I Never Wear White

"The Man in Black" is, of course, Johnny Cash; he sings a song by that title as well. But it's also Wesley, in The Princess Bride, as The Dread Pirate Roberts. And then there are The Men in Black, alien hunters from the movie of that title. Now, the 2016 TV show Westworld, based on a 1970s movie, has a character named "Man in Black." (Zorro is also a man in black, although not called as such.)

A quick search reveals that "Man in Black" is used for everyone from racing's Dale Earnhardt to characters from TV's Lost and filmdom's For a Few Dollar's More-- and novels from Stephen King back to... Geoffrey Chaucer!

However, "women in black" are far rarer. The novel The Woman in Black is only from 1983, and everything based on it is even more recent. There is also a movement of anti-war protesters who came to be known as The Women in Black.

Well, now we might finally have a musical Woman in Black to compare to Cash.

The song is basically two lists: one of the kinds of people who do wear white, and then another of those who wear black.

"White," it says, is for: virgins, "children in summer," and brides.

"Black," meanwhile, is for: outlaws, dancers, "the poet of the dark," the crone, the bastard, "the schoolgirl in uniform," "the servant in the hall," the gangster, and the widow.

What's wrong with white? Nothing in general, just that it's wrong for her. Again, why? Well, "white is too blinding/ Always reminding/ Of the innocent who fall."

So, black is either for those who already fell, or for those who were never innocent to begin with and started, so to speak, on the floor. "Those," as she puts it, "of my station in life" (see the above list).

Black, furthermore, "is for secrets... it's the shade and the shadow." While white is "blinding" and revealing, black hides, and allows things to be hidden. While white shows things to the eye, black is "the depth into your eye," the pupil, the part that sees. Yes, ironically, it is the blackest part of the eye that lets the light in.

Let's look again at the list of black-wearers. The outlaw and gangster are criminals; of course they need to hide. The poet doesn't need to hide, but prefers to, the better to observe without being observed. The widow wears black out of grief and somberness; she is not supposed to attract men's romantic attention with color. So these prefer black by choice.

The servant is never to be the center of attention, but is meant to serve those who are. The old crone and bastard are, by their nature, outcasts and affronts to decent society, and so shunted into the shadows. The schoolgirl is likewise deemed unimportant by society-- she is both young and female, making her doubly dismiss-able. These are made to wear black so that they fade into the background, even against their will.

Then there is the dancer. She chooses to wear black, yet is in the spotlight! Public as she is, she as a person is less important than her art, her movements. By wearing black, she disappears as an individual, and becomes a mere screen on to which the audience projects its self-image.

"Black is the truth of my situation," the speaker concludes. "All other colors lie." So she either is made to wear black but has embraced it, or has chosen it outright. It allows her to hide.

Musically, the song is one of Vega's hardest-rocking numbers, at least since 99.9oF.

Next song: Portrait of the Knight of Wands

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.)