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