any case, why is the speaker talking about this Bible story at all?

Oh, it's a metaphor for a problem in a relationship: "This thing between us must be wrestled down."
It's nice to see that she feels that the issue is to blame, not one or the other of the couple.

However, she admits that the problem is a tough one. Maybe it's an "angel" it has "wings" and "feathers." But maybe it's a "demon," as it has "teeth" and "horns." But, angel or demon, it's got "sinews" that are not going to be overcome easily.

Still, it has been identified as being discreet unto itself, and not an aspect or fault of either of them. So a least part of the battle-- knowing the enemy-- has been achieved. This bodes well.

If they are going to the Bible for a metaphor for it, perhaps they would be served by going to a religious counselor of some sort, rather than a secular marriage counselor. In any case, they have met the enemy, and he is not them-- it's a "thing," and it can be overcome.

Next Song: Silver Bridge

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

Angel's Doorway

This is not a song about an angel, but of a man with the name of Angel. We learn of his line of work by dint of clues.

When Angel enters his house, his clothes cast a "cloud" of "dust and dirt and destruction." With only this much information, it's possible he is in demolition work.

He also works amid "fires and flesh and confusion." So it's more likely he's a fire fighter.

Whatever he does, he cannot talk about. At his "door," he has to "leave it on the floor." He is told "Don't bring it in."

That seems harsh. He had to live though it, now he can't even talk about it? Who came up with that policy?

His wife or girlfriend. "He can't show/ What she doesn't want to know/ Those things he's seen... that life he can't tell."

It's bad enough that she can "smell" the ashes on his clothes. Does she actually have to listen to his tales of death, gore, pain and loss? No, she has decided. No, she doesn't. Or at very least, she can't handle it, and is willing to admit that.

But that protection of her psyche comes at a price to his. "Inside his brain/ It's never the same/ Though he tries to maintain the illusion." Not being able to share your life with your spouse has got to make a rough job even worse. He can't about it at work, because it's the job and he has to "suck it up." But he can't talk about it at home, either. So where can he unburden himself?

There are jobs that we leave at the door. Police officers, soldiers, surgeons, rescue workers, funeral- home staff, prison guards... all have stories that they have to leave at the workplace and cannot share with their spouses. Sometimes because the spouse loves this person but simply cannot stomach the "realness" of the stories he or she lives every day.

People who see accident or crime victims on a daily basis may have to develop a numbness to that horror in order to do their jobs. And they need support to help them deal with seeing the absolute worst of humanity, and human suffering, on a daily basis. They need a place to empty themselves of these stories, to share their experiences with others who have dealt with similar things. Maybe a bar, maybe a support group.

But not, in many cases, home. The one place they should feel safe is also the place their spouses want to feel safe. Ironically, that spouse may have been drawn to someone who is strong in this way precisely because they are not, themselves, brave. A fearful, insulated person might want a knight in Kevlar armor to protect them... but then never talk about how they are doing just that.

So why is this character named Angel? Perhaps because he does the heavenly work of saving people every day... and so lives an otherworldly life he can never explain to those he is saving.

Next Song: "Anniversary"

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."

Bound

This song is the first of a diptych-- a matched set of two. The next one is called "Unbound."

This song is fairly self-explanatory: "I am asking you/ if you might still want me."

The speaker is honest about it, though. She is not trying to pass off a car with 70,000 miles on it as new. So, "still," despite what?

Despite having been through life. She doesn't say that she has been through Hell, or any massive disaster, but simply "the world." The ordinary erosion of having been around: "I am ruined by rain/ Weathered by wind." Even these have "ravaged my body/ And bitten my soul."

She reminds this person, the one she is offering herself to, that he once did find her attractive: "Once you said/ I'm made of fine stuff." But she wants to be clear that she is not showroom new anymore: "I've been corrupted."

It is is interesting that she feels the need to ask if he still wants her. After all, he has said as much: "Now you appear/ Making your claim." So... yes, he does want her.

Perhaps she is in a state of disbelief. Perhaps she feels the need to explain, "You want the 'me' you used to know. I'm a new person now, and you need to know that, so that you don't take me back, realize this, and them reject me again. You need to know what you are getting this time."

She wants him, that much is clear: "Inside my heart/ Is the sign of our name." But she is hesitant to say so until she knows how he feels once he has been fully informed: "All these words/ Like 'darling' and 'angel' and 'dear'/ Crowd my mouth/ In a path to your ear." She wants to call him these things, but can't... yet.

She closes with the statement that is the very definition of commitment: "When I said 'I am bound to you forever'/...I meant, 'I am bound to you forever.'"

So she is willing to state that she has a very close connection with him. While that may imply a romantic feeling, there are other ways to be "bound" to someone, and she just said she is not ready yet to call him "darling."

So this is to say, "You say you still love me. But I have to tell you that I have been through some experiences that hurt and changed me. So, if you still love me after knowing that, wonderful-- I love you, too. If not, I still want you in my life, regardless."

This is a divorce album, and in many other songs, Vega has made it clear she does not feel affection for her ex-husband anymore. This song is not for him. She does not say "...if you still want me back."
And why would she tell her ex that she'd been through hard times if he were the one who made those times hard?

No, this seems to be to someone she knew from before her marriage. Now that she is available again, they have the opportunity to try again. But she is an adult, and want to be above-board. She knows what secrets and lies can do to a relationship, and she wants this new one to work, so she has to reveal her issues at the outset.

Yes, it is ironic-- to give the new (or renewed) relationship to work, she has to reveal the reasons it might not. Let's hope he can put all of his cards on the table, too.

Next Song: Unbound

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

Machine Ballerina

In Goodfellas, Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci) has a famous scene. He tells a funny story, and someone replies, appropriately enough, "You're funny!" Instead of accepting the compliment, he flies off right off the umbrage handle: "Funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh?"

Here, the speaker asks a similar question of her, we presume, boyfriend: "Am I an afternoon's pastime?" But her question is about being used as, well, as sex toy, a "skin trampoline."

And... that's the song. Just her asking, in various ways, if he thinks of her as a plaything. The rest of it is more plaything metaphors-- she even uses Pesci's words, "amuse" and "clown"-- but also: "A thing on a string," "a toy," "a soft piece of clay," "machine ballerina," "soldier of tin," "a puppet," "MAD magazine," "pinball machine," and "puzzle."

Also, a "birthday phone call" and... more to the point, a "pin-up" and "fantasy girl."

Does she only exist for his "royal... approval... perusal... and possible refusal"? Well? Does she? No answer is recorded.

One clever turn of phrase is a pun on the cliche "in fits and starts." She says she, in his eyes, is made of "puzzling parts/ but none fits or starts."

It's not all physical-- there is some banter or repartee-- "We match wits," she allows... "but not hearts." Even when it's intellectual, it's not emotional.

What the song asks is not an unimportant question, or even a bad metaphor for the experience of being a strung along in a merely physical relationship.

But the song never gets beyond that question, only asking it again and again. She never says, "Well, it seems that way to me, and here's what I think about it," let alone "... and here's what I am going to do about it."

Until she climbs out of the toybox and stalks out the playroom door, it seems she is stuck repeating the same phrases over and over. Like one of those "talking" dolls with a pull-string.


Next Song: Solitaire

Harbor Song

An imagined/remembered relationship with an actual person, not unlike "Some Journey" or other of her works.

In this story, the man is "rich," and lives in a home with "golden curtains."' The woman (the speaker herself) is desperate and has "no place to go." She asks for shelter, and he is... ambiguous.

Once he does take her in, she realizes that, wealth aside, her host is no prize. He is a huge drinker and a huge-er smoker, plus he cannot "be true" in the sense of romantic fidelity. In fact, he actively pursues other... pursuits.

"But still I feel the wind in from the harbor," she says, and longs for him. Wind is aimless and boundless. A harbor is a place of shelter for ships, but temporary shelter by design and designation. This harbor wind recalls her unstable life before.

So the thought of returning to her meandering life is frightening, and she longs for the stability her rich boor of a host provides, which she confuses with an attraction with the man himself... who is, ironically, a free spirit who is often absent from his palatial manse, leaving her behind.

She imagines him lying in state, next. She is not standing beside his casket, as a wife would, but as just another figure "in line" to pay her respects. She still finds him "handsome" and calls him "dear." But even physical attraction, "longing" and "dear" fall short of "love."

It's possible that the funeral is a memory, not a dream like the rich-man scenario. We learn this from the last verse, in which the woman travels-- with direction and purpose, not aimless, fearful wandering-- she comes upon "harbors." There, she smells the "salt" of the sea and the "bay rum" (a concoction used in men's grooming, made from actual rum)...

...and also smells his "ghost." Which implies he really did live, and then really did die.

The last line is telling. In her dream of him being wealthy and her hopeless, he pursued business and pleasure-- leaving from the harbor without her-- while she stayed home, "longing" for him.

But in her memory, he is "beside" her, walking along the harbor shore of various lands. Which implies she has memories of accompanying each other to different ports of call. Travelling together... probably more, since she recalls his scent so clearly.

It is interesting that she did spend time with him, remembers him as an equal, and misses him... but fantasizes about missing him in an entirely different context... with he being powerful and emotionally, financially, and physically distant.

Maybe if he were already distant while he was alive, he would be easier to live without, now.


Next Song: Machine Ballerina

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

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

(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

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.

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"

Honeymoon Suite

Get your mind out of the gutter right now. This song is not about what (ahem) happens in the privacy of a newlywed couple's hotel room.

This is about a nightmare the groom has, during the honeymoon.

First, we see the room itself. It is in "France," and the ceiling is painted with "angels in a dance." This is a nice detail, but it also presages another sort of procession, one in a dream. A dream often uses whatever imagery the waking mind had handy as fodder.

Her new husband has a "was not feeling well," a sure-fire killer of a romantic mood, so when they "went to bed," it was, disappointingly, in the literal sense. Sleep does not provide a cure, sadly. He wakes up with a headache.

He describes to her his nighttime experience: "A hundred people" of varying ages "had come through our room that night" and each "asked if he was all right." They each "lined up to touch his hand." But he told each in turn, "They had come for the wrong man."

But did they? He was sick, and they were asking if he was OK, something you only ask sick people. So while he dismissed their help out of pride or shame, they kept coming.

Perhaps superstitiously, the couple decides the dream was not the result of a malady or a reaction to a heavily-sauced French dinner, or even a night of Parisian club-hopping. It is also not thought to be a subconscious reaction to another circumstance in the man's life, such as getting married or simply sleeping under a picture of people in an endless line.

No, they ask the concierge if there had been an incident in the room, "a death, or something strange." She smiles, but says nothing.

Again odd is the new wife's reaction. She does not try to interpret the dream. She does not worry about her husband's mental state, either in the sense of "Gee, I hope he's OK," or "Did I just marry a crazy person?"

Instead, she makes this about her. "What I'd like to know is... with all the people in that room/ Why none appeared to me?"

This may seem like a joke. Of course you can't see figures in someone else's dream. Not outside of a sci-fi movie, anyway.

But she presses her point. "When we sleep so close together that our hair becomes entwined/ I must have missed that moment in the gateway to his mind."

If she is really that concerned about not feeling emotionally connected to her new husband, perhaps she should be asking a different question. She never could have seen what was inside his dreaming mind.

But she should wonder why, with all the people the man imagined asking after his welfare, why were none of them her? To be fair, he didn't seem to imagine any of his family, friends, or co-workers asking him if he was "all right," either.

Still, if any one person should be there, shouldn't it be her? Why didn't he see her asking if he were OK? And not in some queue, either, but at his sickbed's side?

Here is a man so physically miserable, he can't even enjoy his honeymoon. And instead of worrying if he is in need of medical attention, or if he's psychosomatically reacting to whatever it is his dream is about, she is worrying that he's keeping secrets from her... secrets he doesn't even know he has!

What if you were this woman's friend, and received this phone call: "Oh, Paris is fine, and we have a lovely room. But last night, that new husband of mine had a dream, and I didn't have the same dream! I have no idea what the dream means, and who cares. Hmm? Oh, the dream was about people asking if he's OK. Is he OK? No, he was so sick he had to go to bed early and woke up this morning with a headache. But the real problem is that I can't read his subconscious mind."

If she missed a "gateway" to his mind, it may be that it's because she was so focused on her own. And he may have been dreaming that a thousand strangers were asking if he was OK because his deepest wish is that someone-- like the love of his life over here-- would actually ask.

There seems to be a vicious circle, here. He worries that she doesn't care, so he shuts her out... and she worries that he doesn't share, so she retreats inward. He, at least, is trying to reach out by telling her his dream. Now she has to reach back and try to help him understand his dream's meaning.

She's upset that she doesn't know his dream? But she does! He just told it to her!

It's time for her to stop bothering the benighted hotel staff with her problems, imagining ghosts of murder victims, and talk to her husband about himself. About his view of their relationship.

Then, the next time he dreams about strangers asking him how he is, he can tell those dream-figures, "Don't worry about me. I'm fine-- my wife's taking good care of me."

World Before Columbus

This simply-worded and -structured song is one of Vega's loveliest. The sentiment is pure and deep, without being... sentimental.

It imagines the speaker's world without the one she loves. If he left, or died-- or for some other reason his love and life were "taken from" her-- the "color" would leave her life. She would lose "half [her] sight," she counts so much on being able to know his perspective. After the colors faded, the "light" itself would go, not just "dim," but "dark."

Her world would be "cold"-- the very "trees would freeze"-- and "cruel."

Now, popular misconception holds that, before Columbus, everyone thought the world was flat, but he proved it to be round. In fact, the world's shape-- and even its size-- were known to the ancients, even without sailing anywhere (they observed lunar eclipses, in which Earth always cast a round shadow; only spheres do that).

Still, we know the myth of the "flat Earth" theory, and here, the speaker so depends on her lover that without him, her world would be "flat." Someone could "sail to the edge, and [she]'d be there, looking down."

"Looking down" has many meanings. She would be "sad," but also "looking down" over the edge, as if saying she was contemplating jumping off it. Later in the song, she confirms this: "I'd swim over the brim."

After lauding explorers like Columbus, she then reconsiders and decides that they sought relatively worthless treasure: "land... riches... trinkets." But "oh, they never will have you." Even his "hair" is made of "gold" and "copper." She asks, "How could they weigh the worth of you, so rare?" They would totally miss the fact that his love is precious beyond that of any precious metal or gem.

Is the speaker over-dependent on her lover-- that without him, she would have no light or warmth in her life, not even a will to live? Perhaps. But I don't think this song lapses into codependency-- it merely engages in the kind of exaggeration that typifies love songs. Would it be as powerful to say, "If your love were taken from me, I'd be upset for a long while, but fine in the long run, especially with my strong support system of friends and family?"

And what of Columbus-- did others reach the "New" World before he did? Historians seem to agree that this is the case. Nevertheless, it was Columbus-- not a nice man, by current scholarship-- whose voyages opened (what came to be known as) the Americas to interaction with the rest of the planet, and who established a base here whose descendants remain to this day.

Again, this heartfelt song is one of Vega's purest expressions of affection, and one of her just-plain-prettiest songs. Maybe if someone had felt like this about ol' Columbus, he would have just stayed home with her.


Next Song: Lolita

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

Stockings

The main character in this song is a woman who can be described as a "tease." She delights in flirting, even as she has no intention of fulfilling the desire she provokes.

The speaker in this song is a person-- perhaps a man, perhaps a woman-- who is caught in this web of enticement. Unfortunately, they seem to be trapped in what is commonly (at least today) known as The Friend Zone, the emotional space in which one will be a person's friend, but never anything more.

The first line is from the woman, whose technique for starting a conversation is to call attention to her legs: "'I don't care for tights,' she says... she hikes her skirt... revealing one brown thigh." (As in "Caramel," it seems the target of desire is a person of color. Or at least some who has spent some time in the sun.)

The speaker, who notices this flash of flesh, instead focuses on her "slender little fingers." Then, in a (very) off rhyme, the speaker muses that they "pull upon/ The threads of recent slumbers." Does this mean "dreams"? Has s/he been fantasizing about her at night?

Then the speaker defines a border of The Friend Zone, "where friendship ends/ And passion does begin." And it lies "between... her stockings and her skin." A friend can see the stocking, but nothing more, not the skin itself. The border is as sheer and transparent as nylon stockings.

One small complaint: While it is admirable to try to rhyme "skin" with "begin," it becomes clunky to add the "does." We have already had "fingers/slumbers," so rhyming "skin" with "where passion begins" would have been preferable to the stilted "does begin." This isn't even speech being transmitted, it's thought... so the rules of grammar are even less expected.

The Friend-Zone denizen still harbors some hope. Maybe since it is late, "she'll ask me to go dance?" (Again, "out to dance" would be better. It's "go dancing.") "But something in the way she laughed/ Told me I had no chance."

So... there never was an invitation to dance, just a hope of one. And then the speaker reads intention into something her laughs, even. It's unnerving when you know you have no chance, but think maybe you're wrong and that perhaps you do...?

Then we shift to what else we know about this temptress. Her reputation in her family, which the speaker feels is undeserved, is that she was "never nice." The speaker says that it is more subtle than that-- she is "very" nice, but that niceness comes at a "price" that is not initially evident.

The speaker, armed with this realization, again tries to find the border of The Friend Zone and finds it may also be in alcohol and its ability to lower inhibitions. "When the gin and tonic/ Makes the room begin to spin." Yes, the speaker asks "where" and answers him/herself "when." This may be one gin and tonic too many.

If we have been working our way through the stages of grief, here, we have already passed through Denial, Bargaining, and Depression (we don't seem to have experienced Anger) and have arrived at Acceptance: "There may be attraction here/ But it will never flower."

So... what now? "I'm assigned to read her mind/ In this witching hour." Wow, it's already midnight? That is late. But more to the point, why "assigned"? I heard "resigned," which I think makes more immediate sense. But "assigned" implies that someone did the assigning. Did the speaker assign him/herself? Why?

The woman certainly didn't. Unless the speaker assumed that she implied that she did at some point, which is totally in character for our befuddled speaker.

The speaker now admits that dealing with being teased is "no game for those... easily bruised." Very true.

Then s/he says something revealing: "But how can I complain/ When she's so easily amused?" At least, if s/he can't be with her in the intimate sense, s/he can be in her tantalizing company-- she's willing to keep our speaker around as entertainment, at least.

But is that all that's keeping him/her there? Having the one who toys with him/her as an audience? Once more, we find the problem with being in The Friend Zone. No, there is no way out of it into her Sanctum Sanctorum...

But there is also no way out of it and back into autonomy. Like a comet that has become a planet, s/he is trapped in her orbit-- unable to land on the surface but equally unable to break free and resume careening across the solar system.

So, there is no way out of the The Friend Zone that ends up being closer to the woman. But there is also no way out that ends up being apart from her, either, with the Zone lying unoccupied in between the two parties. As the speaker puts it: "She does not show you the way out, on the way in."

The Friend Zone lies "between the binding of her stockings and her skin." And so we see there are two meanings to the word "binding." Our speaker is bound up in this elastic edge of the stocking.

Never to be fully joined, but never to be fully free. In limbo.


Next Song:  Casual Match

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

If You Were in My Movie

This is a series of sexual fantasies involving role playing. This is the idea of using professions or other activities as play-acting, so as to provide a setting for sexual experimentation. Ironically, playing a role creates an emotional distance that can allow one's true urges to surface: "It's not really me doing this," the brain rationalizes, "I'm just pretending." To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, "the mask is the true face."

The first scenario here is that of the doctor and the patient. This is one of unequal power, in which the doctor is the authority and the patient is in his hands (literally). In this version of the story, the doctor makes a house call, and touches the woman-- "diagnostically," of course-- on her stomach and throat. First.

Then she imagines the man as a detective "examining" the woman and a priest who somehow "give(s) the girl a thrill" while "keep(ing) her body in check."

These other scenarios are also ones in which the man has the power. The woman wanting to be taken is somewhat anti-feminist, perhaps, but it is an understandable response to society's double standard when it comes to sex: a woman does want sex, but unlike a man, she is not allowed to want it.

So she imagines she has to have it because it is forced upon her by someone in power over her. Not to the degree of rape, perhaps, but still very stern persuasion. Not "have sex with me or I'll hurt you," but "have sex with or I'll leave you" or some other undesirable outcome.

This scenario gives the woman permission to want sex, because she cannot be judged if she had no choice, right? Another potent, long-popular manifestation of this idea in popular culture is the vampire, coming into the woman's bedroom window at night and just taking her without permission... that monster!

Then she imagines her lover as the opposite of the noir detective, the noir gangster. This criminal, however, is the least powerful of the bunch! One might expect someone with no regard for the law to be ultimately free and self-determining. But he is "double-crossed" by his own moll, the "blonde." He is apprehended and brought before a jury, left only to mumble the weak excuse that he "hadn't done anything yet."

It is interesting that this is the final scenario. She wins because she gains the upper hand, but at what cost? Now the man is emasculated... weak and uninteresting.

While it is a step forward, perhaps, to have the woman in control, there is still another step to be taken-- equality. The speaker cannot yet imagine being another doctor the first calls upon to consult with, She is not his fellow detective, as in so many cop-buddy shows and movies. She is not a nun equal to the priest... who so enrapture each other they toss their vows and clothes aside.

And she is not his partner in crime. She is the moll roped into the mobster's control, who sees that the game is up and so rats him out to the pigs like a pigeon. Mixed animal metaphors aside, how telling that she can only imagine herself as under her lover's power, or he in hers...

...even though she is the director. After all, she imagines that he is in her movie.

Next Song: As a Child