Caramel

This song has a sultry vibe to it. Musically, it is a Brazilian jazz-bossa nova kinda thing.

In it, the speaker tries to convince herself not to dwell on a potential, but impossible, romance. She only halfway succeeds.

It may be that the never-to-be love is of Latin, or other "of color" origin... or perhaps the romance simply took place in a tropical, exotic locale. In any case, "dream(ing) of caramel" and "think(ing) of cinnamon" reminds her of this guy. And such thoughts, she scolds herself, simply "won't do."

No, she repeats, it won't do "to stir a deep desire/ To fan a hidden fire/ That can never burn true." After all, what's the point in frustrating oneself? And, it's simply... improper. Tut tut.

What further indicates that the impossible lover is of a... darker complected sort than herself is the line "I know your skin." Again, this is not to say anything definitive-- most of us have skin, after all. But she says she "knows" it without having said anything else about being intimate. The only other thing she says she knows about him is his "name." So she has been fascinated with, and has studied, his skin more than his other features.

Oh, it would be so easy to just let nature take its course! "I know the way these things begin," she said. If she didn't resist, or he didn't, it would just... happen.

But the consequences are simply too dire, the inevitability of guilt too great: "I don't know how I could live with myself... if you don't go." She doesn't think she could "forgive... (her)self" if he stayed and they gave way to their mutual attraction.

We also don't know why the love is impossible, or morally unforgivable. Is he married? Is she? Most likely at least one of them is. Even if it would be a "shipboard romance" that could never last, two unattached people would still most likely, as Kate Bush put it, "exchange the experience."

In any case, she bids "goodbye." Not to him, though, but to "sweet appetite." What she really misses is less him than the wanting of him, and even this is denied her. It would be one thing if she wanted him but could not have him-- she isn't allowed to even want him.

It's just as well, she concludes, returning to her food metaphor, since "No single bite/ Could satisfy." Smokey Robinson, also using a sweet food in a similar way, had long before concluded that "a taste of honey is worse than none at all." In other words, it's better in their opinion, to not know how great it would have been, and just leave it to imagination, than to know how great this romance is... and can never be again.

This is the opposite idea from Tennyson's assertion that "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." But then, he was talking about a love that was permitted to begin with, not one that was never supposed to happen.

This song is one of Vega's most sensual and languid. Too bad the romance was never allowed to "burn true." Imagine what steamy songs we would have had, then.

IMPACT:
This song was included in the soundtrack to the romantic comedy The Truth About Cats and Dogs.

Next Song: Stockings

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

Birth-Day (Love Made Real)

Just to make it clear what the song is about, it's song's title is "Birth-Day." With a hyphen. It's not a "birthday," the anniversary of a birth, but the actual day of the actual birth.

In Vega's case, most likely that of her daughter, Ruby, who was born in 1994. This is the first song on Vega's Nine Objects of Desire, which was released in 1996. Her previous alum, 99.9..., came out in 1992; both albums were produced by Mitchell Froom, whom she married in 1995.

So, chronologically, it goes-- 1992, 99.9 is produced and released; 1994, Ruby is born (and this song was likely written); 1995, Vega and Froom marry; 1996, Nine Objects is released. (Sadly, Vega and Froom will separate in 1998, but that's covered in later albums, and first we have to get through their marriage, song by song).

To this song itself... it starts with the acknowledgement of the pain of childbirth, but with the self-reassurance that "this pain will go" once the process is over. But she must "step through all that's left to feel," first, and it is a gradual series of steps in most cases, not a running or rushing in any way.

Many couples feel the way the speaker does about their child, that it is their "love made real." Love itself is very abstract, but a child that is literally the product of that love, and is genetically half of each of them, becomes a living symbol of that love.

The directive, "Don't move, don't touch/ Don't talk so much" may be to herself, or to her over-helpful partner. Or both.

While many deliveries in the Western world are done with the mother on her back, there has been a movement to prefer-- or at least try-- earlier, more traditional methods. These include having the mother stand or squat, so that gravity can help pull... and having the mother on her hands and knees, imitating the way other mammals deliver. The speaker here tries these positions, telling herself to "strip" and then "find a place to kneel."

Even in the throes of the pain, the mother is keenly aware of the special-ness of the moment. Before, she calmed herself with the idea that the pain would "go," now she is sad to realize that "this day will go," and what is now an experience will soon be a mere memory.

A wave of pain hits, disrupting her philosophizing. Now she seems to "crawl the wall." Evidently, in her all-fours position, she is facing the wall and bracing against it with her hands, so looks like she is trying to scale it or crawl up it.

"She's the ticket to the future," she thinks of her soon-to-arrive baby. "Don't listen down the hall," of the maternity ward, she tells herself. Perhaps she hears the screams of other women in labor and worries that she will be in that much pain; perhaps she hears the cries of newborns and wishes that it  were her kid making that noise already. She reminds herself to focus on her own situation.

The position she is in not only resembles crawling, but prostrating oneself in prayer. "You can say your prayer to the head of this bed," she mutters, feeling that no caring God would put people through so much pain just to do the most natural thing, let alone answer a prayer to make it hurt less. And it hurts quite a bit, all over: "It begins at your knees and goes right to your head."

Now, she is re-positioned so that she is on her back, and held in place with a "strap" at each "wrist" and ankle. "I wait to meet my love made real," she repeats, hoping that a focus on her objective will help her endure the next phase.

At this point, she is so worn out that she has begun to "shake all over like an old, sick dog." If the childbirth has been "natural" to this point, now chemical medications are introduced. "There's a needle here, needle there"-- one serum to numb the area, and one to induce the cervix to widen. Her shivering has not subsided, even as the numbness and mental fatigue set in, and she starts to "tremble in the fog."

We're almost there, though... "It's a tight squeeze, vice grip," as the head and then the rest of the body start to pass through the opening. "Ice and fire" might refer to the off combination of numbness and pain at this point.

And...? It's a girl. "She's a hot little treasure," coos the new mother. "And the wave goes higher"-- the elation of holding the newborn in her arms is an intense wave of pure emotion.

The song's short phrases, disjointed images, and general confusion mirror the wild sensations of childbirth. The physical, mental and emotional aspects switch and mingle and compete, with a pain interrupting an emotion which in turn is shoved aside by an instruction from the doctor or a question from a nurse... it's a tumult in many dimensions. And the thudding, swirling music and lyrics capture the sense of being tossed about as if one is in a storm at sea.

But the pain, and the day, do go. And you're left with a baby at the end, who stays.

Not a bad trade, all told.

Next Song: Headshots

Woman on the Tier (I'll See You Through)

This song is from the soundtrack to the 1995 movie Dead Man Walking. It is not in the film, however; the soundtrack's subtitle is "Music from and inspired by the motion picture." The director, Tim Robbins, submitted songs from many top songwriters, and while he could not use them all in the film, he felt obliged to release them somehow (also, much of the music in the actual soundtrack is gospel songs and Armenian folksongs... and while they are beautiful, it can be fairly said they had limited commercial appeal versus the work of Vega, Springsteen, Tom Waits, Patti Smith, Eddie Vedder, and country's Johnny Cash, Lyle Lovett, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Steve Earle).

The film's story is a true one about a Death Row inmate and the nun who tried to save him, or at least his soul, and visited him regularly in prison. (As always, Hollywood put its own spin on the story.)

It is not surprising that Vega was chosen to contribute to the soundtrack, given the industrial sound of her 99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees album and her history of writing songs about mental illness.

The song's title implies that the song is about a woman, and it is-- but most of the imagery is about the prison she visits. It begins by setting the scene of a building that resembles a "tin can," since it is full of metal bars and doors, and frustratingly ventilation-free: "Too hot. No air," even with a "loud fan" stirring up the stifling atmosphere. She is waiting on the "tier," as the title explains, this being one level or story of the prison's architecture.

The song continues with the procedure she follows: "Wait here... They've gone to get your man," the prisoner she is there to see. Then "Through Gate 3 with a picture ID." She hears "the click" of a lock, then "see(s) his face through bar and guard."

She introduces herself to the prisoner by acknowledging the strangeness of their meeting: "You're new to me; I'm new to you." Then, she makes a promise. Although she sees "his fate" as inevitable, she still says "I'll see you through."

Although... she actually says: "I'll see you/ You through," as if stuttering. But "I'll see you" is also a promise for repeated visits, and the emphasis on "you" could imply "I see through you," as in: "Yeah, I see 'these men are hard,' but I know there is a soul in there somewhere."

While the room and building are "too hot," she finds her reception by the prisoner chilly: "Ice within." Is there any clemency forthcoming? No, the powers that be are as firm as the walls of the prison: "it's all cement in the government."

Now the prisoner is being moved to the pre-execution chamber, the "plywood booth where the prisoner's sent." The prisoner sees the "red... letters" on the door of the actual execution chamber. His reaction is to "feel unreal," even as reality is very much all around, even to his "rattling chains."

Lastly, the focus moves back to the woman. She "hear(s) the clock," and knows time has run out, and that the electric switch or poison needle or other form of execution method is about to be used.

It is not uncommon in moments like this for the brain to seek distraction, but all she finds is a blank "green" wall. (As to why it is green, please see the earlier blogpost on Vega's song "Institution Green.") She also noticed that, instead of "bars," there is a "screen" to view the execution through.

She closes with the same words with which she began: "You're new to me; I'm new to you./ I see your fate. I'll see you/ You through." She has kept her promise, and stayed with him until his end.

Lyrically, the song is notable for its use of internal rhyme, which gives the sensation of small rooms and narrow hallways. Starting with no context reflects the disorientation of the nun entering the prison. Also, the imagery does the job, mostly, without Vega telling the listener in so many words how to feel, while trying to have the nun maintain some humanity in all the brutality and bureaucracy of the prison world.


Next Song: Birth-Day (Love Made Real)

Song of Sand

This song is reminiscent of Sting's "Fragile" in three ways: It is short, it has a sparse acoustic arrangement, and it is anti-war. At least, the second verse of this one is.

Oh, also-- both mention "rain" that has not fallen yet, and the idea that blood leaves a "stain."

The first verse is set somewhere sandy-- perhaps a desert or beach-- presumably with sine wave-shaped dunes. She calls these "sand waves." To the speaker, they look like sound waves, and so she imagines what "song" they would make, if in fact they were that.

She would want it to be a "stinging" tune, something sharp and piercing. This seems at odds with the usually smooth, rounded shape one associates with sand dunes. So why does she want something honed to a point?

So it "Could split this endless noon/ And make the sky swell with rain." The heat is so endless, relentless, and intense, that it has felt as hot as noon all day. Wouldn't it be nice if the sky were to somehow be spit open so that the rain could fall and cool everyone off?

This hope for rain makes it more likely, then, that we are in the desert. At the beach, one could just run into the actual water waves and get refreshed.

It's also interesting to note that this verse is comprised of two, if related, questions. The second verse is, grammatically, all one question.

Aside from the opening "if," the second verse seems to have nothing to do with the first. This is where the anti-war message is offered.

"If war were a game" that were winnable... the implication is that it is not. Even winning costs a great deal of human life and pain. And today's wars, especially, are not fought with other nations who can surrender or sign treaties, but with amorphous, hydra-like organizations that feed on grudges and resentment. They never lose (even if they never can win), because as long as they keep fighting, the "war" is still on, in their minds.

But, if there was such a "game"-- and games have rules, yes?-- then "What kind of rule/ Can overthrow a fool" (presumably, the enemy) bloodlessly? The idea is to win but "leave the land with no stain."

That would be a useful rule, indeed. The bloodless revolution is always preferable. Diplomacy, pressure, economic sanctions-- there are many alternatives to war that can achieve the same results, with much less loss of life.

As the war-gaming computer Joshua learns in the movie WarGames, "the only winning move is not to play." Unfortunately, war is often not a game that one can choose not to play. The speaker knows this, which is is why she begins with "if."

One interesting word is "child." She asks about a child winning a war, which is odd because even in those horrifying cases in which children are made the take up arms, they generally are not running the war and certainly did not start it. Perhaps she means that only a child-like person sees war as a game, and a winnable one at that.

The song is pretty, but not cohesive. The first verse wonders: if sand waves were made audible, could they produce a song that would call forth rain from a cloudless sky? The second asks: What if there were a rule of war-- assuming that war was a game, and a winnable one at that-- that could automatically make the opponent step down from power without a fight?

These are interesting questions, but not related. It seems as if the producer said that there were a few more minutes on the CD, and would Vega like to put something there? And she looked in her notebook and said, "Well, I have these two ideas. I'm not sure they are a song, though, together." And the producer said, "Why don't you sing them and we'll see?" And they were pretty enough, and now here they are... or it is.

As to which war is meant...? This album was released in 1992. The Gulf War took place the year before. In 1992 itself, there were wars in Rwanda, Somalia, Bosnia, Croatia, Georgia (the country), and Afghanistan, as well as unrest in Iraq. It is too hard, sadly, to say which-- if any specific-- war Vega was thinking of, or which "fool" she was hoping was to be deposed; many of these wars involved a brutal dictator, in which he was attacking a weaker neighbor or his own citizens.

The song seems a somewhat haphazard way to end the disc, even if the song did recall her earlier albums. Which she already did with "Blood Sings," a much stronger and cohesive song.

The song also calls to mind two other tiny songs. One is "Song for the Asking," the last song on Bridge Over Troubled Water, itself the last Simon and Garfunkel album. The other is "Her Majesty," a cute ditty that ends Let It Be, itself (by some lights) the last Beatles album. It's sort of a song to send you out the door, with a parting thought.


Next Song: Woman on the Tier  

As Girls Go

The subject of this song is either a man dressed as a woman ("transvestite") or a man in the process of becoming a woman ("transsexual"). A "transgender" person is one who identifies as the gender opposite of which their body would suggest, so that's another possibility, but less likely.

The speaker's entire focus, in the lyrics, is determining which is the case-- is this a man dressed as a woman, or becoming one? She is forced to admit that the subject "make(s) a really good girl," in the sense that he can "pass" as one. She does withhold some praise with: "...as girls go." So maybe this man makes for a convincing woman, just not a particularly attractive one...?

"Still kind of look like a guy," she says, now that she thinks of it. "I never thought to wonder why," she adds, implying that all this time this subject has been somewhat masculine for a woman, yet the speaker thought that he was just a masculine-looking woman, not actually a man in the guise of a woman... until now.

"If I could pull this off," usually means, "If I can accomplish this task," but most often in a sneaky or over-ambitious way: "If we could pull off this bank heist, we'd be rolling in dough." In this case, the speaker means it literally, about some article of clothing the man is wearing. If she could pull off his clothes, she would "know for certain/ the real situation..."

"... behind the curtain." This is a clever reference to The Wizard of Oz, in which the Wizard says, "Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain." Why mention this movie? It stars Judy Garland, a star with long-standing popularity in the gay community. Her character is named "Dorothy," and for decades if someone wanted to know if a person was gay without being open about it, they would ask, "Is he a friend of Dorothy?"

Well, we were wrong about the results of the womanly guise being unattractive. Now we learn that the speaker feels (or at least says) the subject is "so beautiful" and even "stunning," even if the effect is artificial and "not exactly natural." Perhaps, since vinegar did not work, she is trying honey now.

(As an aside, I would use this expression-- "Not exactly natural/ Stunning nonetheless"-- to describe the album as a whole. While many of the sounds are synthesized, the result is arresting.)

Interestingly, now that the speaker has acknowledged the subject's attractiveness, she calls him a "damsel in distress." This fairy-tale reference might mean that he himself is self-conscious about whether he is "passing" as a woman. (Personally, I think a stronger line would have been "damsel in this dress," which would have made the listener think about that idea... while also expressing that, in this dress, he is a damsel-- while in, say, a sweatsuit, not so much.)

The speaker then gets a bit invasive with her curiosity: "What happened to you/ To make you more girl that girls are?" This seems somewhat personal and even judgmental, as if it would have to be an accident that made the person was this way... not just that he was, as Lady Gaga said, born this way.

Then the speaker probes further: "Would you ever show or tell?" She really does want to "pull this off"! Maybe she is at a drag show, but she seems to be hoping it turns into a strip show. She now couches her curiosity in a compliment. She wants to know, she says, because the subject is "so good" at passing.

Then she lays it all on the line: Did the subject have gender-reassignment surgery or not? She admits that her curiosity is inappropriate, and that she is investigating the "dark," and private-- perhaps even psychologically painful-- "side" of the subject's "life." But she doesn't care! She asks anyway: "Did you ever keep the date/ With the steel side of the knife?"

Finally, it seems that the subject has called an end to this invasive line of inquiry. We know because now the speaker suddenly pretends she doesn't care: "Doesn't matter to me/ Which side of the line/ You happen to be/ At any given time."

This sudden nonchalance is almost insulting-- along with the flippant sense of, "You know what, forget it; I've decided I don't care," comes the demeaning implication that the subject jumps back and forth between being a man and woman haphazardly. It implies that this is all just a fun game the subject plays with his gender identity instead of a deeply wrenching, even existential, internal struggle.

That said, this last could be also be a come-on: "I am so attracted to you, I don't care if you are a man or a woman... or one and then the other and back again! Let's go!"

However, if I were the subject, I would find this seduction highly suspicious. All this time, the speaker has wanted to see, to know for herself, just what was between the subject's legs. She has asked and dared and even threatened to disrobe the subject right there! And now she wants to sleep with him because she's attracted to him? Oh, please. She just wants to satisfy her ridiculous, insulting, obsessive curiosity, and getting him in bed will allow her to see him naked and know.

She says it doesn't matter? It has until just now!

I think the speaker is trying to be funny, and thinks she is. She probably is having fun and "just playin'."

But I imagine the subject of this harassing harangue of questions wouldn't find it funny at all. He was brave enough to trot out his new identity in public and is deeply insecure on many levels: Is he passing? Is he pretty? Is this really what he wants and who he is? Is it all worth it, given his deeper uncertainty?

And then this woman sees him and starts asking all these personal questions! Ones that go right to the heart of his insecurities. "So? What is it? Are you a guy or a girl? You kinda look like a guy. Come on, tell me. Go ahead, let me see. Peekaboo! Haha! Please? You know, you're pretty. Beautiful, even. Why are you so mixed up? You can tell me. Wow, you're even more feminine than a woman usually is-- are you overcompensating? (sigh) So, already, yeah? Did you get the ol' snippity snip or what? Fine! I don't care. Be a boy, a girl, or whatever. You're no fun."

It's really somewhat disturbing how hyper-focused the speaker is on the issue of the subject's gender. Why not ask anything else about him-- whatever happened to, "So, what do you do?" or "See any good movies lately?"

I certainly hope that subject spoke with someone else-- a friend or therapist-- who could assure him that this one person's massive inappropriateness should not in any way make them assume that most people look at him as a sideshow. Just this one obnoxious twit does.


Next Song: Song of Sand

When Heroes Go Down

This song doesn't need much interpretation. It's about what happens to those we put on pedestals. The higher we set them above us, the harder and faster they seem to fall. And since all heroes are ultimately human (the "super" kind of heroes are all fictional), they all ultimately fail and fall.

Thomas Jefferson, Albert Einstein, Martin Luther King, Jr., even Gandhi... no matter how lauded and adulated, their biographers always seem to find the embarrassing skeletons behind the iconic facades. And when these skeletons (in the above examples, involving their relationships with women) come to light, well, as Vega says: "When heroes go down/ They go down fast."

The fall so quickly, there is no "time to/ Equivocate the past." That twenty five-cent word means "to cloud or obscure." A classic equivocation is: "Mistakes were made."

Like plummeting airplanes, falling heroes "land in flame." They are always, to others, at fault for their own downfall-- but to themselves, they are the victims of circumstance or conspiracy. Snap judgments are made, by the media and public, and "don't expect any slow and careful/ Settling of blame." They fell? Their fault.

So hold something back, Vegas advises, when you admire someone: "look out for the feet of clay." An interesting expression, from the Biblical Book of Daniel, this refers to a vision this prophet had of a particular king's society. He dreamed of a statue with a gold head, silver chest, bronze stomach, iron legs (note the decreasing worth of the metals on down)... and clay feet. This heavy statue (the kingdom) was built on a soft, unstable foundation (a rebellious peasant class) that would easily falter and bring his kingdom down.

Therefore, someone having "feet of clay" is fallible and will ultimately disappoint you, like the heroes Vega speaks of.

And what happens after they fall? There will be "no chance for last respects." No time to bury the reputationally dead with a proper funeral and last rites... before the public is on to the next hero on the next pedestal. "You feel the disappointment," but no one else is there to mourn your fallen hero.

Lastly, the "fall" coming with their being "revealed," then "you can't expect any kind of mercy/ On the battlefield." If someone's protective armor is compromised, their enemies will have at them relentlessly and remorselessly.

Vega herself is a celebrity. She has some experience being recognized while walking down the street and eating in cafes. And while she never has been the subject of tabloid scandal-mongering, she has had her most popular period, and now is-- and there is no shame in this-- less so. Perhaps another such period is in her future-- a song of hers could get recycled as a TV theme, or be sampled by Beyonce or something. There is no way to tell.

And Vega herself has, as have we all, admired others... and come to see their flaws. Perhaps seeing how celebrities fall-- or are torn down-- she is happier now that she has her family, her work, and her loyal following (ahem)... and that's all.

But maybe that's enough, or even better. After all, there isn't as much room to relax on a pedestal as there is on a porch swing.


Next Song: As Girls Go

Bad Wisdom

Another song on the album about a medical condition, if not an illness. This song is about a young woman-- "too young," according to the woman herself-- who gets pregnant.

She is exhibiting "strange" symptoms, but her mother is in some sort of denial. The doctor is aware of the woman's condition. "He knows I'm not a child," not too young to have sex. But he "doesn't dare ask the right question." Which is if she did.

After all, a mother-- and hers is there, at the appointment-- who does not consider the possibility that her "sick" child is actually simply pregnant is not emotionally ready to hear that she is.

Her friends, still young enough to "play games," have abandoned her. "I've grown serious," which is understandable, but her friends are too young to guess the reason, and so have "left" her to her own "daydreaming." Which is likely about what her life would have been like had she not gotten pregnant.

She starts to add up the "price" she has to pay for this "bad wisdom." Not that sex is bad, or that pregnancy is-- just that it's bad, now, for her. She knows "too much, too soon." She is just past playing with a doll, and should not worried about caring for a baby.

The woman now turns to society's reaction. She has learned that those who are "good"-- who follow the moral as well as the legal code-- "will be protected." However, those who have "fallen through the crack" are not, so there is "no getting back" to her former "good" status. Even a criminal can be rehabilitated and stolen items returned. But motherhood is forever, and therefore so is her "sin."

She realizes she can "never trust whoever gets elected." Because she has been immoral, she can forget any governmental assistance with her child. There is no incentive for an elected official to offer any, and plenty for balancing the city's budget on her back instead. Then the mayor gets to claim moral superiority, and for free.

Next, she loses the esteem and closeness of her mother, who by now has seen her swelling belly. Her mother's eyes have "gone suddenly cold." In a wry pun, the woman says this reaction is not what she was "expecting." Even her own mother has become emotionally distant. Perhaps she feels that she has failed as a mother, or that she has been betrayed by her wayward child. Maybe, on top of it all, she does not like the idea of being a grandmother yet, as it might make her feel old.

We hear about the "blossom of young womanhood," but that is not case here. The woman says that she feels "cut at the root like a weed." Why? "There's no one to hear my small story." Not her mother, not her friends, not the government. No one cares.

She made one mistake, and now she will pay for it, alone (well, aside from the baby), for the rest of her life. She compares her shunned status to that of a prostitute, "a woman who walks in the street." She says that like a whore, she will "pay for [her] life with [her] body."

It seems like having an abortion is not possible. It is easier for a politician to placate a puritanical public by denying abortion rights than to risk their ire; many who would use abortion services are too young to vote in any case and so have no political clout.

There is the option of having the child and then offering it for adoption. Again, this still requires a full course of labor and delivery, and the stigma of going through pregnancy in public.

The other factor is the father of this fetus-- he is not even mentioned. Knowing that the man-- who imparted this sexual "wisdom" to her-- simply used her and abandoned her tells her something else about men. Yet more "bad" information. But the fact that he is not even brought up speaks volumes-- she might have thought to rely on friends, family, or society, but it never even occurred to her to consider the involvement of the man who bares at least as much responsibility as herself. Who would even think he'd be around?

In a maddeningly ironic way, had she been raped, she would have some legal recourse. But it sounds like she sought this "wisdom" and only later regretted not having waited to learn its lessons. It also sounds like she-- and the baby-- are better off without him in any case, his responsibility to them notwithstanding.

This song is a cautionary tale. For one piece of wisdom, all this is lost: her friendships, her mother's affection, her social standing, her boyfriend, her future...

"Too young to know too much too soon." She would have still learned this wisdom, had she waited, and the tuition cost would not have been so very, very high.

Next Song: When Heroes Go Down

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

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

Fat Man & Dancing Girl

Evidently, carnivals are rife with "fat men." In the title track to "Tunnel of Love," Springsteen sings, "Fat man sitting on a little stool/ takes my money... hands me two tickets."

Here, there is a lot of carnival and circus imagery: a barker or "megaphone man," a "dancing girl," a "monkey" doing a "trick," an "MC" (short for "master of ceremonies"), and a "tightrope." Also, a "fat man." (The imagery of the packaging really pays off here.)

The carnival starts with an empty field, "a wide, flat land," the repeated short 'a' making it sound very flat indeed. There are no trees or buildings, so "no shadow or shade." She then puns "shade" with the cliche "shade of a doubt." Whatever is to follow is pretty clear, then? In fact, it is about the benefits of concealment.

We meet two characters. One is a loud man, with a "megaphone" to make his voice even louder. The other is a quiet woman. She is trying to make herself quieter, "covering her most of her mouth" with her "hand."

When we "fall in love," the speaker now posits, we do so "with a bright idea," and in the context of how "a world is revealed to you." We don't fall in love with a person as much as out idea of the person (which may be wrong) and further, there is more of the world that is not "revealed to you." In fact, reality is as artificial as a vaudevillian act, such as a "fat man and dancing girl", and-- and this is the key line--

"Most of the show is concealed from view."

Next is a line about a children's game: Monkey in the Middle. Two children toss a ball over one in the middle, dubbed the "monkey." If she catches the ball, the one who threw it moves to the middle, becomes the new monkey, and the game continues with the former monkey now becoming one of the throwers.

Here, however, it seems like there is an actual monkey! He's chattering away, "singing that tune," and annoying the speaker. Perhaps he represents a third party in the relationship, a third wheel or hanger-on.

Now we meet the ringmaster, the MC. His name is "Billy Purl" (not the more obvious "Pearl," for some reason), which is only the case because we needed it to rhyme with "girl." He reminds us of the MC introducing Sergeant Pepper's band, "Billy Shears." Our Billy is The International Fun Boy, no less. What qualifies him to lead the proceedings? "He knows the worth of a beautiful girl."

He's not shallow... the audience is! He's just giving them what they want.

Next, we have another act: "the tightrope." The idea of walking a tightrope is a common metaphor for trying to choose the only path between two horrible outcomes. If she doesn't reveal the artifice, she is participating in a lie. If she does, the show is over. "Never dreamed I would fall," she says, since she does, in fact give away the secret... that there is a secret, a backstage.

Now the monkey is back, not singing this time, but doing a repetitive "trick." Again the speaker wishes for his speedy removal: "It's making me nervous."

And now the show is over. The carnival has moved to another empty field to pitch the big top anew. We see the megaphone man and the shy girl again.

What will the choice be this time? "Does she tell the truth?/ Does she hide the lie?" Or does she stay on the tightrope, speaking the truth aloud, but alone: "Does she say it so no one can know?" After all, she is only covering "most of" her mouth.

But "it's all part of the show."

Secrets are an inevitable part of life. Members of couples keep secrets from each other, and from other couples. Everyone knows this, because they are keeping secrets themselves. The movie This is Where I Leave You demonstrates why, as a widow with no boundaries shares tales of her late husband's sexual prowess at his memorial service, to the embarrassment of all (most of all, his children).

Yet, if everyone shared everything, that would make life very uncomfortable, perhaps even unlivable. "The rest of the show is concealed from view." Why? "It's all part of the show."

Knowing what's going on backstage, how the movie-makers or magicians crafted a particular illusion, seeing the actors out of costume... these things ruin a show.

If you do what the Wizard of Oz says, and "pay no attention to the man behind the curtain," then you are overwhelmed by Oz. But if you do see the levers, pulleys, safety pins, and duct tape holding it all together, the magic itself will be what vanishes.

And then you are wiser, perhaps. But did you enjoy the show more, this way, or less?


Next Song: (If You Were) In My Movie



 

Blood Sings

We've all seen images of children running to greet their parents, especially ones returning from a long absence, say from an overseas combat zone. Many of us have seen or even experienced reunions among family members. There are even stories of family members who had thought each other dead finding each other again after decades. There are smiles and tears and long hugs.

Even in the Bible, Adam finds a resonance with Eve he does not find with any of the other creatures. "This, now, is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh," he enthuses about her.

"When blood meets blood of its own/ It sings to see itself again," is how Vega puts it, in this song. Recognition is so powerful that it surges the blood and sends it singing through the arteries. "It sings to here the voice it's known/ It sings to recognize the face... I know these bones as being mine/ and the curving of the lip."

But the song is about more than the joy of self-recognition in a family member's face.

The lines "one body split and passed along the line/ From the shoulder to the hip" is enigmatic. If the body is "split... from the shoulder to the hip" does that mean some surgery has been done? If so, why the phrase "passed along the line"-- was this an organ donor?

It could be a metaphorical split. One member of the family could have been separated from the rest somehow. Perhaps the mother, being too young or financially insecure, gave her first child up for adoption, but he was unfortunate enough not to find a permanent home but was instead "passed along the line" from one foster family to another.

And now this child has grown and become a teen; he would become legally independent at 18 but might need somewhere to go, since his foster family could not keep him. He contacts his biological mother, and she agrees to take him in.  Now he is meeting his older siblings, who were raised by their biological mother, who was mature and stable enough when she had them to keep them.

His younger sister's first reaction is joy-- he looks just like them! Look at his features, his bone structure, his lips... even his voice! He really is a member of the family. 

But then she really takes a look at her long-lost brother and asks, "How did this one life fall so far and fast?" Clearly, he has been through many miserable years.

She muses that some people are naturally gifted, others less so: "some with grace, and some without." He seems to be of the latter kind. But "all tell the story that repeats." Is that the story of the genetic code? Or of one that has occurred before, perhaps even in this selfsame family?

This story is "of a child who had been left alone at birth/ Left to fend [for himself]." Worse, "and taught to fight." He has had to defend himself, probably against bullies who taunted him for his foster status. 

"See his eyes and how they start with light," she notices. In this case, "start" is a synonym for "startle." He is not used to light, perhaps being from kept in a dark room, say an attic. 

He has pictures of his childhood, and as the sister rifles through them, she notices that his eyes "get colder" as he ages. It is a sad fact of the foster system that people are willing to take in babies and small children, and less so children as they age. Many, by age eight or so, end up in group homes. 

Evidently, he warms to them enough to tell them his story, or perhaps his case worker fills them in, because "we've all come to know" what it was. "Did he carry his back luck upon his back?" she wonders, as he moved from house to house, but never going to a place that was truly "home."

There was a young woman who, hearing that many foster kids pack to move to their next home in garbage bags, began a national effort to collect luggage for them. If they do have to move, she felt, at least they don't feel like their belongings are garbage when they do

The verse about the joy of recognition now repeats. It seems like this wondering and worrying have subsided, and the happiness at the reunion itself has returned. 

But we have to wonder, once she was able to have and care for her own children, why their mother did not go back and try to find the child she had to give up before. Perhaps she was too upset, or embarrassed, or frightened. Anyway, he is here now, so now the healing can begin.

Structural Note:

The rhyme scheme of the song is unusual too, in that it varies from verse to verse. In the first verse, the first and third lines rhyme: "own/known" (ABAC). In the second verse, the first and third lines rhyme: "line/mine." But so do the second and fourth "hip/lip." (so it's ABAB). In the third verse, the second and fourth lines (semi-)rhyme: "repeats/fight." In the last verse, the second and fourth lines rhyme: "go/know." These final two are ABCB. And then the first verse repeats.

This scheme hints at a shift in perspective. At first, the sister is seeing things through her own eyes, so the rhyme starts at the first line of the verse, as in first person (me). Then she starts to shift her viewpoint ("I wonder what he thinks of me?!" and can rhyme the second line (second person, you) line also; ("You must see me the same way I see you," she thinks of her brother. By the third verse, she has shifted her viewpoint entirely ("What must you have gone through?") and is only seeing his viewpoint. She stays there for the fourth verse. Then she, as she must, returns to her own.

Musical Note:

The song is mostly sung to a solo guitar with a bass line, hearkening back to Vega's earlier work. It stands apart from the other heavily produced, industrial work of the rest of album.  

Next Song: Fat Man and Dancing Girl

99.9 F

This song seems an update of Peggy Lee's (in)famous song "Fever."

The song starts with the diagnosis of the patient's temperature and "stable" status, but then adds the prognosis "...with rising possibilities." That's not usually what a doctor says... what is it that might actually be rising? Hmmm....

Also, the prescription? "Stay awake at night." A doctor faced with a real fever might suggest sleep instead.

So this seems to be a couple engaged in some sort of sexy medical role play. The line "it could be normal, but it isn't quite" seems to belie a hidden kink as well.

There is a lot of repetition in this song-- it seems to have multiple choruses. The bridge is only sung once. "Pale as a candle" is a nice line because it evokes something pallid, yes, but also aflame (it's not "pale as snow," or "wool.")

The metaphor of contagion is used to evoke the idea that one person's passion could ignite another's: "If I touch you/ I might get what you've got."

One repeated element is this verse: "Something cool against the skin/ Is what you could be needing." This is almost certainly a reference to the song "Small Blue Thing," with its line: "I am cold against your skin."

The implication of "If I touch you," is that she hasn't yet, so this reinforces the idea that she is still "cool" while he is warm with his... temperature(?) still "rising."

In a later song on this album, "If You Were in My Movie," Vega again explores the idea of romantic role play, and this doctor/patient game is one of the scenarios described.

It is probably not all that surprising that someone so focused on medical issues could sexualize the idea. If hospital visits were consuming someone's time, this might be a natural way to take ownership of that unwelcome circumstance.


Next Song: Blood Sings

In Liverpool

Liverpool, of course, is now best known as the home of The Beatles. However, it is also a city where other things happen, and I don't see another reference to them in the song.

The other reference that is in the song is to a "hunchback," since the best-known church-bell ringer is Quasimodo, the fictioanl Hunchback of Notre Dame (and if someone can explain to me why a college with the French name of "Notre Dame" ["Our Lady," i.e. the Virgin Mary] is home to the Fightin' Irish and not the Fightin' French, I'd be much obliged, as I've always wondered.) Not that it is relevant to the song... in which a church-bell ringer appears prominently.

The song, because of that bell-ringer, is one of Vega's most enigmatic. So we will leave the bell-ringer aside for a moment and focus on the verses, which seem a straightforward break-up song.

It starts with the setting for the remembrance of loves past. We are in Liverpool, England, and it is a Sunday, when people are in church and the church-bell ringers are at work there. As everyone is worshipping, there is "No traffic/ On the avenue... No sound, down in this part of town."

We also learn a bits about the now-gone lover, piecemeal. So far, we learn that he is "pale and thin," the last trait of which reminds us of the lover from the song "Gypsy," who had "a long and slender body." In the next verse, we learn that he is from a different time-zone, since he is "Homesick/ For a clock that told the same time" as the one he is used to.

We learn that the she was somehow affected by him: "If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms/ You'll probably swallow some of their history." This could be an illusion to many things, but I think it might be a disease he had contracted earlier in his "history" that he has now passed to her. It could also simply be a character trait, like melancholy. On a personal note, an ex-girlfriend of mind told me that my love of my faith and faith-community awoke a similar yen in her she had not know was there. So it could be something of this nature as well.

Now that they are apart, the speaker says, "I'll be the girl who sings for her supper," which implies the speaker is in fact Vega herself, who as a professional musician does exactly that; the allusion is to a Mother Goose rhyme: "Little Tommy Tucker/ Sings for his supper/ What shall he eat?/ White bread and butter." In the rhyme, Tommy can't even afford a "knfe" to butter his bread with, so he ends up "without any wife." Alone, just like our singer, here.

We learn two more things about the lover: He is "monk"-like, and he has a high forehead. Perhaps the disease he shared was not of the intimate kind? Perhaps he was like a monk in that there was no intimacy at all... and that was the bit of his history that colored their relationship-- the inability to get close, for having been hurt before.

"He'll be the man who's already working," the song continues. Wait, "He" who? Hmm. Perhaps the non-lover was unable to be close to her because he was unable to get close to women, since he was more interested in men. And now this mysterius "he" is already employed, to boot, at something more stable that "singing for his supper."

What does his job, "spreading a memory all through the sky" involve, however? Could this be mean he makes eulogies, or writes obituaries? Does he scatter cremated ashes as part of his job? A "memory" does not have to be a "memorial," though. It could be that he is a radio reporter who focuses on nostalgic stories.

In any case, that is this other individual. Our speaker is still in Liverpool, and it is still Sunday. "No reason to even remember you now," she muses... "except"...

The "boy in the belfry," the church-bell ringer. What has he been up to that has triggered this flood of memory? "He's been ringing the bells in the church for the last half an hour." That is certainly a long time to continually ring church bells! Usually, they toll the hour or signal an event like a wedding, funeral, or emergency. You would think that after the first five or ten minutes someone would have gone up to the belfry to see why the boy was ringing them for so long.

But no one does, and we'll never know what his reason was. "He's throwing himself down from the top of the tower." He has committed suicide, again for an unknown reason.

All she can do is speculate. "He's crazy," she muses. But what drove him to that state? Well, to her, the bells "sound like he's missing something/ Or someone that he knows he can't have now."

Why, of all things, would she assume that was his reason for all that bell-ringing? Simply because misses someone: "If he isn't, I certainly am." We often impute reasons to others that are based solely on our own experiences and states of mind.

The speaker hears bells, and her memory of a lost love is awakened. She thinks over the whole relationship, and tries to makes sense of it. Perhaps the church bells reminded her of the man's monkish behavior. Then she realizes, "Those bells have been going on a while now... what's that about?" She looks over to the bell tower and sees the bell-ringer leaping to his death. "Only one thing could have caused all of that," she thinks. "Heartbreak."

More likely, this is not something she witnessed, but perhaps read about, and imagined herself there. Either that, or the feeling of loss called to her mind the idea of wanting everyone to know about he death of this relationship, and the only way to express such an immense loss was with church bells.


Next Song: 99.9F

Blood Makes Noise

This is another song in which Vega discusses a disease. In this case, tinnitus. This inner-ear malady's name shares a root with "tintinnabulation," or "the ringing of bells."

So yes, this is the disease that involves, as she says, "a ringing in my ears." To the accompaniment of clanging, thumping music, she describes the "noise" in her ears: "I'm standing in a windy tunnel."

There is a type of tinnitus that means the ear has become hypersensitive to electrical impulses in the body. But Vega here refers to the "pulsatile" version of the disorder, in which changes in either the blood flow or the ear make the heartbeat, the "pulse," more audible. Or, as she more bluntly puts it, "blood makes noise."

The song is presented as a one-way conversation between a patient and her doctor. However, it is almost impossible to discuss the disease because of the disease-- she can't hear her own words or his responses: "I'd like to give the information... I think you might want to know/ The details and the facts," she apologizes, but "I'm shouting through the roar... I can't really hear you."

In the end, the disease wins out. "Forget it Doc," the patient capitulates. "I think it's really cool that you're concerned/ But we'll have to try again after the silence has returned." Which, of course, it will not... on its own. The must be a medical intervention.

One would hope that they doctor would not be satisfied by his patient's frustration and agree to call it a day. First, there is reason to fear that the symptom indicates larger problem. If something is restricting the blood flow-- a clot, a tumor, some plaque, a kink in a blood vessel-- at least some scans are indicated.

Second, there is the patient's mental well-being. She is in denial, but has admitted to a "thickening" or increasing "of fear." The patient even blames the blood itself for causing her to forget what might have triggered the problem: "There's something in my blood/ [That] denies the memory of the acts."

Even without a doctor's training, the patient guesses there is a potentially larger issue at hand. What the patient needs is an advocate like the one in Vega's earlier song "Fifty-fifty Chance" who says: "I hate to ask, I need to know."

Let's hope the doctor has dealt with other patients whose hearing loss creates a communication barrier he or she has overcome. There are multiple solutions, the most obvious of which is a pen and paper. Taking turns typing on the doctor's laptop might even be faster and more legible to both parties, as well as allowing for easy revisions and a record of the conversation.

The patient is sitting on the "butcher paper" in the exam room and is starting to babble with worry. A good doctor will wait, listen, then calmly respond, diffusing the stress and finding a way to communicate past the "noise" and the rising panic it is causing.


Next Song: In Liverpool

Rock in This Pocket

The song is subtitled "Song of David," which re-enforces the clear reference in the lyrics to the story of David and Goliath. But it also implies the song is a psalm, as many of the original Psalms are titles "Mizmor L'David," or "A Song of David." Many of the Psalms are about strife and a desire to vanquish one's enemies.

Vega begins her radically different sonic approach with a new production staff-- notably Los Lobos' guitarist David Hidalgo and the production team of Tchad Blake and (her later husband, and still later ex-husband) Mitchell Froom. The freewheeling nature of the album is alluded to by the liner notes and photos, designed to look like an old-fashioned traveling circus and its playbill.

The album starts with this song's clanging, swooping introductory sound, and the sarcastic "ahem" of its opening line: "Excuse me, if I may/ Turn your attention my way." This is both David, cockily threatening the giant Goliath... and Vega, re-announcing her presence on the cultural stage.

"I won't plead," she says, for the listener's attention. But she also insists that she have it: "It's what I need... If it's the last thing I do/ I'll make you see."

The David vs. Goliath story, of course, is the ultimate underdog narrative, the small defeating the much larger. Even the weapon itself-- a rock-- is small.

But before even discussing that, the speaker admits that the attention she seeks "isn't much" itself. However, the importance of the attention is larger than its size: "What's so small to you/ Is so large to me." Whatever it is that she has to say (probably everything that follows on the album) is important for her to say... and so you will listen, even if you don't think you care.

Yes, it's true that her opponent can cast a huge shadow-- "You darken my sun"-- but he should know that she must not be underestimated: "The rock in this pocket/ Could cause your fall."

The speaker's willingness to attack is so great, she is even willing to endanger her own life to do it: "I might be out like a light, extinguished in the throw."

But she feels it is worth it, because she will "hit [her] mark," since she is "well acquainted" with her target, "the span of [Goliath's] brow."

And in hitting her mark, she will make her mark in history. Her Goliath will "know." Yes, "If you didn't know me then, you'll know me now."

This seems to be Vega speaking. Her voice has been criticized as thin and wispy, "small," if you will. Her sound to date has been acoustic, ethereal, and sparse, also "small," compared to the sound of a blaring rock band or a dense dance track.

But she dismisses those concerns. Inspired by the DJs who have been reworking her "Tom's Diner" vocals, she creates a new, industrialized, citified sound for her fourth album. Even if her voice is still thin, her music demands to be noticed.

Mostly, I think, it is another "secret weapon" she is unleashing: Her ideas. The "rock in this pocket" could be an oblique reference to rock 'n' roll ("You see me as a folksy singer-songwriter, but guess what, I'm a rock star"). But more likely it is simply an unseen entity-- a thought-- that demands attention, smashes the competition, and slays the critics.

This is Vega's version of trash talk. In a way (an intellectual, literate way), it is as blustery as any rap boast. The remainder of her career, and the sphere of her influence, have borne out her boast. She'll "make you see" her, indeed.

Next Song: Blood Makes Noise

Pilgrimage

This song is about entropy-- or, as it applies to human life-- mortality. So why is the title about a spiritual journey to a holy place?

Let's start with a simpler question: What does the first line of the song mean? "This line is burning..." What line?

She means the line of the song, the line of music, the words she is singing themselves. The words and notes live on the ear for a fraction of a second apiece before dispersing into scattered waves.

Similarly, once a moment in time has passed, it may as well be ash. Its potential has been burned up like a spent matchstick, a used wick, or a piece of kindling. She begins this thought by mentioning the days of the week, and the words "months" and "year."

The next thought concludes logically: "This life is burning." Time started before we were born and will continue after we die. We are here for a few moments, relatively speaking (if the Earth's history were one year, all of human existence would take place in the last hour of December 31). So if time is being burned up, so is our lifetime.

But she holds out a note of hope. Yes, "every death is an end," but for all this "stopping," there is also "starting," or new birth. This is a "march over millions of years," and each generation takes its steps in turn.

All of this progress is pointing where, though? Here is all this "travel." Where is the destination, the "arrival"? The progression is, she says, "toward a source." So... Heaven? It would explain the title-- all of life is a pilgrimage back to the Heaven (which certainly counts as a holy place) from whence we came.

Then the speaker gets both more specific and more enigmatic about her destination: "I'm coming to you." To whom? God? A passed-on relative waiting in Heaven? (If so, this song might link to the previous one. That song was about a suicide attempt; perhaps the person tried to kill themselves to reunite with someone waiting in Heaven, and this song is from her perspective.)

The idea of "burning" and "turning to ash" is now applies to the land. The soil erodes, the continents rise and sink, and the whole Earth itself has a time limit due to the Sun's inevitable collapse.

The speaker closes with a parting gift: "Take this/ Mute mouth/ Broken tongue." The deceased is bequeathing her very silence as an inheritance. Why is silence a gift?

Death, which the speaker says she has been marching toward for years, has arrived. And now the "dark," painful-- perhaps physically so but certainly emotionally so-- life, has hope... the hope of an end.

"Now," that the pilgrimage has ended, the Promised Land of relief and release has been attained: "Now this dark life is shot through with light."

Many who have had near-death experiences speak of seeing a great light. But even without such a vision, the idea of life ending may not seem frightening to some. For those with "dark" lives, an end to such a life just means an end to the darkness, and so, light.

There is a movement now to take the idea of euthanasia a step further. Rather than it only being used to speed an inevitable death and avoid a protracted and agonizing decline, some would like a medically assisted suicide to be available to those with chronic pain, both of the physical and mental varieties. There are fates worse than death, a life of suffering may be one.

The speaker here has made grand claims about the entropy of the universe to rationalize her desire-- we're all dying all the time anyway, so what's the big deal? But really, she just wants to die so that the pain of missing her lost loved one can end.

There is a old comedy line: "If you can't live without me, why aren't you dead yet?" But the question is not funny, or rhetorical, to the speaker here. She would reply, "Give me a minute, I'm working on it."

Is the person making a pilgrimage to Heaven, or to the embrace of a lost loved one? For the speaker, those places are the same.


Next Song: Rock in this Pocket

Fifty-fifty Chance

The song is about a patient and the person visiting her (the speaker).

It starts with someone "lying in bed" in a hospital's cardiac ward. The doctor is explaining to the visitor that the patient has a "50-50" chance of survival.

The visitor, possibly the patient's adult child, sees "a pan on the floor/ Filled with something black." Her response is universal: "I need to know/ I'm afraid to ask" what it is.

The visitor then pledges her support to the patient, who is unresponsive. She could be sleeping or under sedation, but given the information we learn later, likely not in a coma.

"I hug you/ I hum to you... I touch you," says the visitor to the patient. "I tell you/ I love you./ Sing to you/ Bring to you/ Anything."

The visitor notes that that the patient, who should be calm since she is resting, has an accelerated heartbeat. Also, she is shivering: "Her body trembles with the effort to last."

The doctor seems satisfied, however, that the patient is over the worst of it. In fact, after one more night in the hospital, "She's going home/ Tomorrow at ten," meaning 10:00 a.m.

Then comes the chilling last lines: "The question is/ Will she try it again?"

And now we know why the patient was there: attempted suicide. The black material in the pan may have been whatever poison was pumped out of the patient's system.

In reality, a patient with only a "50-50 chance" of survival would not likely be sent home the next day, so the last verse could take place a week or two after the others.

There are two contrasts set up in this song. One is between a mind that wants to die being housed in a body that wants to live. The other is a person who wants to die when there is someone in her life who loves her so much.

If she is in the cardiac ward, this may be a clue as to why the patient attempted suicide in the first place. She may have a congenital or painful heart condition, and would rather die at her own hand than be the victim of a heart attack.

It is bad enough to take a patient home who may have a relapse of a disease or a recurrence of a cancer. It is something else entirely to know that a person might decide to try and take her own life again-- how could you possibly be vigilant enough? You have to sleep sometime...

There should be some staff person at the hospital, a social worker or psychiatrist, who can offer help and suggestions, and possibly even prescribe therapy, anti-depressants... something. Heck, the daughter might need some support, for herself.

To send a woman home with her suicidal mother, possibly the day after the attempt itself, with only a 50% chance of survival, and no psychological support? This does not sound like a doctor or hospital I would ever want to wind up with.


Next Song: Pilgrimage

Predictions

The desire to know the future is as old as the idea of tomorrow. The ancients warned that inquiring of oracles would inevitably lead one to misinterpretation in any case. And if one could speak the future plainly, like Cassandra, one would be ignored then, too. Their conclusion seems to be that you don't get to know what will happen until it does.

Here, Vega lists, somewhat exhaustively, the ways ancient (and, I suppose, some contemporary) people tried to suss out the future. She also does not speak of tarot cards, palm reading, Ouija boards, tea leaves, horoscopes, or crystal balls, but of more esoteric methods.

Many involve reading the behavior of animals-- "by mice," "by fishes," "birds." Fire-- from the flames themselves, to their "smoke," and even their "ashes"-- is another popular prognostication device. Water, from a "fountain," or its interaction with "hot wax," has been tried. As has light, often in reflection from a "mirror" or even "nails reflecting the rays of the Sun."

Natural objects, like "salt" and "pebbles drawn from a heap," have been consulted. Man-made objects, too, like a "suspended ring" or a "balanced hatchet," and even the rising "dough of cakes" have been investigated.

Human behavior is popular as well, from "walking in a circle," to simply "laughing," and of course "dreams." One's "features" can be read, so perhaps this is an allusion to palm reading, but more likely these features are facial.

But perhaps the largest category she lists is markings made by people. From "dots made at random," to the dots of "dice," or the "numbers" they represent. And "letters," too, and words, even whole "passages in books."

Do any of these methods... work? "One of these things will tell you something," she assumes.

A pattern emerges from these methods. A person must begin by saying "I will now set this random process in motion. Once it occurs, I will see how the elements are placed, and by their arrangement-- which I caused but did not control-- I will see what is to be."

It's a combination of intent and instigation by the clairvoyant on the one hand, and the random result of their action upon the object(s) in question on the other. Then the seer explains the result, to either the glee or chagrin of the client.

The interpretation, naturally, will differ depending on the "skills" of the soothsayer consulted, which may not only include the saying of sooth, but the reading of the client's body language, clothes, and political power.

The whole exercise is moot, of course. We cannot foretell the future, since no-one has won the lottery every month or even predicted the Super Bowl winner every time.

It's all about trying to find patterns in the randomness. The scattered ashes or salt grains stand for the randomness of human events and interactions. The prophet tries to see patterns-- mostly gathered from what the client has said while drinking his tea, not from the tea leaves left in the bottom of his cup after.

There are two problems with this. One is that events often are random, with no pattern. The other is that, to the extent that there are patterns to events, no two people will agree entirely on what they are.

This disagreement extends to events in the past, as well. No two historians, even reading over the same evidence, will come to the exact same conclusion. And police officers will tell you that there are as many opinions about a car accident that just happened as there are people at the scene.

It also is true that almost all of the cultures that used these methods are gone. For all of their supposed ability to foresee events, they did not see the plague, drought, volcano, or conquering force arriving from over the hill or ocean that was to eradicate their civilization.

"One of these things will tell you something"? They all will. And all of it worth "dots made at random on paper."


Next Song: Fifty-fifty Chance

Big Space

In glancing over the lyrics, I'm going to take a stab here and say that this song is about songwriting. Let's see if I'm right.

There is a metaphor of janitorial or maintenance work, perhaps for some sort of municipal job. We have words like "network," "fixing," "paperwork," "pipeline," "discipline," "weekend," and "swept up like garbage."

The idea of work pervades; the terms "network," and especially "paperwork" and "brain work" repeat several times throughout. Songwriting is not just a job, it's a grind. It's not just work, it's dirty work.

But how is any of this about songwriting, and not just about... work?

The song starts with a man telling our speaker to "stand in your own shoes" and to "look from your [own] direction."

The speaker responds that she'd "rather stand in someone else's." This is what John Keats called "negative capability," and what we today call empathy. Keats put it: "If a sparrow come before my window, I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel."

Seeing things from another's "perspective" is key to the poetic task. The dialogue continues that the two are "close to the middle" of something and "looking for a center," a unifying element between them that can allow them to communicate. But what if there isn't any, what if "it turns out to be hollow?" Well, then the act of looking itself becomes the solution, since "we" are doing that together; "We could be fixing what is broken."

Simply by her singing and her audience listening, an experience is being shared and a bridge is being built across the chasm between the two parties.

And now comes the chorus that says this is not just about series of forms being filled and filed. "Between the pen and the paperwork"-- in the space taken up by the ink forming the words, the "language" itself-- and "between the muscle and the brain"-- in that nerve, the "pipeline" that carries signals between the two...

...There must be "passion." There must be "feeling." Or else it is just "paperwork." It's not art without the passion and the feeling. It could be just "duty and... discipline." But she wants to go "beyond that."

Yes, but why is the metaphor not, say, working in a garden to produce flowers instead of vegetables? Or painting a portrait instead of a barn wall? Why use the metaphor of wires and pipes, of iron tools and aluminum filing cabinets, things that are colorless and lifeless?

Because not all songs are about love.

This one, for instance, is about "anger in a cold place." Maybe the man at the start is angry with her, frustrated at her always trying to see things from his side, from guessing his mindset and motives, from psychoanalyzing him. Instead of walking a mile in his shoes, as the cliche he quotes goes, she should "stand in [her] own shoes" for once, he tells her.

They are in a Catch-22. She feels that there is a gulf between them. She feels that she should be able to heal this rift if she can see things from his side of it. But it is this very pretentiousness that caused the problem to begin with! Her trying to see things from his side is his problem.

She intends it as empathy. He feels it as an invasion.

She has yet to sort this out. "All feelings fall into the big space"-- possibly the "hollow" between them-- and her method of dealing with "feeling" is to put it in a "pipeline." Maybe by writing about it, she can sort the pieces out.

Imagine a canyon. Throwing logs into it randomly is not going to create a bridge from one side to the other. Even if you fill it with haphazard logs, you still will not be able to get from one side to the other. One requires flat planks, lined up regularly-- some form of order-- a "network," a "pipeline"-- to create that bridge to carry feelings from her to him and back.

But there is a river in the canyon. Even the feelings that fall into this big space are "swept" away. In the municipal imagery of the song, "like garbage on the weekend." Instead of forming a line, they are brushed aside into the "avenues of angles."

So I'm wrong. The janitorial and bureaucratic imagery are metaphors for writing, but perhaps not songwriting. Maybe it's letter-writing between lovers. And it is so hard, it starts to feel like work.

She sees a problem, but she only has one tool to solve the problem-- her ability to assume another's perspective. She's going to empathize her way out of the problem she empathized her way into! That's like trying to dig out of a hole instead of climbing out, just because you have a shovel.

She should go back to her side. And instead of trying to guess what he's about, she should ask. And if he is not as voluble as her (he seems to lean on cliche), she should wait. And before she concludes that, yeah, fine, now she knows, she should make sure by asking again.

In trying to be both people in the relationship, she is making him feel left out. He keeps stepping back, once in a while dumping his feelings into the big-- and expanding-- gulf between them.

Unless she starts listening instead of talking for them both, the whole relationship is going to fall into the big space, and be swept away.


Next Song: Predictions

Room off the Street

There is Slavic proverb: "Eat bread and salt and speak the truth." To me, it means that both your intake and your output should be simple, direct, and decent. The quote comes up later in the song.

But it starts, like "Marlene on the Wall," with the image of a poster. This time, the poster shows "a man with his hand in a fist." We learn that the poster belongs to the resident of the "room" of which the wall is a part. And that, to this man, the poster is "his symbol of freedom/ It mean he has brothers who believes as he does." We are given to understand that he is a revolutionary of some stripe-- but whether anarchist, fascist, or what we are never told. 

In fact, this is all we really learn of the man. The main character, who is introduced first, is a woman. She is "in" the room, which we see is not necessarily hers (she is not "at home"). Her relationship to the room's resident is unclear. In fact, this ambiguity is the substance of the song.

Here is what we know of her-- she has been "drinking." She is wearing a very red dress that is "so tight/ You can see every breath that she takes." Neither of these factors-- her drinking nor her dress-- bespeak the kind of person who consorts with militant types.

Yet... "she is moved by the thing that she sees in his face/ When he talks of the cause." Perhaps she is drinking and partying because she is bored. She is aimless, and so captivated by this man who is so well-aimed. It doesn't matter if she believes in the cause, per se. She just wants to believe in something as much as he.

"She leans against him," because she is drawn to his passion. Because, while he speaks so articulately about his passion, she has nothing to talk about, and no way to express herself except physically. 

"They talk of the salt and the truth and the bread"-- the things he is interested in, and someone with a cocktail dress on her body and a cocktail in her hand is likely not.

It is somewhat clear that they do not have sex: "The night goes along/ The fan goes around." No mention of the bed. It seems that the cause is so fascinating to this rebel that he neglects to notice the tipsy, slinky woman pressed against him. And neglects to wonder what her... cause might be.

Evidently, they are being quite loud during all of this, as well. "Every sigh, every sway/ You can hear everything that they say." The song is titled "Room off the Street," so it seems they cannot only be heard from an adjoining apartment but from the street!

Something is going to happen between these two people. "Something's begun," some sort of relationship. It could be long and bad-- a "war." It could be long and good-- a "family" or "friendship." Or it could be short and good-- a "fast love affair."

Most likely, it is the lattermost. These two are not in it for the long haul. He will grow bored of her, of her lack of commitment to the cause, of her using him for his passion.

And she will grow tired of him, always caring more about the cause than her. Maybe he can eat bread and salt-- she will needs something more luxurious. Maybe he can speak the truth-- she needs innuendo and wit.

They will have a fling, then fling each other aside. He will find someone as dedicated to the cause as himself. And she will find someone wealthy enough to show her an endless good time.

For him, his party is his life. Meanwhile, she is the life of the party.

For him, life is a just cause. For her, life is... just 'cause.


Next Song: Big Space

Those Whole Girls

The key to this song-- more of a poem-- is the title.

"Those," as opposed to this girl, the speaker. How are they different? They are "whole."

There is something less than whole about the speaker, however. She has some disability-- physical, mental, emotional, some combination thereof-- that denies her the abilities and skills of the "whole" girls, which she then enumerates.

First, they "hurl... words," possibly at her. The direction in which they hurl them is key-- they don't just hurl them across or over, but "down," from a position of height (perhaps they are not in a bed or wheelchair) or at least a place of assumed superiority.

They can also move very freely. They "run," "spin," and "move." Presumably, our speaker finds these seemingly simple tasks either more challenging or simply impossible.

They also do not just run, but do so "in packs." First, their mobility allows them more ability to socialize. But they use this as a weapon, a tactic of war; the term "packs" refers to a group of wolves, who hunt in such coordinated units.

They have "bloom," or vitality. The word can also refer to their blossoming adulthood-- they may be more teens than "girls," or at least put on such airs.

Overall, the whole girls "know health." This is key-- it seems the speaker does not know health. She is not just sick now, but has been for a long time. So long, she does not remember how health feels anymore, if she ever did.

The whole girls use their health to their advantage. They "skim the cream," taking only the nicest parts of everything, the parts that rise to the top. They go to the best schools, the best parties, the best vacation locales, and they likely seize the best boys.

Moreover, the "fill the brim" and "feel no lack." Their cups, in short, runneth over.

Their social access allows them to have so much gossip they overflow with that, as well; they "drip with news."

The next line may be a pun. They "spin intact," so they may do spins as part of dances or figure skating and not feel dizzy afterward. But Vega's phrasing, with a pause between "in" and "tact," may be more than a nod to the three-syllable structure of the piece. They may "spin"-- as in what "spin doctors" do-- the news they drip with. But they do so with "tact" and charm learned from all the social interaction their health has afforded them.

The whole girls, the speaker continues, "blaze and stun." This could be a reference to their beauty, as in "she's a stunning woman."  But it can also be another reference to their viciousness; they may stun as in "stun gun." These are the same young women who can speak with "tact" one minute and "hurl down words" in another. It is not too much of a stretch to assume they can sling an insult at someone so underhandedly their target doesn't even know she's been attacked at first.

Overall, these girls are truly whole. They are sound in mind and body, they have access to the "cream" of what life has to offer, and in everything, they "feel no lack."

We learn four more things about them. One is that that they "breathe with ease." Perhaps this is a clue to what is less than whole about our speaker. She may have a pulmonary disease, or simply asthma. Alternately, she may have a social disorder that prevents her from "breathing easily" when around other people, as with agoraphobia or general anxiety disorder.

The whole girls, however, "need no mercy." The character of Henrick, from Sondheim's A Little Night Music, expresses well what being on the receiving end of compassion can feel like: "It's intolerable, being tolerated." If everyone is saying "poor you," you start to internalize the idea that, yes, you are pitiful.

The whole girls can get out in the sunshine. They can get up and turn on a lamp whenever they please. And so they "move in light" in a way others cannot, who must either live with the darkness or beg the "mercy" of others to flip the switch.

Lastly, the whole girls "run in grace." This could be another way of saying they are graceful, that they can be ballerinas and gymnasts while the not-whole girls can't.

But it could also mean something much sadder. It could mean that they run in Grace, as in the favor of God. And how unfair, that such ungrateful creatures could not only take their health for granted, but use it to lord over others, teasing and excluding them, as if health were a right and not a privilege.

Meanwhile, how might a disabled person feel? Made to suffer, for no reason, by an arbitrary or even malicious Deity?  How must it feel to suffer, and beyond that, feel one deserved this suffering? And if they did not deserve it, and God made them, why did He make them this way? Adding religion to the equation could bring in entirely new series of questions, pains, and doubts.

Vega imagines the way a disabled teen might look at her abled peers. Vega urges the listener to take a closer look at those less than whole girls, and boys, and try to make them feel more whole, and more a part of the whole.


Next Song: Room off the Street