New York is My Destination

Vega is from New York, but Carson McCullers (the author this album is about) was born in Georgia, so let's say this is in her voice.

Why is she going to New York? And not just to visit but to stay ("New York is where I will be from")? Because "New York is made for grander things, just like me!" What grander things? "Mountains of fame and fortune."

She imagines that the "literati"-- the most highly regarded authors and their set-- "will love me." The
"paparazzi," who stalk the famous to photograph them, will do so to her. The "glitterati" (a portmanteau of "glitter" and "literati") are wealthy sophisticates in general-- actors, models, splashy business-people, Hollywood insiders-- have also "heard of" her. Well, they will, of course, once she gets there.

The rest of the song is largely about partaking on many of New York's storied locales. "The Algonquin" is a hotel notable for its attracting many famous wags and raconteurs in the early part of the 20th Century, like Harpo Max and Dorothy Parker. "The Plaza" is a posh hotel notable for being just that.

Other places mentioned largely serve young and/or single women. "The Three Arts Club" teaches painting, drama and music and gives students a chance to display and perform their work publicly. "The Parnassus" (named after Apollo's mythical mountain) is a boarding house, largely for Julliard students (more about which below). And "Columbia" in this case is a university. "Fifth Avenue" is a major Manhattan street, noted for its high-fashion shopping.

Riding "buses" on this street, she imagines participating in conversations like: "I lost all my money for Julliard (a major performing-arts college); "I hid in the phone booth at Macy's (a major department store)" and even "I slept in a brothel on my way to my destiny." As they say back in Columbus, Georgia: mercy me!

Not only can she not wait to get to New York, she concludes, New York can't wait until she gets there! "New York's waiting for me!" she enthuses.

And they didn't know it at the time, but it seems they were.

Next Song: We of Me

New York is a Woman

So many songwriters have written odes to New York City, it would be pointless to try to list them all. But this is an interesting take-- if (especially for Vega) it's a very conventionally written song, even with its clever use of internal rhyme.

What's interesting is that it likens the city to a, as it says in the title, a woman. The woman is, of course, a New Yorker. She is, at least "from the 27th floor," glamorous in that film noir, "late-night TV" kind of way: like a femme fatale, she "spread herself before you... undressed" seductively, flashing her "bangles and spangles and stars." This refers to both the twinkling lights and sequins of the nightlife scene and "stars" in the sense of "celebrities."

The listener was so overwhelmed and excited, he had to descend in an elevator and "go cruising all the bars."

And who are "you" in the song? A "suburban boy here for your first time." This is also a double entendre; yes, for the literal first time visit, but also (New York is a woman, remember) here to lose some of your virginity and innocence. You are here on a business trip, but you decided to stay for Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday, to experience the mad whirl of the city for yourself: "You were startled by her beauty and her crime." (This line also gives the entire album its title.)

Speaking of "crime," the city's seedier side is not necessarily a "turn-off." But aside from the seedy, there is the sad. New York is famous for its opulent depravity, but also its obvious deprivation: "Look down and see her ruined places." And, aside from poverty, there has been terrorism: "smoke and ash still rising to the sky" could refer to the attacks of 9/11, which too place in 2001, and while this album was released in 2007, some wounds never heal.

But that's the dichotomy that makes New York so fascinating. There is a reason so many songs have been written about New York and not Dubuque, Iowa (no offense... but I have been there a few times, so I know). As Vega puts it, it's her "her steam and steel"-- the hot, ephemeral aspects and the cold, hard ones.

This endlessly changing face is a major reason New York is so enthralling. You feel this passion "endlessly," even "desperately."

Even whirlwind weekends must wind down, though. "She's happy you're here, but when you disappear/ She won't know that you're gone to say goodbye."

Why? Well, New York is the most populous city in North America.* And to her, well, "You're just another guy." She's seen them come and go. "If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere," according to another New York song... but some don't make it there.

And even the ones who stick around don't make much of a lasting impression. She's a great weekend fling, but you're not one in a million, dude. And even if you are... well, to make it there, you've got to be one in eight million.

New York is there for everyone, but she belongs to no one. I have been there a few times, so I know.


Next Song: Pornographer's Dream


*(but not in "the Americas" altogether-- Mexico City and even Sao Paulo, Brazil have more people.)

Ludlow Street

Ludlow Street runs between Houston and Divison, in Manhattan's Lower East Side. This is the second song on the album, and the second set in New York.

The song is a simple one. It's about how a place evokes the memory of the people we knew there.

In this case, the place is the above-mentioned street, and the person is named "Tim." We don't find out his name until the end of the song, but since we don't learn anything about him specifically during the course of the song, it doesn't seem to matter.

In fact, "love is the only thing that matters." Now, on the one hand, "it's still the hardest thing to feel." Yet, "love is the only thing [she] feels" when she thinks about Tim now.

Rather, the loss of that love. We don't learn where Tim is now, or even if he is alive-- the song does have an elegiac feeling to it. All we know is where he is not: "each stoop and doorway" of Ludlow Street.

What is there, now? "Another generation's parties." Perhaps she knew him though a series of parties when they were both there.

Aside from "love," and their fondness for get-togethers, can we glean anything about their relationship? "I can recall each morning after/ Painted in nicotine." Oh. Very well, then.

There is no other information here-- how long they knew each other, how long they saw each other, what happened to their relationship, or what happened to Tim.

All we know is that, for her, Ludlow Street should be named Tim Street. Because his memory is all that is there for her, now.

(The liner notes reveal the answer. Tim Vega was her brother, who lived on Ludlow Street before he passed away.)


Next Song: New York is a Woman

Zephyr and I

A "zephyr" is a light breeze. "Zephyr," the Greek god whose namesake this gust is, is the god of the West wind, and therefore of Spring. He was so jealous that he killed a young man rather than have a rival have him.

The song kicks off with a riff that calls to mind the song "Wild Thing" (the Troggs one, not the Tone Loc one).

The speaker introduces us to a man named Zephyr. They are hanging out on West End Avenue, on the western shore of Manhattan, an area visited many times in Vega's songs. They are reminiscing, "talking about the things that all of us used to do" and "the 1970s."

While they are, "the wind kicks up, with the smell of rain." This is foreshadowing, along with a nod to Zephyr's name.

The name Zephyr, as we have seen, is an old one. And the song is what what leaves and what stays. The Greeks no longer worship their old gods, but we still know their names. Likewise, "The kids are gone but the souls remain." The souls of those kids live on in the adults they became.

The Mall of America is a real place, a gigantic indoor mall (how big is it? It contains a roller coaster) in Minnesota. Here, the speaker says, "there was a youth mall of America on this street." Instead of hanging out at the mall, she means, they used this street as a meeting place. They were as frequently seen there as "cops on a beat." Specifically, there was a monument to firefighters who died in the line of duty that "fatherless teenagers" congregated around. They were as diverse as America itself.

More imagery of what is lost and what stays-- "The graffiti" and "flowers" leave but the "walls" and "earth" remain. Later, she opines that the walls don't just remain, but "complain" that their decorative paint jobs have been worn or sandblasted away or painted over.

"In the spring" (Zephyr's time), "the tide in Riverside will wash away the cold and frozen." Riverside is a park on the Upper West Side. The "river" it is on the "side" of is the Hudson.

And the rain? "Rain will clean the stain and wash away downstream."

Years pass, but the cycle of seasons remains. The old gets washed away by the new, as always. But the memories remain. The souls that were shaped in those formative teenage years live on.

It is possible that there is no Zephyr who is a childhood friend talking to her. Or even a god she is communing with. It may, in fact, just be a zephyr--a passing breeze that stirs up some leaves... and memories.

Next Song: Ludlow Street

Language

Many lyricists, poets, and other writers have expressed frustration with the limits of language, even with the million-worded English. Barry Gibb wrote, for the Bee Gees, "It's only words/ But words are all I have/ To take your heart away." Woody Allen told Annie Hall: "'Love' is too weak a word for what I feel. I lurve you. I loave you. I luff you-- two Fs. Yes, I have to invent..." John Keats wrote to his love, Fanny, "I want a brighter word than 'bright,' a fairer word than 'fair.'" Even Shakespeare has Hamlet mutter: "Words, words, words."

Here, Vega expresses the same problem. "These words are too solid, they don't move fast enough/ To catch the blur in the brain/ That flies by and is gone." She wishes it would be "liquid," so it could "be rushing in."

Well... actually, would that be an improvement? No, it would rush in and fill in the empty space, flooding it and overwhelming it. 

What there is, what is there, actually solves the problem of language's inadequacy. What is there is "silence." And one "more eloquent than any word could ever be," at that.

Liking this idea, Vega then applies it to other contexts. "I'd like to meet you/ In a timeless, placeless place/ Somewhere out of context." If you are going to be wordless, where and when else could you do it but in a "timeless, placeless place"?

Since this is impossible outside of the physics we can readily access, she suggests a spot where, instead of language doing so, "silence" can "come rushing in." 

She knows the spot, as they have been there before. It is a building on Manhattan's Little West Twelfth, so called because it is only 2-3 blocks long. "It's not very far/ And the river is there" (this is either the tiny the High Line River or, more likely, the Hudson, which the street dead-ends into). 

She wants to go near sunset, when "The Sun and the spaces are all laying low." As its name indicates, the street in on the western side of the island, where the sunset view over the river is probably very visible.

Silence is so attractive that she even forswears language altogether: "I won't use words again." Their multiple meanings and vagueness make them untrustworthy for communication: "They don't mean what I meant/ They don't say what I said."

Words are also superficial, she adds. Harking back to the idea of language being "solid," Vega says that they are "just the crust of the meaning." She means not a bread crust but the Earth's crust, as she continues that they have "realms underneath," entire subterranean caverns that have never been probed or explored, "never touched, never stirred, or even moved through."

Compounding the frustration with the limitation of words is the fact that the only way to express this frustration is with, yes, more words. Well, there is music. And the visual arts, like music, sculpture, and dance. 

But also just... silence. More eloquent than any words could ever be.

Next Song: Gypsy