World Before Columbus

This simply-worded and -structured song is one of Vega's loveliest. The sentiment is pure and deep, without being... sentimental.

It imagines the speaker's world without the one she loves. If he left, or died-- or for some other reason his love and life were "taken from" her-- the "color" would leave her life. She would lose "half [her] sight," she counts so much on being able to know his perspective. After the colors faded, the "light" itself would go, not just "dim," but "dark."

Her world would be "cold"-- the very "trees would freeze"-- and "cruel."

Now, popular misconception holds that, before Columbus, everyone thought the world was flat, but he proved it to be round. In fact, the world's shape-- and even its size-- were known to the ancients, even without sailing anywhere (they observed lunar eclipses, in which Earth always cast a round shadow; only spheres do that).

Still, we know the myth of the "flat Earth" theory, and here, the speaker so depends on her lover that without him, her world would be "flat." Someone could "sail to the edge, and [she]'d be there, looking down."

"Looking down" has many meanings. She would be "sad," but also "looking down" over the edge, as if saying she was contemplating jumping off it. Later in the song, she confirms this: "I'd swim over the brim."

After lauding explorers like Columbus, she then reconsiders and decides that they sought relatively worthless treasure: "land... riches... trinkets." But "oh, they never will have you." Even his "hair" is made of "gold" and "copper." She asks, "How could they weigh the worth of you, so rare?" They would totally miss the fact that his love is precious beyond that of any precious metal or gem.

Is the speaker over-dependent on her lover-- that without him, she would have no light or warmth in her life, not even a will to live? Perhaps. But I don't think this song lapses into codependency-- it merely engages in the kind of exaggeration that typifies love songs. Would it be as powerful to say, "If your love were taken from me, I'd be upset for a long while, but fine in the long run, especially with my strong support system of friends and family?"

And what of Columbus-- did others reach the "New" World before he did? Historians seem to agree that this is the case. Nevertheless, it was Columbus-- not a nice man, by current scholarship-- whose voyages opened (what came to be known as) the Americas to interaction with the rest of the planet, and who established a base here whose descendants remain to this day.

Again, this heartfelt song is one of Vega's purest expressions of affection, and one of her just-plain-prettiest songs. Maybe if someone had felt like this about ol' Columbus, he would have just stayed home with her.


Next Song: Lolita

Pilgrimage

This song is about entropy-- or, as it applies to human life-- mortality. So why is the title about a spiritual journey to a holy place?

Let's start with a simpler question: What does the first line of the song mean? "This line is burning..." What line?

She means the line of the song, the line of music, the words she is singing themselves. The words and notes live on the ear for a fraction of a second apiece before dispersing into scattered waves.

Similarly, once a moment in time has passed, it may as well be ash. Its potential has been burned up like a spent matchstick, a used wick, or a piece of kindling. She begins this thought by mentioning the days of the week, and the words "months" and "year."

The next thought concludes logically: "This life is burning." Time started before we were born and will continue after we die. We are here for a few moments, relatively speaking (if the Earth's history were one year, all of human existence would take place in the last hour of December 31). So if time is being burned up, so is our lifetime.

But she holds out a note of hope. Yes, "every death is an end," but for all this "stopping," there is also "starting," or new birth. This is a "march over millions of years," and each generation takes its steps in turn.

All of this progress is pointing where, though? Here is all this "travel." Where is the destination, the "arrival"? The progression is, she says, "toward a source." So... Heaven? It would explain the title-- all of life is a pilgrimage back to the Heaven (which certainly counts as a holy place) from whence we came.

Then the speaker gets both more specific and more enigmatic about her destination: "I'm coming to you." To whom? God? A passed-on relative waiting in Heaven? (If so, this song might link to the previous one. That song was about a suicide attempt; perhaps the person tried to kill themselves to reunite with someone waiting in Heaven, and this song is from her perspective.)

The idea of "burning" and "turning to ash" is now applies to the land. The soil erodes, the continents rise and sink, and the whole Earth itself has a time limit due to the Sun's inevitable collapse.

The speaker closes with a parting gift: "Take this/ Mute mouth/ Broken tongue." The deceased is bequeathing her very silence as an inheritance. Why is silence a gift?

Death, which the speaker says she has been marching toward for years, has arrived. And now the "dark," painful-- perhaps physically so but certainly emotionally so-- life, has hope... the hope of an end.

"Now," that the pilgrimage has ended, the Promised Land of relief and release has been attained: "Now this dark life is shot through with light."

Many who have had near-death experiences speak of seeing a great light. But even without such a vision, the idea of life ending may not seem frightening to some. For those with "dark" lives, an end to such a life just means an end to the darkness, and so, light.

There is a movement now to take the idea of euthanasia a step further. Rather than it only being used to speed an inevitable death and avoid a protracted and agonizing decline, some would like a medically assisted suicide to be available to those with chronic pain, both of the physical and mental varieties. There are fates worse than death, a life of suffering may be one.

The speaker here has made grand claims about the entropy of the universe to rationalize her desire-- we're all dying all the time anyway, so what's the big deal? But really, she just wants to die so that the pain of missing her lost loved one can end.

There is a old comedy line: "If you can't live without me, why aren't you dead yet?" But the question is not funny, or rhetorical, to the speaker here. She would reply, "Give me a minute, I'm working on it."

Is the person making a pilgrimage to Heaven, or to the embrace of a lost loved one? For the speaker, those places are the same.


Next Song: Rock in this Pocket

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