This is, arguably, the song that put Suzanne Vega on the map.
It is a very powerful song, dealing with the issue of physical abuse, and from the point of view of the victim as well.
While some may feel this song is about a woman who had been beaten-- and the emotions and reactions presented certainly apply to such a victim-- the video makes it clear that the simple lyrics are coming from a child who has been attacked, and a male child at that.
But perhaps Vega chose the rare (in America) name "Luka" because it is indistinct in gender and origin, to universalize the song. (Probably the most famous "Luka" before this was the minor character in the Godfather film, the hitman Luca Brasi.)
The song begins with the victim introducing himself. It is important that we, the listeners, know that his apartment is above ours. Since we have heard the sounds of abuse coming through our ceiling, Luka feels it necessary to address them.
He does so by telling us to... not investigate. "If you hear something, late at night/ Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight/ Just don't ask me what it was."
Luka tries to explain away the bruises that we must see, or perhaps a limp: "I think it's 'cause I'm clumsy... I walked into the door again."
But, again, he waves away our offer of, perhaps, an ice pack or bandage. "Yes, I think I'm OK," he says. In fact, he dismisses our involvement altogether: "It's not your business, anyway."
Luka, however, does open up to us about the effect the abuse has had on him. For one, it has made him withdrawn: "I try not to talk too loud... I try not to act too proud." For another, it has made him feel that he has deserved and brought about the punishment-- and even doubt his own sanity: "Maybe it's because I'm crazy," he says, perhaps echoing and internalizing the verbal abuse that might have accompanied the physical pain.
Luka also reveals some of the dynamics of the abuse's patterns. At first, it seems, he resists and defends himself. This self-assertion only enrages his abusers-- he says "they," so it might be both of his parents. It is only once his spirit is broken and they have satisfied themselves that they maintain dominance that they cease the violence: "They only hit until you cry."
"After that, you don't ask why," Luka admits, and "you just don't argue" either. He realizes asking them to justify their actions is pointless. There is no "why," no reason. He doesn't deserve the abuse in the first place! And if crying makes the reason-less punishment stop, well then, here are your tears, folks-- you win again, you can stop now.
His ultimate wish is to withdraw completely. Luka is either being abused by his family-- with objects (or worse?) being "broken" and "thrown"-- or being asked to discuss the abuse by well-meaning outsiders. And so the abuse comes to define him. He is no longer "Luka, the kid who plays soccer," or "Luka, the kid who loves comic books." He is "Luka, the kid whose parents hit him." The only one who knows him any other way is himself. And so he tells us, "I'd like to be alone."
Then Luka is done talking. He has said all he can bear to say for now. But he also sets up the parameters for our next encounter. Now that we know all this, he says, "Just don't ask me how I am."
We now know very well how he is: utterly miserable.
IMPACT:
As was said, this was Vega's biggest chart success. It went to #3 in the US and remained on the charts for 19 weeks (almost 5 months). Vega also recorded the song in Spanish.
At the 1988 Grammys, Vega performed the song, which was nominated in three categories: Record of the Year (a producer's and performer's award), Song of the Year (a songwriter's award), and Best Female Pop Vocal Performance (as opposed to Classical). She did not win in any category, but she did get to perform before an audience of hundreds of millions.
But aside from the effect the song had on Vega's status and career, it gave voice to the millions of abuse victims who had suffered so long in silence. And it taught us how to recognize the signs of abuse.
While may songs are credited with changing lives, how many have actually saved lives?
Next song: Ironbound/Fancy Poultry
Monday, April 27, 2015
Monday, April 20, 2015
Tom's Diner
This is one of Vega's bona-fide hits, and we will deal with its success and impact later. But first, to the song:
A few lines break through the string of routine occurrences, this list of mundane commonplaces. Two are similar: "I'm pretending not to see them" and "I'm trying not to notice." In a public world, it is hard to give people privacy when they obliviously display their private acts.
The song starts simply enough. Our speaker is waiting to get served at her habitual coffee shop with her empty cup. But the counterman "fills it only halfway," and then, before she gets the chance to protest, she notices that he no longer notices her. A new stimulus has earned his response. Someone is "coming in." She shakes her umbrella, letting us know it is now raining outside.
Then we have the private-in-public act: a kiss. "I look the other way," our shy speaker says. "Instead, I pour the milk."
Trying to distract herself, she skims the newspaper briefly, but then thinks, "I'm feeling someone watching me, and so I raise my head... Does she see me?"
Now, how could she have sensed being watched? The person she thinks is watching her is outside of the building. Then she realizes the woman cannot see through the pane at all, but "sees her own reflection."
This person is also unself-conscious. She is "hitching up her skirt" and "straightening her stockings" while being, basically, on television to anyone looking out through the window, as well as any passers-by in the rain. She is blissfully aware of others' eyes on her, and is self-seeing only ("she sees her own reflection"-- and nothing else).
Again, our speaker is embarrassed at this lack of shame on another's part. Surely, this kind of garment adjustment should be done in a restroom, not on the sidewalk.
Now that these two displays are over, our speaker notices the rain itself. The tempo of the song, brisk to this point, now slows as she turns her attention toward a memory. It is triggered by cathedral bells, which could recall either a wedding or a funeral. "I am thinking of your voice," she admits, "and of the midnight picnic once upon a time before the rain began."
This is a clever innuendo. Now it is morning, this remembered assignation happened at "midnight." She is in a roofed-over restaurant, this "picnic" seems to have been consumed/consummated out of doors.
But that storybook romance was "once upon a time." And now, there is only "the rain" and no picnic weather is pending-- "This rain, it will continue."
Did the cathedral bells mean that he married another, that he died, or...? We never learn. All that we know-- all that matters-- is that he is gone.
Something snaps her out of her reverie: "I finish up my coffee and it's time to catch the train." Off she runs, into the rain and into her workday, fueled by nothing but a splash of caffeine and a shot of adrenaline. It's not even clear that she paid for her half-cup of coffee.
These words are offered by a woman painfully aware of herself and her surroundings. She is self-conscious to a high degree, concerned with who sees her, and whom she sees, and whom she sees seeing her...
...all in a world of people who seem not to care who sees what about them. Even the "actor who died while he was drinking," the one whose obituary she glanced at in the paper (Golden Age golden boy William Holden), had his personal misery splayed out in a headline.
Was she always this way? Or was it only since her heartbreak that she drew inward and was ashamed of possibly, accidentally, displaying her grief, and therefore any emotion?
And why is she so mortified at people who are clearly blind to their own appearances-- why does she care if they don't?
IMPACT:
As was mentioned, Tom's Diner was hit... in Europe. It reached as high as #16 in Ireland, but only #58 in the UK. It also charted in Sweden (#56) and Denmark (#24). It did not make the US charts.
But the song's lack of an instrumental track (although an instrumental version by Vega herself ended the album) leant it to other uses. One was the addition of such tracks by dance DJs and other musicians (including Billy Bragg and members of REM), most notably a British duo who went by DNA. Their version, which marries the lyrics to a beat by Soul II Soul, went to #2 in the UK... and #5 in the US. The DNA remix also charted in the Top 10 on the Modern Rock and R&B charts, a rare occurrence. So many remakes and remixes have been made that they were collected in one place and were enough to fill Tom's Album. (A fuller list of covers and remixes is available on the song's Wikipedia page).
The other innovation the a cappella nature of the song leant itself to was technological. This song is the first ever recorded as an MP3, a format which now dominates digital music. While the first experiment (like most) was less than optimal, the track was used to hone the technology to the degree that Vega is considered by audio engineers as "The Mother of the MP3." This accolade sits nicely alongside her designation as the first virtual-reality concert performer in Second Life; she performed this song in that set as well as "The Queen and the Soldier."
Even the diner itself remains famous-- it's the one labeled with a neon sign reading simply "RESTAURANT," seen in many a Seinfeld episode.
Next Song: Luka
A few lines break through the string of routine occurrences, this list of mundane commonplaces. Two are similar: "I'm pretending not to see them" and "I'm trying not to notice." In a public world, it is hard to give people privacy when they obliviously display their private acts.
The song starts simply enough. Our speaker is waiting to get served at her habitual coffee shop with her empty cup. But the counterman "fills it only halfway," and then, before she gets the chance to protest, she notices that he no longer notices her. A new stimulus has earned his response. Someone is "coming in." She shakes her umbrella, letting us know it is now raining outside.
Then we have the private-in-public act: a kiss. "I look the other way," our shy speaker says. "Instead, I pour the milk."
Trying to distract herself, she skims the newspaper briefly, but then thinks, "I'm feeling someone watching me, and so I raise my head... Does she see me?"
Now, how could she have sensed being watched? The person she thinks is watching her is outside of the building. Then she realizes the woman cannot see through the pane at all, but "sees her own reflection."
This person is also unself-conscious. She is "hitching up her skirt" and "straightening her stockings" while being, basically, on television to anyone looking out through the window, as well as any passers-by in the rain. She is blissfully aware of others' eyes on her, and is self-seeing only ("she sees her own reflection"-- and nothing else).
Again, our speaker is embarrassed at this lack of shame on another's part. Surely, this kind of garment adjustment should be done in a restroom, not on the sidewalk.
Now that these two displays are over, our speaker notices the rain itself. The tempo of the song, brisk to this point, now slows as she turns her attention toward a memory. It is triggered by cathedral bells, which could recall either a wedding or a funeral. "I am thinking of your voice," she admits, "and of the midnight picnic once upon a time before the rain began."
This is a clever innuendo. Now it is morning, this remembered assignation happened at "midnight." She is in a roofed-over restaurant, this "picnic" seems to have been consumed/consummated out of doors.
But that storybook romance was "once upon a time." And now, there is only "the rain" and no picnic weather is pending-- "This rain, it will continue."
Did the cathedral bells mean that he married another, that he died, or...? We never learn. All that we know-- all that matters-- is that he is gone.
Something snaps her out of her reverie: "I finish up my coffee and it's time to catch the train." Off she runs, into the rain and into her workday, fueled by nothing but a splash of caffeine and a shot of adrenaline. It's not even clear that she paid for her half-cup of coffee.
These words are offered by a woman painfully aware of herself and her surroundings. She is self-conscious to a high degree, concerned with who sees her, and whom she sees, and whom she sees seeing her...
...all in a world of people who seem not to care who sees what about them. Even the "actor who died while he was drinking," the one whose obituary she glanced at in the paper (Golden Age golden boy William Holden), had his personal misery splayed out in a headline.
Was she always this way? Or was it only since her heartbreak that she drew inward and was ashamed of possibly, accidentally, displaying her grief, and therefore any emotion?
And why is she so mortified at people who are clearly blind to their own appearances-- why does she care if they don't?
IMPACT:
As was mentioned, Tom's Diner was hit... in Europe. It reached as high as #16 in Ireland, but only #58 in the UK. It also charted in Sweden (#56) and Denmark (#24). It did not make the US charts.
But the song's lack of an instrumental track (although an instrumental version by Vega herself ended the album) leant it to other uses. One was the addition of such tracks by dance DJs and other musicians (including Billy Bragg and members of REM), most notably a British duo who went by DNA. Their version, which marries the lyrics to a beat by Soul II Soul, went to #2 in the UK... and #5 in the US. The DNA remix also charted in the Top 10 on the Modern Rock and R&B charts, a rare occurrence. So many remakes and remixes have been made that they were collected in one place and were enough to fill Tom's Album. (A fuller list of covers and remixes is available on the song's Wikipedia page).
The other innovation the a cappella nature of the song leant itself to was technological. This song is the first ever recorded as an MP3, a format which now dominates digital music. While the first experiment (like most) was less than optimal, the track was used to hone the technology to the degree that Vega is considered by audio engineers as "The Mother of the MP3." This accolade sits nicely alongside her designation as the first virtual-reality concert performer in Second Life; she performed this song in that set as well as "The Queen and the Soldier."
Even the diner itself remains famous-- it's the one labeled with a neon sign reading simply "RESTAURANT," seen in many a Seinfeld episode.
Next Song: Luka
Monday, April 13, 2015
Left of Center
This speaker of this song is a teenager, most likely a teenage
girl.
The song is from the soundtrack of the 1986 movie Pretty in Pink, considered one of the "Brat Pack" movies of writer-director John Hughes, along with The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Some Kind of Wonderful. His other hits include Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Mr. Mom, Weird Science, Home Alone, Planes Trains & Automobiles, and the National Lampoon Vacation series.
Back to the song-- the film is about a disadvantaged young woman who must choose between her equally poor, longtime sweetheart and a new, wealthy-but-sensitive suitor.
The song is about that common adolescent (or, more fairly, human) plaint: not fitting in. It is unclear whether the teen was unusual, and therefore rejected... or the reverse-- she was simply marginalized by her peers for some arbitrary reason, alike them as she was. In any case, she seem to have embraced her marginalized, maverick status.
She declares this standpoint to be "left of center... in the outskirts, in the fringes" of the social circle. She dwells there, and make no attempt to make inroads into the popular group. However, she is not in accessible, in her remote outpost. In fact, the song opens with an invitation, if a begrudging one, to visit: "If you want me/ You can find me" there.
While marginalized, she also keeps tabs on the in-group, a surveillance which they sometimes notice: "They know that/ I'm looking at them." When they do, they challenge her: "What are you looking at?" Naturally, she becomes defensive, and attacks in retaliation: "Nothing much."
She concludes that they presume her to be "out of touch." In fact, she is very aware of the machinations of the in-group. She simply chooses not to participate in them.
She is interested, however, in an individual. The "you" is no longer "you, or any given person listening" but "you, a specific person I mean." As she puts it: “If you want me/ You can find me/ Left of center/ Wondering about you.”
Why does this person pique her interest? She sees that (presumably, but not necessarily) he is a kindred spirit: “We must be similar/ If not the same.”
Even an outsider sometimes feels the need to share the outside with someone. “So I continue/ To be wanting you/ Left of center/ Against the grain.”
The song is from the soundtrack of the 1986 movie Pretty in Pink, considered one of the "Brat Pack" movies of writer-director John Hughes, along with The Breakfast Club, Sixteen Candles, and Some Kind of Wonderful. His other hits include Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Mr. Mom, Weird Science, Home Alone, Planes Trains & Automobiles, and the National Lampoon Vacation series.
Back to the song-- the film is about a disadvantaged young woman who must choose between her equally poor, longtime sweetheart and a new, wealthy-but-sensitive suitor.
The song is about that common adolescent (or, more fairly, human) plaint: not fitting in. It is unclear whether the teen was unusual, and therefore rejected... or the reverse-- she was simply marginalized by her peers for some arbitrary reason, alike them as she was. In any case, she seem to have embraced her marginalized, maverick status.
She declares this standpoint to be "left of center... in the outskirts, in the fringes" of the social circle. She dwells there, and make no attempt to make inroads into the popular group. However, she is not in accessible, in her remote outpost. In fact, the song opens with an invitation, if a begrudging one, to visit: "If you want me/ You can find me" there.
While marginalized, she also keeps tabs on the in-group, a surveillance which they sometimes notice: "They know that/ I'm looking at them." When they do, they challenge her: "What are you looking at?" Naturally, she becomes defensive, and attacks in retaliation: "Nothing much."
She concludes that they presume her to be "out of touch." In fact, she is very aware of the machinations of the in-group. She simply chooses not to participate in them.
She is interested, however, in an individual. The "you" is no longer "you, or any given person listening" but "you, a specific person I mean." As she puts it: “If you want me/ You can find me/ Left of center/ Wondering about you.”
Why does this person pique her interest? She sees that (presumably, but not necessarily) he is a kindred spirit: “We must be similar/ If not the same.”
Even an outsider sometimes feels the need to share the outside with someone. “So I continue/ To be wanting you/ Left of center/ Against the grain.”
It does get lonely, out there in the outskirts. So it's nice to find someone you have something in common with, even if that something is simply being... uncommon.
IMPACT: The song reached #32 on the UK Singles chart, but did not chart in the US.
Next Song: Tom's Diner
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Neighborhood Girls
This song seems to be linked to the earlier song, "Straight Lines." It also seems to imply that the woman who committed suicide in that song was, or might have been, a prostitute.
Here, we have two people talking about "neighborhood girls." One says that her neighborhood had one, but now, "she's gone."
Then, without having described her beyond her usual place of... business, someone replies (and this reply is the bulk of the song) that they think they "know" that woman.
This person says, in response, that he saw her in the morning and had "eyes of ice," which can mean both a shade called "ice blue," but also that her eyes were cold and devoid of emotion.
He (since the subject is a "girl," I am saying that the response is provided by a man for simplicity's sake) also claims to have spoken to her at a party. She says something enigmatic, which he chalked up to her being inebriated. She said, he recalls, "There's a backbone gone and I've got to get it back before going on." While arch, this comment seems perfectly understandable-- she wants to get her backbone, her resolve and confidence, back... and then move on, probably to another line of work.
The party-goer can be somewhat poetic himself, noting that this woman was "looking out at people from the back of her mind." Usually, the expression, "the back of my mind," means "in the part of my past I don't need to recall much." Here, it seems to mean "in an aloof and detached manner."
She also said she was looking for a "razor's edge" that she had "lost," and would, along with the backbone (to use it?), she would like to regain.
Why? She feels that her life lacks clarity. "I am just walking through the smoke," she says, and "things are going gray."
In what way are a backbone and a razor alike? They form straight lines. And that, above all, is what she is looking for: "I'd like to hear a straight line to help me find my way."
And this phrase is the signal to the listener that this is likely the same woman who is the subject of "Straight Lines." Now we can add this clue to the others. In that song, the woman "cut down on her lovers," because, as a sex worker, she had felt she was seeing too many; here, the party-goer says "She seems to have resigned." We have the "razor's edge" being sought here, and "cold metal" first "touching skin" and then "too close to the bone" there.
(It's also possible that this is the same woman as in "Cracking." There, the woman walks to the park in the "afternoon," and finds the sun blinding; here, the party-goer sees the woman he is speaking of "walking in the sun," albeit in "the morning." Also, that woman "walks a hairline," and so is interested in lines. There is a lot of imagery of cold in "Cracking," and this woman has "eyes of ice,"
Further, the woman in "Undertow" says she wants "to learn all the secrets from the edge of a knife," and could also be the same person.)
The last clue we have is the party-goer's throwaway line, "She had long, black hair." And this is where the connection possibly breaks down.
The first person to speak now speaks again: "Must be a different neighborhood girl/ 'Cause ours had blonde hair." As did the woman in "Straight Lines." The title agrees, since the song is called "Neighborhood Girls," plural. There are at least two.
Except... that woman also had "gone and cut her hair again." Women often change their hair color, as well as its length. Or, given her profession, she may have worn a wig when not working so as to be less recognizable.
Would a detective or judge be able to say with certainty that this was the same person as the suicide? Or that the blonde neighborhood girl the first speaker means is the same person as either of those others? Probably not.
But we know it must be. Otherwise, why bother mentioning it?
Next Song: Left of Center
Here, we have two people talking about "neighborhood girls." One says that her neighborhood had one, but now, "she's gone."
Then, without having described her beyond her usual place of... business, someone replies (and this reply is the bulk of the song) that they think they "know" that woman.
This person says, in response, that he saw her in the morning and had "eyes of ice," which can mean both a shade called "ice blue," but also that her eyes were cold and devoid of emotion.
He (since the subject is a "girl," I am saying that the response is provided by a man for simplicity's sake) also claims to have spoken to her at a party. She says something enigmatic, which he chalked up to her being inebriated. She said, he recalls, "There's a backbone gone and I've got to get it back before going on." While arch, this comment seems perfectly understandable-- she wants to get her backbone, her resolve and confidence, back... and then move on, probably to another line of work.
The party-goer can be somewhat poetic himself, noting that this woman was "looking out at people from the back of her mind." Usually, the expression, "the back of my mind," means "in the part of my past I don't need to recall much." Here, it seems to mean "in an aloof and detached manner."
She also said she was looking for a "razor's edge" that she had "lost," and would, along with the backbone (to use it?), she would like to regain.
Why? She feels that her life lacks clarity. "I am just walking through the smoke," she says, and "things are going gray."
In what way are a backbone and a razor alike? They form straight lines. And that, above all, is what she is looking for: "I'd like to hear a straight line to help me find my way."
And this phrase is the signal to the listener that this is likely the same woman who is the subject of "Straight Lines." Now we can add this clue to the others. In that song, the woman "cut down on her lovers," because, as a sex worker, she had felt she was seeing too many; here, the party-goer says "She seems to have resigned." We have the "razor's edge" being sought here, and "cold metal" first "touching skin" and then "too close to the bone" there.
(It's also possible that this is the same woman as in "Cracking." There, the woman walks to the park in the "afternoon," and finds the sun blinding; here, the party-goer sees the woman he is speaking of "walking in the sun," albeit in "the morning." Also, that woman "walks a hairline," and so is interested in lines. There is a lot of imagery of cold in "Cracking," and this woman has "eyes of ice,"
Further, the woman in "Undertow" says she wants "to learn all the secrets from the edge of a knife," and could also be the same person.)
The last clue we have is the party-goer's throwaway line, "She had long, black hair." And this is where the connection possibly breaks down.
The first person to speak now speaks again: "Must be a different neighborhood girl/ 'Cause ours had blonde hair." As did the woman in "Straight Lines." The title agrees, since the song is called "Neighborhood Girls," plural. There are at least two.
Except... that woman also had "gone and cut her hair again." Women often change their hair color, as well as its length. Or, given her profession, she may have worn a wig when not working so as to be less recognizable.
Would a detective or judge be able to say with certainty that this was the same person as the suicide? Or that the blonde neighborhood girl the first speaker means is the same person as either of those others? Probably not.
But we know it must be. Otherwise, why bother mentioning it?
Next Song: Left of Center
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