This sounds like a love song. And... it's about love, but is it a "love song"?
It starts by positing "lover" and "beloved" as opposites. In fact, when the lover "pursues," the beloved does not stand and wait to be caught, let alone turn and run toward the lover. No-- here, the beloved "flees." They are "from countries apart," but they stay apart, "Each one alone in the land of the heart."
They do have some things in common. Both are "forever stripped bare" of pretense. One desires, the other is desired, passively. They are both "there... in the night," we presume, in bed.
The lover, however, is also somehow a "liar," a dealer in false pretense. He is also a "hero" and a "thief"-- he saves the beloved from isolation, yet steals her solitude, for instance. Thus, his efforts and intentions cancel each other out, and ultimately, he "brings no relief." Frustrating! This is true whether she considers him a "brother" or "husband."
While a lover is a "brave cavalier," nevertheless his love "rais[es] hatred and fear" in the beloved. This is for the above reasons, but also while each "crav[es] the touch" of the other, this desire is for something lacking, and a lack is a weakness, a vulnerability.
Finally, "each bears the burden of loving too much." The lover is distraught that his love is unrequited; the beloved is being smothered by all this affection and attention.
But what about a lover who has died, who has crossed the River "Styx"? He "will send/ Flowers from beyond the end." Even though he is gone, she still relishes his memory. He is "her lover for eternity" since he is no longer in control of his leaving her thoughts, once he has left her side. It seems the only good boyfriend is a dead one.
In the play Torch Song Trilogy. Harvey Fierstein opines: "It's easy to love the dead. They make so few mistakes." Also, they ask so little of you.
This song is pretty, like a love song. But it presents love as a battle between predator and prey, with one party forever hungry for more closeness, and the other desperate for less.
Next Song: The Ballad of Miss Amelia
Showing posts with label isolation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label isolation. Show all posts
Monday, February 6, 2017
Monday, July 27, 2015
Institution Green
This song seems to conflate two ideas. One is being a patient in a mental institution. The other is participating in an election, voting. It is possible that Vega is implying that being a citizen is like being a mental patient.
And it seems that what triggered this comparison is was the color on the walls of wherever it was she went to vote-- a shade of green once preferred by mental institutions because it evoked Nature and was therefore thought to be calming. The song begins by describing the walls of this color, noting that they have not been maintained-- the paint is "cracked and dim."
She is part of a "line," a queue of people "waiting for our faces to be seen." Faces, of course, meaning uniqueness. All the listener knows at this point is that the walls are this particular shade of green, and so those in the queue are assumed to be waiting for admission into some mental facility.
This notion is fostered by the next lines: "Watch the floor and count the hours." They are waiting for a long time-- with no magazines to read, no TV to watch-- and are not talking with each other while waiting. They do not even look at each other or make eye contact: "None will meet my eye/ Private people in a public space." Well, sure, what would they talk about except their mental diagnoses-- which are no one's business, thanks very much!
At the head of the line is some sort of "book" full of "names." She is expecting her own name to be in the book, and is somewhat apprehensive about that. She wants to be recognized as an individual with a "face," but it worried that the authorities and bureaucrats there will "lose [her] on the printed page" and she will become just another statistic.
The factotum-like employees will be nameless and faceless as well, leaving her not knowing "where to point the aimless rage." She is thinking that even if she rebels, she will not even know who to rebel against, since it is a whole system that is responsible (or irresponsible).
Then comes the revelation-- this is not about being admitted to a mental institution at all! This is about lining up in some bureaucratic, institutional building to vote.
"I cast my vote upon this earth," she says, meaning two things at once. Yes, she is a citizen and therefore has the right, along with others on the Earth, to make her political voice heard. Yet she is so anonymous, so one-among-many, that her vote may just as well be "cast" (or "tossed," as in "cast your bread upon the waters" or "casting a line," as in fishing) upon "the earth," right into the dirt. "I... take my place for what it's worth," she explains. "Yeah, I did it-- so?" is the implication.
What does she really want? Eye contact! "I... hunger for a pair of eyes." To what end? "To notice and to recognize." She wants to be acknowledged as an individual, and this process piles her votes in with everyone else's, anonymously.
It's the other side of the idea of a "secret ballot" that is at the core of democracy. On the one hand, no one gets to know your vote, and therefore cannot attack you for it-- you are safe to vote your preference with no repercussions. On the other hand, you said something very important, but no one heard.
Back to the line. Now we see that the "woman" who "stands behind a table" with a name-book in front of her is checking to see if you registered to vote. If you did, and were approved, you can vote. If not, no. But Vega continues to recall the mental-institution imagery here. She describes the above process thus: "She will call my name/ After that, I'll be admitted in."
Now, she has arrived at the voting booth. Today, many of these are electronic. In the past, they were mechanical. The small booth had three sides, the fourth being a curtain instead of a door. It was not unlike a shower stall in this way, although the curtain was usually only waist-long. Today, many voting devices have no curtains, but are simply oriented in the room to prevent others from seeing your votes.
Once inside, the early-model voting machine presented a series of levers-- a pull to either side indicated a vote for either candidate. Often, attendants were on hand to explain, and then once you understood, they backed away and closed the curtain to let you vote in secret. Thence these lines: "Teach me how to pull the lever/ Push the curtain closed."
Vega evidently found the whole experience humiliating and demoralizing. The song ends with her repeating: "Take what's needed, then just let me go."
In other times and places, voting was limited to few, and one's vote had to be open. The secret ballot was created to preserve the dignity of the voter. Perhaps if Vega wanted her vote to be public, she could simply wear a button declaiming her favored party or candidate.
There are many reasons to complain about the imperfections of the American electoral process-- the prevalence of money in campaigns, new voter restrictions, gerrymandering, the violent intimidation of voters, the complexity of the electoral college system (which can elect someone who has lost the popular vote), the ease with which computer-voting systems can be rigged or hacked, the low voter rates, even the dampening effect on new ideas caused by an only-two-party system.
All of these issues and more can-- and do-- earn the voting process fair comparison to a mental institution.
But the secret ballot seems an odd target. Again, if Vega did want her voting preferences known, that would be easy enough. Candidates' campaigns are more than happy to provide everyone with stickers, pins, hats, flags, signs and more to let everyone know who you voted for. They are also usually glad for public figures such as herself to publicly align themselves with their candidate.
Although she'd have to write them a new song. Most of her work is... less than anthemic.
Next Song: Those Whole Girls
And it seems that what triggered this comparison is was the color on the walls of wherever it was she went to vote-- a shade of green once preferred by mental institutions because it evoked Nature and was therefore thought to be calming. The song begins by describing the walls of this color, noting that they have not been maintained-- the paint is "cracked and dim."
She is part of a "line," a queue of people "waiting for our faces to be seen." Faces, of course, meaning uniqueness. All the listener knows at this point is that the walls are this particular shade of green, and so those in the queue are assumed to be waiting for admission into some mental facility.
This notion is fostered by the next lines: "Watch the floor and count the hours." They are waiting for a long time-- with no magazines to read, no TV to watch-- and are not talking with each other while waiting. They do not even look at each other or make eye contact: "None will meet my eye/ Private people in a public space." Well, sure, what would they talk about except their mental diagnoses-- which are no one's business, thanks very much!
At the head of the line is some sort of "book" full of "names." She is expecting her own name to be in the book, and is somewhat apprehensive about that. She wants to be recognized as an individual with a "face," but it worried that the authorities and bureaucrats there will "lose [her] on the printed page" and she will become just another statistic.
The factotum-like employees will be nameless and faceless as well, leaving her not knowing "where to point the aimless rage." She is thinking that even if she rebels, she will not even know who to rebel against, since it is a whole system that is responsible (or irresponsible).
Then comes the revelation-- this is not about being admitted to a mental institution at all! This is about lining up in some bureaucratic, institutional building to vote.
"I cast my vote upon this earth," she says, meaning two things at once. Yes, she is a citizen and therefore has the right, along with others on the Earth, to make her political voice heard. Yet she is so anonymous, so one-among-many, that her vote may just as well be "cast" (or "tossed," as in "cast your bread upon the waters" or "casting a line," as in fishing) upon "the earth," right into the dirt. "I... take my place for what it's worth," she explains. "Yeah, I did it-- so?" is the implication.
What does she really want? Eye contact! "I... hunger for a pair of eyes." To what end? "To notice and to recognize." She wants to be acknowledged as an individual, and this process piles her votes in with everyone else's, anonymously.
It's the other side of the idea of a "secret ballot" that is at the core of democracy. On the one hand, no one gets to know your vote, and therefore cannot attack you for it-- you are safe to vote your preference with no repercussions. On the other hand, you said something very important, but no one heard.
Back to the line. Now we see that the "woman" who "stands behind a table" with a name-book in front of her is checking to see if you registered to vote. If you did, and were approved, you can vote. If not, no. But Vega continues to recall the mental-institution imagery here. She describes the above process thus: "She will call my name/ After that, I'll be admitted in."
Now, she has arrived at the voting booth. Today, many of these are electronic. In the past, they were mechanical. The small booth had three sides, the fourth being a curtain instead of a door. It was not unlike a shower stall in this way, although the curtain was usually only waist-long. Today, many voting devices have no curtains, but are simply oriented in the room to prevent others from seeing your votes.
Once inside, the early-model voting machine presented a series of levers-- a pull to either side indicated a vote for either candidate. Often, attendants were on hand to explain, and then once you understood, they backed away and closed the curtain to let you vote in secret. Thence these lines: "Teach me how to pull the lever/ Push the curtain closed."
Vega evidently found the whole experience humiliating and demoralizing. The song ends with her repeating: "Take what's needed, then just let me go."
In other times and places, voting was limited to few, and one's vote had to be open. The secret ballot was created to preserve the dignity of the voter. Perhaps if Vega wanted her vote to be public, she could simply wear a button declaiming her favored party or candidate.
There are many reasons to complain about the imperfections of the American electoral process-- the prevalence of money in campaigns, new voter restrictions, gerrymandering, the violent intimidation of voters, the complexity of the electoral college system (which can elect someone who has lost the popular vote), the ease with which computer-voting systems can be rigged or hacked, the low voter rates, even the dampening effect on new ideas caused by an only-two-party system.
All of these issues and more can-- and do-- earn the voting process fair comparison to a mental institution.
But the secret ballot seems an odd target. Again, if Vega did want her voting preferences known, that would be easy enough. Candidates' campaigns are more than happy to provide everyone with stickers, pins, hats, flags, signs and more to let everyone know who you voted for. They are also usually glad for public figures such as herself to publicly align themselves with their candidate.
Although she'd have to write them a new song. Most of her work is... less than anthemic.
Next Song: Those Whole Girls
Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Solitude Standing
There is a literary trope, used here, with a confusing name. "Apostrophe" is not just the term for that floating punctuation mark, but for the literary technique of speaking to an idea or abstract concept.
For example: "Hello, Darkness, my old friend," or "Death, be not proud," or "America, God shed His Grace on thee." As if the speaker could actually talk to Darkness, Death or America.
Here, the speaker addresses Solitude. It seems that she was in a relationship with another person, which has now ended, and now she is alone "with" Solitude, as it were.
The song starts with the speaker entering a "room." Solitude, who already expected that the speaker would be alone when she arrived, post-breakup, has "been waiting." The "slant of the late afternoon" refers to the steep angle at which the light enters the room through the "window."
But Solitude says nothing, at least at first, by way of greeting. Instead, she extends her palm, which contains a curious item: "Her palm is split with a flower, with a flame."
It helps to know that Vega is a Buddhist. Most likely, this refers to a flaming lotus or similar symbol from that wisdom tradition. Flame is a destructive quantity, and a flower symbolizes creation, life, and birth. This shows the two sides of solitude-- criminals are sent to solitary confinement as a punishment, while hermits seek it for spiritual growth.
In the second verse, Solitude has moved from the "window" to the "doorway." There is still a light behind her, as she is seen as a "silhouette." In the first verse, her "eyes" are mentioned; this time, her "long, cool stare" is. Also, she is still silent.
"I suddenly remember each time we've met" means that this sensation of alone-ness is so familiar that all such instances of feeling this way rush from her memory into awareness.
Now, Solitude speaks. She explains that she is not to be feared, but in fact brings solace and healing. "I've come to set a twisted thing straight," she says, soothingly. "I've come to lighten this dark heart."
But the speaker is still wary. "I feel her imprint of fear," she thinks. And then she addresses Solitude in response: "I've never thought of finding you here."
Where? On stage, it seems. "I turn to the crowd as they're watching... their eyes are gathered into one." It's understandable-- why would you expect to find solitude in a room full of people? Yet, she is on stage, and they are apart from her, in the audience.
Yet, they are together with each other-- and she finds herself "wanting to be in there, among them." She wants to be part of her own audience! If only to be a part... instead of apart.
Everyone is looking at her, even Solitude. It's one thing to be alone, but entirely another to be alone where everyone can see you be that way. You might as well be in a fishbowl.
Still, she is trying to see Solitude as bringing her something helpful. Sometimes, it's necessary to be alone with Solitude, to be able to prepare for the next time you meet Togetherness.
IMPACT:
This song reached #94, and remained on the US charts for 3 weeks.
Next Song: Calypso
For example: "Hello, Darkness, my old friend," or "Death, be not proud," or "America, God shed His Grace on thee." As if the speaker could actually talk to Darkness, Death or America.
Here, the speaker addresses Solitude. It seems that she was in a relationship with another person, which has now ended, and now she is alone "with" Solitude, as it were.
The song starts with the speaker entering a "room." Solitude, who already expected that the speaker would be alone when she arrived, post-breakup, has "been waiting." The "slant of the late afternoon" refers to the steep angle at which the light enters the room through the "window."
But Solitude says nothing, at least at first, by way of greeting. Instead, she extends her palm, which contains a curious item: "Her palm is split with a flower, with a flame."
It helps to know that Vega is a Buddhist. Most likely, this refers to a flaming lotus or similar symbol from that wisdom tradition. Flame is a destructive quantity, and a flower symbolizes creation, life, and birth. This shows the two sides of solitude-- criminals are sent to solitary confinement as a punishment, while hermits seek it for spiritual growth.
In the second verse, Solitude has moved from the "window" to the "doorway." There is still a light behind her, as she is seen as a "silhouette." In the first verse, her "eyes" are mentioned; this time, her "long, cool stare" is. Also, she is still silent.
"I suddenly remember each time we've met" means that this sensation of alone-ness is so familiar that all such instances of feeling this way rush from her memory into awareness.
Now, Solitude speaks. She explains that she is not to be feared, but in fact brings solace and healing. "I've come to set a twisted thing straight," she says, soothingly. "I've come to lighten this dark heart."
But the speaker is still wary. "I feel her imprint of fear," she thinks. And then she addresses Solitude in response: "I've never thought of finding you here."
Where? On stage, it seems. "I turn to the crowd as they're watching... their eyes are gathered into one." It's understandable-- why would you expect to find solitude in a room full of people? Yet, she is on stage, and they are apart from her, in the audience.
Yet, they are together with each other-- and she finds herself "wanting to be in there, among them." She wants to be part of her own audience! If only to be a part... instead of apart.
Everyone is looking at her, even Solitude. It's one thing to be alone, but entirely another to be alone where everyone can see you be that way. You might as well be in a fishbowl.
Still, she is trying to see Solitude as bringing her something helpful. Sometimes, it's necessary to be alone with Solitude, to be able to prepare for the next time you meet Togetherness.
IMPACT:
This song reached #94, and remained on the US charts for 3 weeks.
Next Song: Calypso
Monday, April 27, 2015
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
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
Monday, March 2, 2015
Straight Lines
In this song, a woman takes increasingly severe measures to cope with the pain in her life. A life which she ultimately decides to end.
The song begins with "the sound... of cold metal/ Touching skin." This is an allusion to the unfortunate practice of "cutting," the act of making incisions in one's skin as an attempt to "feel something." It is often done my people whose lives have become so painful, they have decided to become stoic and unemotional. Yet, the need for emotion surfaces, and the response of cutting is quite extreme indeed.
However, in this case, the allusion is not fulfilled, and all that has been "cut" is the woman's "hair." (The hair was blonde; it is referred to as "soft golden lights.") Still, the fact that this act is so rote as to be considered something done "again"-- with the eye-rolling phrasing of "here she goes again"-- is worrisome.
There is an invitation to observe this event, too. We are urged to hear the "sound" at the beginning, and now to "see," and even "look in her window." But it is not the ogling of a voyeur, rather the detached gaze of the psychologist or even anthropologist.
We note that the hair was cut "in straight lines." Perhaps she is seeking to create a sense of order in a chaotic life.
Another troubling sign is subtle. This self-inflicted haircut happened "in the morning." Usually such time-consuming treatments happen in the evening, when there is more time. It seems she has no other obligations to rush off to-- no school or job.
Also interesting is that, if we do look through the window, our view will not be impeded by glass; the window is open, at least enough for the "wind" to sweep her fallen hairs "through the apartment." This carelessness is also upsetting. Why doesn't she care that there is hair all over her floor now? Most people would try to contain the mess. So much for straight lines.
Then comes the enigmatic line "She don't need them/ Anymore." Of course not. Snipped-off hairs are always discarded as rubbish. So why say this, let along emphasize it with repetition? Perhaps she had used her hair to put forth an attractive mien, and no longer wishes to be attractive, to attract positive attention. Withdrawal from society is another "red flag."
And why the grammatically incorrect "don't"? This is our only clue to the speaker's identity.
Next, we learn that she has "cut down" something else! The line "she's cut down" is sharply divided from the rest of the phrase, "on her lovers." The expression "to cut down on" means "to reduce consumption of." One might say "I've cut down on calories" or even "television watching." Here, she has cut her romantic relationships. Again, her emotions refuse to be controlled: "She still dreams of them at night."
"She's growing straight lines/ Where once were flowers." Life can be confusing. The woman here has tired of this complexity and is seeking simplicity. But there is no escaping complexity-- even in a totalitarian society, or a self-imposed jail-- without escaping life. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.
For now, she has "streamlined" herself with her haircut... and her life, with her solitude. Perhaps she has gotten rid of other things, too. Purging oneself of possessions can be a symptom of trouble, just a hoarding can. We already know that there are no carpets or rugs on her "wooden floor," because the hairs have scattered all "through the apartment."
And now, she is not "opening" or "drawing back" the shade, but "taking (it) down" entirely! She does this "to see the straight lines." Literally, the lines framing her window panes, those formed by the fire escape, the sidewalk panels, the streets, the bricks and windows and shapes of the buildings, lampposts, fences-- all straight lines.
Figuratively, she is removing those things that cause shades of gray. She wants straight lines, and also black-and-white vistas.
Also being cut are "the circles/ That she has lived in before." Perhaps her relationships have proven circular in motion instead of progressing forward. Perhaps this is also true of her education and employment.
"She wants to finally kill the delusions/ She won't need them/ Anymore." All of which could be changed with many methods. She could take a vacation, enter into therapy, talk with friends or clergy, speak with a career counselor, begin meditation... any number of things to help her find clarity and end the cyclical patterns she seems to perpetuate.
She does none of them. The next thing we hear is another "sound." It's "cold metal" again. But this time, "too close to the bone."
Yes, she killed herself. Most likely, by slashing her wrists. She is, now, "finally alone/ Behind straight lines." Even in her apartment, there were dreams of lovers and nosy neighbors (ourselves included),
Flowers are messy. They bring water, dirt, fertilizer, pollen, thorns, fallen petals, water-logged stems, dead leaves, and ultimately dead flowers. But they are considered by most to be among the most beautiful things in the world. The mess is the price of the beauty.
This woman no longer could see any beauty in her life. No rug was worth the vacuuming. No boyfriend worth the angst. No flowers worth the mess. She wanted as little interaction, as little friction as possible.
She could not become streamlined enough with her straight lines. Ironically, the most streamlined things there are-- from bullet trains to bottlenose dolphins-- are made of curves.
If she had only learned to bend... or if anyone in her life had noticed her obvious signs of mental illness and pre-suicide behaviors. Then again, it may have been these well-meaning attempts at intervention that drove her into isolation. We'll never know, now.
Next Song: Undertow
The song begins with "the sound... of cold metal/ Touching skin." This is an allusion to the unfortunate practice of "cutting," the act of making incisions in one's skin as an attempt to "feel something." It is often done my people whose lives have become so painful, they have decided to become stoic and unemotional. Yet, the need for emotion surfaces, and the response of cutting is quite extreme indeed.
However, in this case, the allusion is not fulfilled, and all that has been "cut" is the woman's "hair." (The hair was blonde; it is referred to as "soft golden lights.") Still, the fact that this act is so rote as to be considered something done "again"-- with the eye-rolling phrasing of "here she goes again"-- is worrisome.
There is an invitation to observe this event, too. We are urged to hear the "sound" at the beginning, and now to "see," and even "look in her window." But it is not the ogling of a voyeur, rather the detached gaze of the psychologist or even anthropologist.
We note that the hair was cut "in straight lines." Perhaps she is seeking to create a sense of order in a chaotic life.
Another troubling sign is subtle. This self-inflicted haircut happened "in the morning." Usually such time-consuming treatments happen in the evening, when there is more time. It seems she has no other obligations to rush off to-- no school or job.
Also interesting is that, if we do look through the window, our view will not be impeded by glass; the window is open, at least enough for the "wind" to sweep her fallen hairs "through the apartment." This carelessness is also upsetting. Why doesn't she care that there is hair all over her floor now? Most people would try to contain the mess. So much for straight lines.
Then comes the enigmatic line "She don't need them/ Anymore." Of course not. Snipped-off hairs are always discarded as rubbish. So why say this, let along emphasize it with repetition? Perhaps she had used her hair to put forth an attractive mien, and no longer wishes to be attractive, to attract positive attention. Withdrawal from society is another "red flag."
And why the grammatically incorrect "don't"? This is our only clue to the speaker's identity.
Next, we learn that she has "cut down" something else! The line "she's cut down" is sharply divided from the rest of the phrase, "on her lovers." The expression "to cut down on" means "to reduce consumption of." One might say "I've cut down on calories" or even "television watching." Here, she has cut her romantic relationships. Again, her emotions refuse to be controlled: "She still dreams of them at night."
"She's growing straight lines/ Where once were flowers." Life can be confusing. The woman here has tired of this complexity and is seeking simplicity. But there is no escaping complexity-- even in a totalitarian society, or a self-imposed jail-- without escaping life. But that's getting ahead of ourselves.
For now, she has "streamlined" herself with her haircut... and her life, with her solitude. Perhaps she has gotten rid of other things, too. Purging oneself of possessions can be a symptom of trouble, just a hoarding can. We already know that there are no carpets or rugs on her "wooden floor," because the hairs have scattered all "through the apartment."
And now, she is not "opening" or "drawing back" the shade, but "taking (it) down" entirely! She does this "to see the straight lines." Literally, the lines framing her window panes, those formed by the fire escape, the sidewalk panels, the streets, the bricks and windows and shapes of the buildings, lampposts, fences-- all straight lines.
Figuratively, she is removing those things that cause shades of gray. She wants straight lines, and also black-and-white vistas.
Also being cut are "the circles/ That she has lived in before." Perhaps her relationships have proven circular in motion instead of progressing forward. Perhaps this is also true of her education and employment.
"She wants to finally kill the delusions/ She won't need them/ Anymore." All of which could be changed with many methods. She could take a vacation, enter into therapy, talk with friends or clergy, speak with a career counselor, begin meditation... any number of things to help her find clarity and end the cyclical patterns she seems to perpetuate.
She does none of them. The next thing we hear is another "sound." It's "cold metal" again. But this time, "too close to the bone."
Yes, she killed herself. Most likely, by slashing her wrists. She is, now, "finally alone/ Behind straight lines." Even in her apartment, there were dreams of lovers and nosy neighbors (ourselves included),
Flowers are messy. They bring water, dirt, fertilizer, pollen, thorns, fallen petals, water-logged stems, dead leaves, and ultimately dead flowers. But they are considered by most to be among the most beautiful things in the world. The mess is the price of the beauty.
This woman no longer could see any beauty in her life. No rug was worth the vacuuming. No boyfriend worth the angst. No flowers worth the mess. She wanted as little interaction, as little friction as possible.
She could not become streamlined enough with her straight lines. Ironically, the most streamlined things there are-- from bullet trains to bottlenose dolphins-- are made of curves.
If she had only learned to bend... or if anyone in her life had noticed her obvious signs of mental illness and pre-suicide behaviors. Then again, it may have been these well-meaning attempts at intervention that drove her into isolation. We'll never know, now.
Next Song: Undertow
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