The Silver Lady

This rare track is available on volume 4 of the Close Up series.

What starts off as a traditional folksong turns into a meditation on an issue of incredible emotional trauma-- what to do with an elderly parent, especially one with mental-health issues.

The song begins as if describing a child's visit with an imaginary fairy-friend: "When I was a little girl... I once spoke to the Silver Lady/ But I never saw her again." It continues that this mystical lady "flew out of the sky" and could go "riding on the water" and on a "golden pony." So, typical fairy-tale imagery.

Then there is a note of sadness: "Only once did I hear her laugh/ And it echoed far and lonely." So, despite her otherworldly trappings, she is not some sort of angel. She was "the crazy man's only daughter," which might have something to do with her state of mind.

We now hear the conversation alluded to in the opening verse, about the one time our speaker actually "spoke with the Silver Lady." The conversation took place on a riverbank.

The child approached the Lady, who was crying, to comfort her: "If I had wings like you, I would be flying... and singing."

She says she had no wings-- perhaps she only looked like she was flying when she was galloping on horseback?-- or "I would surely be gone."

She continues that she is her father's only daughter, but that he had older sons... who all left her to take care of their "crazy" father, who is also aging.

And now, she is torn. She wants desperately to leave, and is feeling strangled by her being tethered to him: "I feel the ocean pulling me... I want to go with [the breezes]... This life is killing me." But how can she leave him, helpless and alone? Plus, her abandonment would "break his heart."

She turns away, and the child follows the river back home.

"The next day I heard she had taken her horse/ And gone off to parts unknown." This is the first point we know for certain that the Lady is not just a figment of the child's vivid imagination. 

So the Lady does leave. And her father? He stayed at home, stopped coming into town, and started "roaming down by the riverside." And if rumors are to be believed, he committed suicide, drowning himself in the river.

The speaker never saw the Silver Lady again. But now, she says, "when I felt a silver breeze/ I knew she had sent it from wherever she was/ To tell us that now she was free."

For a song that begins in fantasy, the scenario is all too real. The "burnout" felt by caregivers, especially those who care for those with Alzheimer's and other conditions, can be devastating, as can the guilt of leaving them. And far too often, it is their daughters left with this obligation, while the sons are free to leave and start their own families. 

Today, at least for those of us in cities, there are several options. Caregivers can be given respite workers to take care of their loved ones, so that they can continue to have somewhat-normal lives. And in some cases, the best option is round-the-clock professional care in a dedicated facility, provided by people working in shifts to avoid exactly this sort of burnout.

Mental illness never takes a break, let alone a vacation. But human beings, even machines, cannot be expected to work ceaselessly. The Silver Lady should have insisted that her brothers help. She could have reached out to her neighbors, to the local clergy or other charitable organizations. But it sounds like this all took place in a rural setting, with few such resources.

What begins as a child's fairytale of a beautiful Silver Lady turns out to be a lesson in how poorly society has dealt with mental illness throughout most of its history. At least now things are beginning to change, so that women don't have to go gray-- sorry, "silver"-- so young.

Next Song: Crack in the Wall 

As You Are Now

This song is a lullaby to Vega's daughter, Ruby.

In it, she promises to save souvenirs of her daughter's life: her "tears," her "teeth" that fell out as a child, and her "hair" which was, we assume, regularly cut.

Now, the album's copyright date is 2007, and Ruby was born in 1994, which would make the "child" about 13 when the album came out. Since she had long since stopped losing her teeth, we have to imagine that the song was written long before.

So why include it on an album at this point? Because this is a divorce album. While many of the songs herein are about her ex and their break-up, Vega is more than just an ex-wife. She is also a mother, and she wants her child to be reassured that her love for her continues unabated.

What better way that to say, "Listen to this song I wrote you when you were just a girl! You're still my daughter now, and I still love you as much."

How does one, in practical terms, collect tears? By collecting "salty tissues." She calls these tears "diamonds," referring to the salt crystals left behind after she, it says, dries the tissues in the sun.

And teeth? In a "cardboard box." These are like another gemstone, "pearls," and they remind her of "laughter." There is a pun here-- the teeth are kept in "ticking," which is tough but decorative cotton or linen fabric. The line is that the teeth are kept "through the ticking and the tocks," as in the tick-tock of passing time.

The hair-- evidently a ponytail snipped off all at once-- will be woven into a "braid of gold/ For you to keep when you are old."

The mother then finishes the lullaby with a "kiss" on her "milky skin." Then she tucks the child, and her "soul," in a "sheet of silk."

The child will have given her mother all of these keepsakes of her growth and development. What will the mother pay her with for these gifts? Why, the kiss itself: "Put this kiss upon your brow."

Then comes the line that gives us the title: "Treasure you as you are now."

It doesn't, you will note, say "I will treasure you." No, the verbs are "put" and then "treasure." So who should be doing the putting and treasuring?

The child. She should put her mother's kiss on herself. She should treasure herself. As she is now. Whenever "now" is.

Her mother will have memories of the baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen, and the young woman, and she will collect mementos of those moments. The child however, needs to treasure each moment as it comes, and herself as she experiences it.

Alternately, one could read the verse as one long sentence: "now I kiss... put... treasure." In this, perhaps more literal, reading, the mother kisses the daughter on her forehead (and the "sheet," for some reason... and, somehow, her "soul") and treasures her as she is now.

The tenses are of note. She says she will collect the tears, teeth, and hair... but that she is "now" kissing, tucking, and treasuring her. Which implies that, at the time of the song's writing, the child had yet to lose any teeth, but still had time to grow a substantial ponytail. On average, the first "baby" teeth fall out at 6 or so, and therefore that's not really on a parent's radar until the kid approaches that age. We're going to say Ruby was 5 when the song was written... or that it was written to make it seem so.

Again, the song is now offered to the young adolescent whose parents are divorcing as a way of saying, "While a wife and husband can stop loving each other, a parent never stops loving a child. I still have your baby teeth and your childhood ponytail, and I still treasure you as well."


Next Song: "Angel's Doorway."

If I Were a Weapon

How far we have come since "If You Were in My Movie."

This is a couple that should be glad, at least, that they are breaking up.

He says that she reminds him of a "gun." In trying to unpack that, she guesses he means that she is "lethal at close range" with her words, and also capable of shutting down communications (she has a "silencer") and shocking people.

She feels, however, that she is a "needle." She's always "pulling on the thread," which could either mean that he is as annoying as a loose thread... or that when she pulls on the thread of one of his lies, it unravels endlessly into an unbroken string of falsehoods. Also, he doesn't listen; she is always "making the same point" and "wondering if [he] heard."

Meanwhile, what weapon does she think he is? A "hammer." He's very "blunt" in his honesty. He's "heavy at the end," which seems to mean that when he starts to say something hurtful, he never stops before finishing. And he is "coming down on [her]" with criticism and threats from on high.

She then admits that she has a secret weapon. She likens it to a "pocket knife" in that the blade is "concealed." This language implies that she knows a secret of his that can hurt him. She doesn't want to use it, but she will if she is backed into a corner. How do we know it's his? Once he "sees" it, he will want it "back." Perhaps it is an incriminating photograph or receipt.

She concludes that: "If I am that weapon/ I am pointing now at you." What has been a name-calling contest has now escalated to threats.

Why did it get to this point? This is not just a stand-off. He has a "hostage." Evidently, the divorce involves a custody battle, and he's winning.

If he forces her hand, she will ruin his reputation. But if he backs down on the custody issue, she is willing to continue to negotiate: "We'll talk this down until we see this through."

This is a couple that needs to no longer be a couple. It is good that they are separating. Does it hurt? Yes, but if they stay together, they will just keep causing each other more pain.

I may not be a marriage counselor, but if a couple's fights are about what kind of "weapon" the other person is, they probably they should no longer share a mailbox.


Next Song: Harbor Song

Priscilla

Dar Williams has a lovely song called "The Babysitter's Here," about the relationship children develop with those who care for them, whether they are related or not. Williams' babysitter, for instance, was in a play that she went to see.

The speaker here remembers that a woman "20 years older," named Priscilla (the name is only given in the title), used to play with her. It is not made clear if this is a babysitter, but it seems that if it were an older cousin or aunt, that would bear mentioning. Also, it does not say that her parents were there, so it seems they were not. A non-relative tending a child by herself, I think, qualifies as a babysitter.

Mostly, they would dance. Regardless of the type of "music" they played (also not given but also, it seems, not important) it was played "loud." They'd aim a lamp at themselves like a spotlight and perform for an imaginary audience.

Their dance style was "awkward ballet." Priscilla had a proper tutu, "her skirt of layers of chiffon." The child's tutu was more makeshift-- the fabric from a broken umbrella. But they "were in costume/ and this was a game."

And what kid doesn't love an adult willing to be as dance-y as they are?

Priscilla also made the child a paper doll, decked out in ribbons and lace. What a sweet gesture.

Sometimes, communication happens with words. With this babysitter, the connection was through movement: "Something will shine through the body."

It is important for children to have many influences in their lives. Vega is not a dancer as such, yet she felt the need to write a song about a woman she danced with, not the person who taught her to sing or play guitar or write songs.

"I think of her now I'm older/ I still love to dance," she says. She might have grown out of her dance-y ways... unless she had seen, as a child, another grown-up still dance in the hallway. And give her permission to still dance, 20 years and more later.


Next Song: If I Were a Weapon

Songs in Red and Gray

The song seems to be from the point of view of a mistress. This is only slowly revealed as the song unwinds.

It starts with an encounter between the mistress and her lover's daughter. She sees a "reproach" on her face, and she wonder "how she could know" that this woman, the speaker, was her father's mistress: "Although I had met her just then/ I feel that she peeled back my guilty disguise." Of course, maybe the girl didn't know at all, and the whole idea is just that-- a thought sparked by a guilty conscience.

After all, the affair happened "so much more than a long time ago." How long? At least "19 years." More to the point-- "before (the daughter) was born."

Maybe it's something in the way she looks. Maybe, when it came to mistresses, her father had a "type." After all, the mistresses says, "I am sure I was only but one of a number" of such women and the daughter may have somehow seen others.

The mistress must have known the wife, too, at least to see her, since she recognizes the daughter by her mother's features and gaze: "Her mother, I see, lives within her still/ She looked at me with her eyes." This implies that the wife, the girl's mother, is now dead.

The encounter gives the mistress a flashback to "one night." She remembers details of his house-- "gray" vase holding a "red" rose. A white piece of coral, a "brass candlestick" and another red item, his velvet coat. She has no idea why she flashes on these images.

If the coat is his, does that mean the red items symbolize him, and the gray ones her? If so, then he is the vibrant rose and she the inert vase that "holds" him. This could be an image of restraint, but a vase is more an image of support.

Later, that makes him the "red leaf" that looks to her, the "hard gray stone." A red leaf is one in autumn-- once alive, now dead. The stone, of course, was never alive at all.

Does it matter that we, the listener, don't fully comprehend the symbolism? No, she says "to each other, they know what they mean." Said more grammatically straightforward, this also implies "They know what they mean to each other." A stone, for all its impassivity, is also solid and dependable, while a leaf, though organic, is transitory and easily tossed away by a breeze.

She wonders if he ever told his wife about her, or "was I the name you could never pronounce?" She wonders if she even "figure at all" in any discussions or fights.

There is a mention of the "young" daughter's "pencil marks on the wall." This could mean that the child, like many mischievous others, wrote on the walls. It could also refer to the pencil marks parents make on walls or door-frames to chart their child's growth.

So she asks if her shadow, when she was over for a tryst, fell on these markings. The symbolism is powerful-- the heartwarming evidence of a blossoming child being eclipsed by the tawdriness of the mistress' very presence.

Half of her feels mortified that she could have had such a poisonous effect. But the other half? Frustrated and disappointed that all the impact she had on this man's life was as much as a shadow's, since she was probably only one of many who "darkened his door."

The husband-- make that the widower-- and mistress are not getting back together. One of them "broke the thread" and now it is too "late for repairs." But... is it? The song ends with the idea that this couple's future is "yet to come" and "unforeseen."

I can't see them getting back together. What if the daughter sees them together? Being glared at when the mistress can't even be sure she was identified was terrifying enough.

Seeing her father and this woman together-- and confirming her suspicions? The "reproachful" glare that this sight would trigger from the daughter would turn anyone to "stone."


Next Song: Last Year's Troubles

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

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 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

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

Ironbound/ Fancy Poultry

This song uses what is called a "motif," an image that recurs several times. The motif is the idea of things, people, and places being "ironbound."

There is an overhead structure, probably the trestle from an elevated commuter train: "Beams and bridges... the rails run 'round." Its beams-- along with the random wires overhead in any city-- don't so much block the sunlight as bisect into "little triangles."

The trestle is supported by iron beams, regularly spaced. This colonnade makes the "section" beneath it feel "ironbound." Other areas shown to be bounded by iron fencing are the "schoolyard" and the "market." The iron is old, with much visible "rust." This has been going on a long, long time.

And, ultimately, the "border" between the residents and any other possible life is, likewise, "ironbound." This area's many fenced in subsections are revealed as the characters move through them.

The only action is of a woman dropping her child off at school, then going to the market. By watching her, we learn something about her life and circumstances.

She lives near a marketplace where live chickens are displayed and butchered onsite for sale. We see "the blood and feathers near her feet," and later hear the cries of the chicken sellers.

The woman is of indistinct ethnicity-- we are told that her skin is of a "light and sweet coffee color"-- but perhaps she is Portuguese like others in her neighborhood.

We "watch" her walk her son up to the gate of the school. Both are "bound up in iron and wire and fate." The iron beams and metal wires that surround them serve as a metaphor for a prison of a sort, a place and situation that cannot be escaped.

She has some hope for the children, however. Aside from the chickens and the people, the only living thing there is some scraggly, hardy vegetation. She knows the children "will grow like weeds on a fence... they come up through the cracks." She tells us that they "try to make sense" of their situation.
But she stops short of saying they will be able to do anything about it.

"She touches him goodbye," but does not embrace or kiss her son. Perhaps he is too old to be comfortable with such displays in front of his classmates. Or perhaps the very coldness and restrictiveness of their environment has chilled such usual parental warmth.

Leaving the schoolyard, "she stops at the stall," presumably the one selling chickens. She "fingers the ring," probably a wedding ring. Where is her husband, the boy's father? Did he leave for work earlier? Is he home, unemployed? Did he divorce her, simply fly, or even die?

She "feels a longing," but, it seems, not for him. She longs to be, simply, "away from the ironbound border." What seems to trigger the longing, after all, is not the ring. It's the opening of her purse. Why would the routine act of finding money for groceries in her wallet call forth this emotional reaction? Does she miss the man less than the financial stability he provided?

Does she struggle with the idea of selling or pawning the ring, as if doing so would be an admission of the finality of the man's departure? That he left or died and is never coming back? If it's all she has left of him, we can well imagine her dilemma.

The song closes with the cry of the chicken vendor. But it is clear that this sub-song (it has its own title) is also meant to symbolize the treatment of women. It even calls to mind the specter of female trafficking and prostitution.

What is being sold? "Breasts and thighs," the visible parts of a woman most often sexualized. Also, "hearts" are for sale-- emotional commitment can be had for a price. "Backs," the part associate with work (as in "back-breaking labor") are cheap; for not much, you can have a woman cook and clean for you. She could be a maid, a wife, does it matter?

And "wings"? They are "nearly fee." Chicken wings do not have much meat, and so would be sold cheaply. But metaphorically, a woman's "wings"-- her senses of independence and freedom-- are only "nearly" free. Not free... enough. Still, ultimately, ironbound.


Next Song: In the Eye

Luka

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