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

Fifty-fifty Chance

The song is about a patient and the person visiting her (the speaker).

It starts with someone "lying in bed" in a hospital's cardiac ward. The doctor is explaining to the visitor that the patient has a "50-50" chance of survival.

The visitor, possibly the patient's adult child, sees "a pan on the floor/ Filled with something black." Her response is universal: "I need to know/ I'm afraid to ask" what it is.

The visitor then pledges her support to the patient, who is unresponsive. She could be sleeping or under sedation, but given the information we learn later, likely not in a coma.

"I hug you/ I hum to you... I touch you," says the visitor to the patient. "I tell you/ I love you./ Sing to you/ Bring to you/ Anything."

The visitor notes that that the patient, who should be calm since she is resting, has an accelerated heartbeat. Also, she is shivering: "Her body trembles with the effort to last."

The doctor seems satisfied, however, that the patient is over the worst of it. In fact, after one more night in the hospital, "She's going home/ Tomorrow at ten," meaning 10:00 a.m.

Then comes the chilling last lines: "The question is/ Will she try it again?"

And now we know why the patient was there: attempted suicide. The black material in the pan may have been whatever poison was pumped out of the patient's system.

In reality, a patient with only a "50-50 chance" of survival would not likely be sent home the next day, so the last verse could take place a week or two after the others.

There are two contrasts set up in this song. One is between a mind that wants to die being housed in a body that wants to live. The other is a person who wants to die when there is someone in her life who loves her so much.

If she is in the cardiac ward, this may be a clue as to why the patient attempted suicide in the first place. She may have a congenital or painful heart condition, and would rather die at her own hand than be the victim of a heart attack.

It is bad enough to take a patient home who may have a relapse of a disease or a recurrence of a cancer. It is something else entirely to know that a person might decide to try and take her own life again-- how could you possibly be vigilant enough? You have to sleep sometime...

There should be some staff person at the hospital, a social worker or psychiatrist, who can offer help and suggestions, and possibly even prescribe therapy, anti-depressants... something. Heck, the daughter might need some support, for herself.

To send a woman home with her suicidal mother, possibly the day after the attempt itself, with only a 50% chance of survival, and no psychological support? This does not sound like a doctor or hospital I would ever want to wind up with.


Next Song: Pilgrimage