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
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label doctor. Show all posts
Monday, December 14, 2015
Monday, November 9, 2015
Bad Wisdom
Another song on the album about a medical condition, if not an illness. This song is about a young woman-- "too young," according to the woman herself-- who gets pregnant.
She is exhibiting "strange" symptoms, but her mother is in some sort of denial. The doctor is aware of the woman's condition. "He knows I'm not a child," not too young to have sex. But he "doesn't dare ask the right question." Which is if she did.
After all, a mother-- and hers is there, at the appointment-- who does not consider the possibility that her "sick" child is actually simply pregnant is not emotionally ready to hear that she is.
Her friends, still young enough to "play games," have abandoned her. "I've grown serious," which is understandable, but her friends are too young to guess the reason, and so have "left" her to her own "daydreaming." Which is likely about what her life would have been like had she not gotten pregnant.
She starts to add up the "price" she has to pay for this "bad wisdom." Not that sex is bad, or that pregnancy is-- just that it's bad, now, for her. She knows "too much, too soon." She is just past playing with a doll, and should not worried about caring for a baby.
The woman now turns to society's reaction. She has learned that those who are "good"-- who follow the moral as well as the legal code-- "will be protected." However, those who have "fallen through the crack" are not, so there is "no getting back" to her former "good" status. Even a criminal can be rehabilitated and stolen items returned. But motherhood is forever, and therefore so is her "sin."
She realizes she can "never trust whoever gets elected." Because she has been immoral, she can forget any governmental assistance with her child. There is no incentive for an elected official to offer any, and plenty for balancing the city's budget on her back instead. Then the mayor gets to claim moral superiority, and for free.
Next, she loses the esteem and closeness of her mother, who by now has seen her swelling belly. Her mother's eyes have "gone suddenly cold." In a wry pun, the woman says this reaction is not what she was "expecting." Even her own mother has become emotionally distant. Perhaps she feels that she has failed as a mother, or that she has been betrayed by her wayward child. Maybe, on top of it all, she does not like the idea of being a grandmother yet, as it might make her feel old.
We hear about the "blossom of young womanhood," but that is not case here. The woman says that she feels "cut at the root like a weed." Why? "There's no one to hear my small story." Not her mother, not her friends, not the government. No one cares.
She made one mistake, and now she will pay for it, alone (well, aside from the baby), for the rest of her life. She compares her shunned status to that of a prostitute, "a woman who walks in the street." She says that like a whore, she will "pay for [her] life with [her] body."
It seems like having an abortion is not possible. It is easier for a politician to placate a puritanical public by denying abortion rights than to risk their ire; many who would use abortion services are too young to vote in any case and so have no political clout.
There is the option of having the child and then offering it for adoption. Again, this still requires a full course of labor and delivery, and the stigma of going through pregnancy in public.
The other factor is the father of this fetus-- he is not even mentioned. Knowing that the man-- who imparted this sexual "wisdom" to her-- simply used her and abandoned her tells her something else about men. Yet more "bad" information. But the fact that he is not even brought up speaks volumes-- she might have thought to rely on friends, family, or society, but it never even occurred to her to consider the involvement of the man who bares at least as much responsibility as herself. Who would even think he'd be around?
In a maddeningly ironic way, had she been raped, she would have some legal recourse. But it sounds like she sought this "wisdom" and only later regretted not having waited to learn its lessons. It also sounds like she-- and the baby-- are better off without him in any case, his responsibility to them notwithstanding.
This song is a cautionary tale. For one piece of wisdom, all this is lost: her friendships, her mother's affection, her social standing, her boyfriend, her future...
"Too young to know too much too soon." She would have still learned this wisdom, had she waited, and the tuition cost would not have been so very, very high.
Next Song: When Heroes Go Down
She is exhibiting "strange" symptoms, but her mother is in some sort of denial. The doctor is aware of the woman's condition. "He knows I'm not a child," not too young to have sex. But he "doesn't dare ask the right question." Which is if she did.
After all, a mother-- and hers is there, at the appointment-- who does not consider the possibility that her "sick" child is actually simply pregnant is not emotionally ready to hear that she is.
Her friends, still young enough to "play games," have abandoned her. "I've grown serious," which is understandable, but her friends are too young to guess the reason, and so have "left" her to her own "daydreaming." Which is likely about what her life would have been like had she not gotten pregnant.
She starts to add up the "price" she has to pay for this "bad wisdom." Not that sex is bad, or that pregnancy is-- just that it's bad, now, for her. She knows "too much, too soon." She is just past playing with a doll, and should not worried about caring for a baby.
The woman now turns to society's reaction. She has learned that those who are "good"-- who follow the moral as well as the legal code-- "will be protected." However, those who have "fallen through the crack" are not, so there is "no getting back" to her former "good" status. Even a criminal can be rehabilitated and stolen items returned. But motherhood is forever, and therefore so is her "sin."
She realizes she can "never trust whoever gets elected." Because she has been immoral, she can forget any governmental assistance with her child. There is no incentive for an elected official to offer any, and plenty for balancing the city's budget on her back instead. Then the mayor gets to claim moral superiority, and for free.
Next, she loses the esteem and closeness of her mother, who by now has seen her swelling belly. Her mother's eyes have "gone suddenly cold." In a wry pun, the woman says this reaction is not what she was "expecting." Even her own mother has become emotionally distant. Perhaps she feels that she has failed as a mother, or that she has been betrayed by her wayward child. Maybe, on top of it all, she does not like the idea of being a grandmother yet, as it might make her feel old.
We hear about the "blossom of young womanhood," but that is not case here. The woman says that she feels "cut at the root like a weed." Why? "There's no one to hear my small story." Not her mother, not her friends, not the government. No one cares.
She made one mistake, and now she will pay for it, alone (well, aside from the baby), for the rest of her life. She compares her shunned status to that of a prostitute, "a woman who walks in the street." She says that like a whore, she will "pay for [her] life with [her] body."
It seems like having an abortion is not possible. It is easier for a politician to placate a puritanical public by denying abortion rights than to risk their ire; many who would use abortion services are too young to vote in any case and so have no political clout.
There is the option of having the child and then offering it for adoption. Again, this still requires a full course of labor and delivery, and the stigma of going through pregnancy in public.
The other factor is the father of this fetus-- he is not even mentioned. Knowing that the man-- who imparted this sexual "wisdom" to her-- simply used her and abandoned her tells her something else about men. Yet more "bad" information. But the fact that he is not even brought up speaks volumes-- she might have thought to rely on friends, family, or society, but it never even occurred to her to consider the involvement of the man who bares at least as much responsibility as herself. Who would even think he'd be around?
In a maddeningly ironic way, had she been raped, she would have some legal recourse. But it sounds like she sought this "wisdom" and only later regretted not having waited to learn its lessons. It also sounds like she-- and the baby-- are better off without him in any case, his responsibility to them notwithstanding.
This song is a cautionary tale. For one piece of wisdom, all this is lost: her friendships, her mother's affection, her social standing, her boyfriend, her future...
"Too young to know too much too soon." She would have still learned this wisdom, had she waited, and the tuition cost would not have been so very, very high.
Next Song: When Heroes Go Down
Monday, October 26, 2015
If You Were in My Movie
This is a series of sexual fantasies involving role playing. This is the idea of using professions or other activities as play-acting, so as to provide a setting for sexual experimentation. Ironically, playing a role creates an emotional distance that can allow one's true urges to surface: "It's not really me doing this," the brain rationalizes, "I'm just pretending." To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, "the mask is the true face."
The first scenario here is that of the doctor and the patient. This is one of unequal power, in which the doctor is the authority and the patient is in his hands (literally). In this version of the story, the doctor makes a house call, and touches the woman-- "diagnostically," of course-- on her stomach and throat. First.
Then she imagines the man as a detective "examining" the woman and a priest who somehow "give(s) the girl a thrill" while "keep(ing) her body in check."
These other scenarios are also ones in which the man has the power. The woman wanting to be taken is somewhat anti-feminist, perhaps, but it is an understandable response to society's double standard when it comes to sex: a woman does want sex, but unlike a man, she is not allowed to want it.
So she imagines she has to have it because it is forced upon her by someone in power over her. Not to the degree of rape, perhaps, but still very stern persuasion. Not "have sex with me or I'll hurt you," but "have sex with or I'll leave you" or some other undesirable outcome.
This scenario gives the woman permission to want sex, because she cannot be judged if she had no choice, right? Another potent, long-popular manifestation of this idea in popular culture is the vampire, coming into the woman's bedroom window at night and just taking her without permission... that monster!
Then she imagines her lover as the opposite of the noir detective, the noir gangster. This criminal, however, is the least powerful of the bunch! One might expect someone with no regard for the law to be ultimately free and self-determining. But he is "double-crossed" by his own moll, the "blonde." He is apprehended and brought before a jury, left only to mumble the weak excuse that he "hadn't done anything yet."
It is interesting that this is the final scenario. She wins because she gains the upper hand, but at what cost? Now the man is emasculated... weak and uninteresting.
While it is a step forward, perhaps, to have the woman in control, there is still another step to be taken-- equality. The speaker cannot yet imagine being another doctor the first calls upon to consult with, She is not his fellow detective, as in so many cop-buddy shows and movies. She is not a nun equal to the priest... who so enrapture each other they toss their vows and clothes aside.
And she is not his partner in crime. She is the moll roped into the mobster's control, who sees that the game is up and so rats him out to the pigs like a pigeon. Mixed animal metaphors aside, how telling that she can only imagine herself as under her lover's power, or he in hers...
...even though she is the director. After all, she imagines that he is in her movie.
Next Song: As a Child
The first scenario here is that of the doctor and the patient. This is one of unequal power, in which the doctor is the authority and the patient is in his hands (literally). In this version of the story, the doctor makes a house call, and touches the woman-- "diagnostically," of course-- on her stomach and throat. First.
Then she imagines the man as a detective "examining" the woman and a priest who somehow "give(s) the girl a thrill" while "keep(ing) her body in check."
These other scenarios are also ones in which the man has the power. The woman wanting to be taken is somewhat anti-feminist, perhaps, but it is an understandable response to society's double standard when it comes to sex: a woman does want sex, but unlike a man, she is not allowed to want it.
So she imagines she has to have it because it is forced upon her by someone in power over her. Not to the degree of rape, perhaps, but still very stern persuasion. Not "have sex with me or I'll hurt you," but "have sex with or I'll leave you" or some other undesirable outcome.
This scenario gives the woman permission to want sex, because she cannot be judged if she had no choice, right? Another potent, long-popular manifestation of this idea in popular culture is the vampire, coming into the woman's bedroom window at night and just taking her without permission... that monster!
Then she imagines her lover as the opposite of the noir detective, the noir gangster. This criminal, however, is the least powerful of the bunch! One might expect someone with no regard for the law to be ultimately free and self-determining. But he is "double-crossed" by his own moll, the "blonde." He is apprehended and brought before a jury, left only to mumble the weak excuse that he "hadn't done anything yet."
It is interesting that this is the final scenario. She wins because she gains the upper hand, but at what cost? Now the man is emasculated... weak and uninteresting.
While it is a step forward, perhaps, to have the woman in control, there is still another step to be taken-- equality. The speaker cannot yet imagine being another doctor the first calls upon to consult with, She is not his fellow detective, as in so many cop-buddy shows and movies. She is not a nun equal to the priest... who so enrapture each other they toss their vows and clothes aside.
And she is not his partner in crime. She is the moll roped into the mobster's control, who sees that the game is up and so rats him out to the pigs like a pigeon. Mixed animal metaphors aside, how telling that she can only imagine herself as under her lover's power, or he in hers...
...even though she is the director. After all, she imagines that he is in her movie.
Next Song: As a Child
Monday, September 21, 2015
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
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
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