This is one of Vega's loveliest songs. It recalls Billy Joel's "Summer, Highland Falls" in the prettiness of its melody juxtaposed with a mellifluous and erudite verbiage.
It begins with idea of feeling nostalgic in the autumn. The weather chills, and you know the year is ending... so you get a bit sentimental, musing on your "memories," jumping from one to another "unrelated histories," and mourning "unresolving fantasies." Even the wind is "thick with ghosts."
This wind "whips around in circuitries," spinning fallen leaves in miniature tornadoes. The wind "carries words as strangers exchange pleasantries." But does "as" mean "the same way that" or "at the same time that"? Depending on which it is, "do they intrude upon your private reveries" could have its "they" refer to the strangers or to their pleasantry-words themselves. Either way, here you are, lost in memory-- when a stray "Hello, there" jolts you back to reality.
The rest of the song is a series of pieces of advice; it's what Vega might say if asked to give a commencement speech at a graduation: Notice people being brave every day. Notice how people find new ways to be nice to each other. Touch objects that will remind you of these things people did.
Also: Note when important things happen, and then celebrate them them every year on that date. Don't plan, now, to later mourn things that will pass; enjoy them while they are here! Make room in your life to do the kinds of things now that you will want to remember later. And "make the time for all your possibilities."
Every verse ends with "each/every corner/street." As you walk along, you will see things. They can either trigger memories and regrets... or offer opportunities to have new experiences. It's the same corner that you turn, the same street you walk.
What can be different is how you see it. But that, of course, is all the difference.
Next Song: The Man Who Played God
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2016
Monday, August 29, 2016
As You Are Now
This song is a lullaby to Vega's daughter, Ruby.
In it, she promises to save souvenirs of her daughter's life: her "tears," her "teeth" that fell out as a child, and her "hair" which was, we assume, regularly cut.
Now, the album's copyright date is 2007, and Ruby was born in 1994, which would make the "child" about 13 when the album came out. Since she had long since stopped losing her teeth, we have to imagine that the song was written long before.
So why include it on an album at this point? Because this is a divorce album. While many of the songs herein are about her ex and their break-up, Vega is more than just an ex-wife. She is also a mother, and she wants her child to be reassured that her love for her continues unabated.
What better way that to say, "Listen to this song I wrote you when you were just a girl! You're still my daughter now, and I still love you as much."
How does one, in practical terms, collect tears? By collecting "salty tissues." She calls these tears "diamonds," referring to the salt crystals left behind after she, it says, dries the tissues in the sun.
And teeth? In a "cardboard box." These are like another gemstone, "pearls," and they remind her of "laughter." There is a pun here-- the teeth are kept in "ticking," which is tough but decorative cotton or linen fabric. The line is that the teeth are kept "through the ticking and the tocks," as in the tick-tock of passing time.
The hair-- evidently a ponytail snipped off all at once-- will be woven into a "braid of gold/ For you to keep when you are old."
The mother then finishes the lullaby with a "kiss" on her "milky skin." Then she tucks the child, and her "soul," in a "sheet of silk."
The child will have given her mother all of these keepsakes of her growth and development. What will the mother pay her with for these gifts? Why, the kiss itself: "Put this kiss upon your brow."
Then comes the line that gives us the title: "Treasure you as you are now."
It doesn't, you will note, say "I will treasure you." No, the verbs are "put" and then "treasure." So who should be doing the putting and treasuring?
The child. She should put her mother's kiss on herself. She should treasure herself. As she is now. Whenever "now" is.
Her mother will have memories of the baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen, and the young woman, and she will collect mementos of those moments. The child however, needs to treasure each moment as it comes, and herself as she experiences it.
Alternately, one could read the verse as one long sentence: "now I kiss... put... treasure." In this, perhaps more literal, reading, the mother kisses the daughter on her forehead (and the "sheet," for some reason... and, somehow, her "soul") and treasures her as she is now.
The tenses are of note. She says she will collect the tears, teeth, and hair... but that she is "now" kissing, tucking, and treasuring her. Which implies that, at the time of the song's writing, the child had yet to lose any teeth, but still had time to grow a substantial ponytail. On average, the first "baby" teeth fall out at 6 or so, and therefore that's not really on a parent's radar until the kid approaches that age. We're going to say Ruby was 5 when the song was written... or that it was written to make it seem so.
Again, the song is now offered to the young adolescent whose parents are divorcing as a way of saying, "While a wife and husband can stop loving each other, a parent never stops loving a child. I still have your baby teeth and your childhood ponytail, and I still treasure you as well."
Next Song: "Angel's Doorway."
In it, she promises to save souvenirs of her daughter's life: her "tears," her "teeth" that fell out as a child, and her "hair" which was, we assume, regularly cut.
Now, the album's copyright date is 2007, and Ruby was born in 1994, which would make the "child" about 13 when the album came out. Since she had long since stopped losing her teeth, we have to imagine that the song was written long before.
So why include it on an album at this point? Because this is a divorce album. While many of the songs herein are about her ex and their break-up, Vega is more than just an ex-wife. She is also a mother, and she wants her child to be reassured that her love for her continues unabated.
What better way that to say, "Listen to this song I wrote you when you were just a girl! You're still my daughter now, and I still love you as much."
How does one, in practical terms, collect tears? By collecting "salty tissues." She calls these tears "diamonds," referring to the salt crystals left behind after she, it says, dries the tissues in the sun.
And teeth? In a "cardboard box." These are like another gemstone, "pearls," and they remind her of "laughter." There is a pun here-- the teeth are kept in "ticking," which is tough but decorative cotton or linen fabric. The line is that the teeth are kept "through the ticking and the tocks," as in the tick-tock of passing time.
The hair-- evidently a ponytail snipped off all at once-- will be woven into a "braid of gold/ For you to keep when you are old."
The mother then finishes the lullaby with a "kiss" on her "milky skin." Then she tucks the child, and her "soul," in a "sheet of silk."
The child will have given her mother all of these keepsakes of her growth and development. What will the mother pay her with for these gifts? Why, the kiss itself: "Put this kiss upon your brow."
Then comes the line that gives us the title: "Treasure you as you are now."
It doesn't, you will note, say "I will treasure you." No, the verbs are "put" and then "treasure." So who should be doing the putting and treasuring?
The child. She should put her mother's kiss on herself. She should treasure herself. As she is now. Whenever "now" is.
Her mother will have memories of the baby, the toddler, the girl, the teen, and the young woman, and she will collect mementos of those moments. The child however, needs to treasure each moment as it comes, and herself as she experiences it.
Alternately, one could read the verse as one long sentence: "now I kiss... put... treasure." In this, perhaps more literal, reading, the mother kisses the daughter on her forehead (and the "sheet," for some reason... and, somehow, her "soul") and treasures her as she is now.
The tenses are of note. She says she will collect the tears, teeth, and hair... but that she is "now" kissing, tucking, and treasuring her. Which implies that, at the time of the song's writing, the child had yet to lose any teeth, but still had time to grow a substantial ponytail. On average, the first "baby" teeth fall out at 6 or so, and therefore that's not really on a parent's radar until the kid approaches that age. We're going to say Ruby was 5 when the song was written... or that it was written to make it seem so.
Again, the song is now offered to the young adolescent whose parents are divorcing as a way of saying, "While a wife and husband can stop loving each other, a parent never stops loving a child. I still have your baby teeth and your childhood ponytail, and I still treasure you as well."
Next Song: "Angel's Doorway."
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Zephyr and I
A "zephyr" is a light breeze. "Zephyr," the Greek god whose namesake this gust is, is the god of the West wind, and therefore of Spring. He was so jealous that he killed a young man rather than have a rival have him.
The song kicks off with a riff that calls to mind the song "Wild Thing" (the Troggs one, not the Tone Loc one).
The speaker introduces us to a man named Zephyr. They are hanging out on West End Avenue, on the western shore of Manhattan, an area visited many times in Vega's songs. They are reminiscing, "talking about the things that all of us used to do" and "the 1970s."
While they are, "the wind kicks up, with the smell of rain." This is foreshadowing, along with a nod to Zephyr's name.
The name Zephyr, as we have seen, is an old one. And the song is what what leaves and what stays. The Greeks no longer worship their old gods, but we still know their names. Likewise, "The kids are gone but the souls remain." The souls of those kids live on in the adults they became.
The Mall of America is a real place, a gigantic indoor mall (how big is it? It contains a roller coaster) in Minnesota. Here, the speaker says, "there was a youth mall of America on this street." Instead of hanging out at the mall, she means, they used this street as a meeting place. They were as frequently seen there as "cops on a beat." Specifically, there was a monument to firefighters who died in the line of duty that "fatherless teenagers" congregated around. They were as diverse as America itself.
More imagery of what is lost and what stays-- "The graffiti" and "flowers" leave but the "walls" and "earth" remain. Later, she opines that the walls don't just remain, but "complain" that their decorative paint jobs have been worn or sandblasted away or painted over.
"In the spring" (Zephyr's time), "the tide in Riverside will wash away the cold and frozen." Riverside is a park on the Upper West Side. The "river" it is on the "side" of is the Hudson.
And the rain? "Rain will clean the stain and wash away downstream."
Years pass, but the cycle of seasons remains. The old gets washed away by the new, as always. But the memories remain. The souls that were shaped in those formative teenage years live on.
It is possible that there is no Zephyr who is a childhood friend talking to her. Or even a god she is communing with. It may, in fact, just be a zephyr--a passing breeze that stirs up some leaves... and memories.
Next Song: Ludlow Street
The song kicks off with a riff that calls to mind the song "Wild Thing" (the Troggs one, not the Tone Loc one).
The speaker introduces us to a man named Zephyr. They are hanging out on West End Avenue, on the western shore of Manhattan, an area visited many times in Vega's songs. They are reminiscing, "talking about the things that all of us used to do" and "the 1970s."
While they are, "the wind kicks up, with the smell of rain." This is foreshadowing, along with a nod to Zephyr's name.
The name Zephyr, as we have seen, is an old one. And the song is what what leaves and what stays. The Greeks no longer worship their old gods, but we still know their names. Likewise, "The kids are gone but the souls remain." The souls of those kids live on in the adults they became.
The Mall of America is a real place, a gigantic indoor mall (how big is it? It contains a roller coaster) in Minnesota. Here, the speaker says, "there was a youth mall of America on this street." Instead of hanging out at the mall, she means, they used this street as a meeting place. They were as frequently seen there as "cops on a beat." Specifically, there was a monument to firefighters who died in the line of duty that "fatherless teenagers" congregated around. They were as diverse as America itself.
More imagery of what is lost and what stays-- "The graffiti" and "flowers" leave but the "walls" and "earth" remain. Later, she opines that the walls don't just remain, but "complain" that their decorative paint jobs have been worn or sandblasted away or painted over.
"In the spring" (Zephyr's time), "the tide in Riverside will wash away the cold and frozen." Riverside is a park on the Upper West Side. The "river" it is on the "side" of is the Hudson.
And the rain? "Rain will clean the stain and wash away downstream."
Years pass, but the cycle of seasons remains. The old gets washed away by the new, as always. But the memories remain. The souls that were shaped in those formative teenage years live on.
It is possible that there is no Zephyr who is a childhood friend talking to her. Or even a god she is communing with. It may, in fact, just be a zephyr--a passing breeze that stirs up some leaves... and memories.
Next Song: Ludlow Street
Monday, June 6, 2016
Harbor Song
An imagined/remembered relationship with an actual person, not unlike "Some Journey" or other of her works.
In this story, the man is "rich," and lives in a home with "golden curtains."' The woman (the speaker herself) is desperate and has "no place to go." She asks for shelter, and he is... ambiguous.
Once he does take her in, she realizes that, wealth aside, her host is no prize. He is a huge drinker and a huge-er smoker, plus he cannot "be true" in the sense of romantic fidelity. In fact, he actively pursues other... pursuits.
"But still I feel the wind in from the harbor," she says, and longs for him. Wind is aimless and boundless. A harbor is a place of shelter for ships, but temporary shelter by design and designation. This harbor wind recalls her unstable life before.
So the thought of returning to her meandering life is frightening, and she longs for the stability her rich boor of a host provides, which she confuses with an attraction with the man himself... who is, ironically, a free spirit who is often absent from his palatial manse, leaving her behind.
She imagines him lying in state, next. She is not standing beside his casket, as a wife would, but as just another figure "in line" to pay her respects. She still finds him "handsome" and calls him "dear." But even physical attraction, "longing" and "dear" fall short of "love."
It's possible that the funeral is a memory, not a dream like the rich-man scenario. We learn this from the last verse, in which the woman travels-- with direction and purpose, not aimless, fearful wandering-- she comes upon "harbors." There, she smells the "salt" of the sea and the "bay rum" (a concoction used in men's grooming, made from actual rum)...
...and also smells his "ghost." Which implies he really did live, and then really did die.
The last line is telling. In her dream of him being wealthy and her hopeless, he pursued business and pleasure-- leaving from the harbor without her-- while she stayed home, "longing" for him.
But in her memory, he is "beside" her, walking along the harbor shore of various lands. Which implies she has memories of accompanying each other to different ports of call. Travelling together... probably more, since she recalls his scent so clearly.
It is interesting that she did spend time with him, remembers him as an equal, and misses him... but fantasizes about missing him in an entirely different context... with he being powerful and emotionally, financially, and physically distant.
Maybe if he were already distant while he was alive, he would be easier to live without, now.
Next Song: Machine Ballerina
In this story, the man is "rich," and lives in a home with "golden curtains."' The woman (the speaker herself) is desperate and has "no place to go." She asks for shelter, and he is... ambiguous.
Once he does take her in, she realizes that, wealth aside, her host is no prize. He is a huge drinker and a huge-er smoker, plus he cannot "be true" in the sense of romantic fidelity. In fact, he actively pursues other... pursuits.
"But still I feel the wind in from the harbor," she says, and longs for him. Wind is aimless and boundless. A harbor is a place of shelter for ships, but temporary shelter by design and designation. This harbor wind recalls her unstable life before.
So the thought of returning to her meandering life is frightening, and she longs for the stability her rich boor of a host provides, which she confuses with an attraction with the man himself... who is, ironically, a free spirit who is often absent from his palatial manse, leaving her behind.
She imagines him lying in state, next. She is not standing beside his casket, as a wife would, but as just another figure "in line" to pay her respects. She still finds him "handsome" and calls him "dear." But even physical attraction, "longing" and "dear" fall short of "love."
It's possible that the funeral is a memory, not a dream like the rich-man scenario. We learn this from the last verse, in which the woman travels-- with direction and purpose, not aimless, fearful wandering-- she comes upon "harbors." There, she smells the "salt" of the sea and the "bay rum" (a concoction used in men's grooming, made from actual rum)...
...and also smells his "ghost." Which implies he really did live, and then really did die.
The last line is telling. In her dream of him being wealthy and her hopeless, he pursued business and pleasure-- leaving from the harbor without her-- while she stayed home, "longing" for him.
But in her memory, he is "beside" her, walking along the harbor shore of various lands. Which implies she has memories of accompanying each other to different ports of call. Travelling together... probably more, since she recalls his scent so clearly.
It is interesting that she did spend time with him, remembers him as an equal, and misses him... but fantasizes about missing him in an entirely different context... with he being powerful and emotionally, financially, and physically distant.
Maybe if he were already distant while he was alive, he would be easier to live without, now.
Next Song: Machine Ballerina
Monday, May 16, 2016
Last Year's Troubles
This song doesn't seem to need much explanation. Vega contrasts the romanticized way poverty and crime are depicted in Dickens novels (and the movie versions thereof), old ballads, operas, and other entertainments with the poverty and crime of our day, which we see for ourselves and in our news.
"Maybe it's the clothing," she says, "the earrings, the swashbuckling blouses," and the "petticoats." Even their "rags are so very Victorian."
Criminals used to be daring, robbing people on the highway or at sea. Today, a "pirate" is someone who illegally downloads a movie-- hardly a role Erroll Flynn could sink a cutlass into.
Overall, those old problems "shine up so prettily" and "gleam with a luster they don't have today."
Meanwhile, today's homeless "just don't give it their best," she smirks sadly. Also, there seems to be a difference in place as well as time. The above comment is about "the ones here at home." "Here," she repeats, meaning America, "it's just dirty and violent and troubling."
Is there more or less "trouble" now or "last year"? "It would be the same, would be my guess," she concludes.
Which is worse, the threat of debtor's prison for bankruptcy and being hanged for pickpocketing... or the fear of being shot for your sneakers or having to live near a drug den? "Trouble is still trouble," she decides. As for crime, "evil is still evil."
So why are last year's troubles romanticized?
Because everything eventually is. Time softens all tragedy. Conquerors like Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun were played for laughs in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Night at the Museum.
Even Hitler is has been a sitcom character already (it was called Heil, Honey, I'm Home, and thankfully it was quickly cancelled. But this year, Netflix launched one called Look Who's Back). And anyone strict about anything-- from grammar to soup-- is called a "Nazi."
Meanwhile, the heroes are played with, too. There is a movie called Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, and a new photo app can put your face on Benjamin Franklin's head.
We romanticize the past. Already, the 1980s victims of AIDS are compared, in the musical Rent, to the Bohemians of La Boheme, which was set in the 1840s. Rap somewhat romanticizes today's urban poverty.
We gave an Oscar and Tonys to a singing Oliver Twist years ago... and this year a rapping Alexander Hamilton looks to sweep the Tonys.
Someday, people will look at today's leaders with the same bemusement. Lord only knows what they will have Barack Obama sing on Broadway in 100 years.
Next Song: Priscilla
"Maybe it's the clothing," she says, "the earrings, the swashbuckling blouses," and the "petticoats." Even their "rags are so very Victorian."
Criminals used to be daring, robbing people on the highway or at sea. Today, a "pirate" is someone who illegally downloads a movie-- hardly a role Erroll Flynn could sink a cutlass into.
Overall, those old problems "shine up so prettily" and "gleam with a luster they don't have today."
Meanwhile, today's homeless "just don't give it their best," she smirks sadly. Also, there seems to be a difference in place as well as time. The above comment is about "the ones here at home." "Here," she repeats, meaning America, "it's just dirty and violent and troubling."
Is there more or less "trouble" now or "last year"? "It would be the same, would be my guess," she concludes.
Which is worse, the threat of debtor's prison for bankruptcy and being hanged for pickpocketing... or the fear of being shot for your sneakers or having to live near a drug den? "Trouble is still trouble," she decides. As for crime, "evil is still evil."
So why are last year's troubles romanticized?
Because everything eventually is. Time softens all tragedy. Conquerors like Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun were played for laughs in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure and Night at the Museum.
Even Hitler is has been a sitcom character already (it was called Heil, Honey, I'm Home, and thankfully it was quickly cancelled. But this year, Netflix launched one called Look Who's Back). And anyone strict about anything-- from grammar to soup-- is called a "Nazi."
Meanwhile, the heroes are played with, too. There is a movie called Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, and a new photo app can put your face on Benjamin Franklin's head.
We romanticize the past. Already, the 1980s victims of AIDS are compared, in the musical Rent, to the Bohemians of La Boheme, which was set in the 1840s. Rap somewhat romanticizes today's urban poverty.
We gave an Oscar and Tonys to a singing Oliver Twist years ago... and this year a rapping Alexander Hamilton looks to sweep the Tonys.
Someday, people will look at today's leaders with the same bemusement. Lord only knows what they will have Barack Obama sing on Broadway in 100 years.
Next Song: Priscilla
Monday, March 28, 2016
Rosemary
(This track is found on the import CD Tried and True, a best-of compilation.)
Sometimes a so-called "shipboard" romance takes place on land, but it still happens during a vacation. In this case, in Spain-- specifically, the town of Grenada.
The speaker is reminiscing about a brief infatuation she had there, and addressing her former crush across the abyss of memory and space. "Do you remember how you walked with me?" she begins, "How the women selling rosemary pressed the branches to your chest/ [and] Promised luck?"
Not with themselves, though! They were offering luck for the two who entered looking like a couple. Rosemary was once used as a wedding bouquet, carried by a bride. Obvious, although the two had "met... just the day before," they were quite simpatico.
For her, the attraction was both physical and immediate: "How I wanted to break in/ To that room beneath your skin." And...? "But all that would have to wait."
The couple next meet up in a garden-- first part of a church, then a private mansion, now a city park-- called "The Carmen of the Martyrs." Many statues of saints and martyrs dot the grounds, and some seem to be depicted in the state in which they were, well, martyred; their "heads and hands were taken." Nevertheless, the garden is considered romantic and weddings are even held there.
Back to the couple... "I had come to meet you," she says, "with a question in my footsteps." There is definitely a way to approach someone so that they know you are about to ask them something...
"I was going up the hillside," she continues, "And the journey just begun." We're pretty sure she doesn't mean her hillside hike. She's really hoping something will come of this.
Well..? Did it?
By way of answer, the speaker shifts to metaphor: "My sister says she never dreams at night/ There are days when I know why." This doesn't sound good, but go on...
"Those possibilities, within her sight, with no way of coming true." Oh, how disappointing! Yes, she realizes, "Some things just don't get through into this world, although they try."
Sigh. Maybe if she had bought the rosemary..?
And now? "All I know of you is in my memory." Wow, it sounds like she never even took his picture, not that she needed to. "All I ask of you," she says, is that he "remember" her, in kind.
She needs to at least feel she made some sort of impression. It's bad enough that nothing happened. It would be worse if he didn't regret that, too.
Next Song: Penitent
Sometimes a so-called "shipboard" romance takes place on land, but it still happens during a vacation. In this case, in Spain-- specifically, the town of Grenada.
The speaker is reminiscing about a brief infatuation she had there, and addressing her former crush across the abyss of memory and space. "Do you remember how you walked with me?" she begins, "How the women selling rosemary pressed the branches to your chest/ [and] Promised luck?"
Not with themselves, though! They were offering luck for the two who entered looking like a couple. Rosemary was once used as a wedding bouquet, carried by a bride. Obvious, although the two had "met... just the day before," they were quite simpatico.
For her, the attraction was both physical and immediate: "How I wanted to break in/ To that room beneath your skin." And...? "But all that would have to wait."
The couple next meet up in a garden-- first part of a church, then a private mansion, now a city park-- called "The Carmen of the Martyrs." Many statues of saints and martyrs dot the grounds, and some seem to be depicted in the state in which they were, well, martyred; their "heads and hands were taken." Nevertheless, the garden is considered romantic and weddings are even held there.
Back to the couple... "I had come to meet you," she says, "with a question in my footsteps." There is definitely a way to approach someone so that they know you are about to ask them something...
"I was going up the hillside," she continues, "And the journey just begun." We're pretty sure she doesn't mean her hillside hike. She's really hoping something will come of this.
Well..? Did it?
By way of answer, the speaker shifts to metaphor: "My sister says she never dreams at night/ There are days when I know why." This doesn't sound good, but go on...
"Those possibilities, within her sight, with no way of coming true." Oh, how disappointing! Yes, she realizes, "Some things just don't get through into this world, although they try."
Sigh. Maybe if she had bought the rosemary..?
And now? "All I know of you is in my memory." Wow, it sounds like she never even took his picture, not that she needed to. "All I ask of you," she says, is that he "remember" her, in kind.
She needs to at least feel she made some sort of impression. It's bad enough that nothing happened. It would be worse if he didn't regret that, too.
Next Song: Penitent
Monday, March 14, 2016
Freezing
For the story behind this album, please see the previous entry, on the song "Lightning"; it's on the same album.
In this case, a more famous person sings it: Linda Ronstadt.
The song is very short, only 13 lines. But still haunting and mysterious.
The first 7 lines ask a hypothetical question: "If you had no name/ history/ books/ family... if you were only you, naked on the grass, who would you be, then?"
So, with no name to define yourself, or family to claim you, or history to put you in any past context, or even any books to give a clue as to your interests, would you still have an identity?
It is an interesting question-- what defines a person? What gives that person an identity, a self? Is it only a matter of what name we are given, what people call the place we are born, the stories our families shares with us, and our possessions?
If I had been born in another country, and had some other name, language and religion, would I have the same personality, interests, and talents? What if I woke with total amnesia, and had been abandoned in some place no one knew me? Who would I be, then? It's a hard question to consider in an age of DNA identification and instant global communications.
Then comes the line, "This is what he asked." All we know of the question-poser is that he is male.
The speaker considers the question and, as anyone might, responds that she "wasn't really sure."
Then, perhaps sarcastically, she says, "But I probably would be cold."
The song ends with the next line-- like something out of Edgar Allen Poe or The Twilight Zone-- "And now I'm freezing."
So... did it happen? Did this mysterious stranger go through with it, strip her of her identity-- her name, family, and memory-- and leave her "naked in the grass"? Was he so cruel as to want to see if she was right? If she had given another answer, would his method of torture have been different?
Now, if she remembers the question, she remembers what a "name" is. She knows what a "family" is. If someone finds her, or if she finds someone, to help her, she may be able to get those things back. She would be taken to a hospital, or a police station, or at least someone's home, and the journey to get her identity back would begin. The authorities would be contacted, her photo would be taken and shared with the media, etc. Certainly a tale of a "mystery woman with total amnesia" would be a top news story. Again, if she finds help before she freezes too much.
No pun intended, this is one of Vega's most chilling works. In a short space, she limns the borders of a self, then erases them... leaving only questions floating in a vacuum as cold as outer space.
Next Song: Book and a Cover
In this case, a more famous person sings it: Linda Ronstadt.
The song is very short, only 13 lines. But still haunting and mysterious.
The first 7 lines ask a hypothetical question: "If you had no name/ history/ books/ family... if you were only you, naked on the grass, who would you be, then?"
So, with no name to define yourself, or family to claim you, or history to put you in any past context, or even any books to give a clue as to your interests, would you still have an identity?
It is an interesting question-- what defines a person? What gives that person an identity, a self? Is it only a matter of what name we are given, what people call the place we are born, the stories our families shares with us, and our possessions?
If I had been born in another country, and had some other name, language and religion, would I have the same personality, interests, and talents? What if I woke with total amnesia, and had been abandoned in some place no one knew me? Who would I be, then? It's a hard question to consider in an age of DNA identification and instant global communications.
Then comes the line, "This is what he asked." All we know of the question-poser is that he is male.
The speaker considers the question and, as anyone might, responds that she "wasn't really sure."
Then, perhaps sarcastically, she says, "But I probably would be cold."
The song ends with the next line-- like something out of Edgar Allen Poe or The Twilight Zone-- "And now I'm freezing."
So... did it happen? Did this mysterious stranger go through with it, strip her of her identity-- her name, family, and memory-- and leave her "naked in the grass"? Was he so cruel as to want to see if she was right? If she had given another answer, would his method of torture have been different?
Now, if she remembers the question, she remembers what a "name" is. She knows what a "family" is. If someone finds her, or if she finds someone, to help her, she may be able to get those things back. She would be taken to a hospital, or a police station, or at least someone's home, and the journey to get her identity back would begin. The authorities would be contacted, her photo would be taken and shared with the media, etc. Certainly a tale of a "mystery woman with total amnesia" would be a top news story. Again, if she finds help before she freezes too much.
No pun intended, this is one of Vega's most chilling works. In a short space, she limns the borders of a self, then erases them... leaving only questions floating in a vacuum as cold as outer space.
Next Song: Book and a Cover
Monday, February 22, 2016
Tombstone
There is a lot of ambiguity in this song. Then again, the subject is death, and most people are ambiguous on that topic.
It begins by the speaker saying she like tombstones because they endure. Then she says "If it stands or if it crumbles/ Only time will tell." So... does it endure or might it erode? Unless she means, by saying that a tombstone "weathers well" that it gains character as it ages.
She continues that she wants her name carved "deep" into the stone, to make sure that if and when the stone does erode, the name will remain. So she expects visitors. Yet, she does not wish to greet them: "You must let me sleep."
She does say that the guests must comport themselves: "There'll be no dancing on my gravestone." Usually, this expression means "to celebrate a death," usually of one's enemies. But she says this as if she means there might be genuinely happy dance parties at her grave-site, and doesn't want those, either.
Then comes a line which does not seem to directly relate to death: "I don't need to see the gates of famous men." But when would someone want to do that? We want to see the men, not their gates (aside from on the actual website "Driveways of the Rich and Famous"). We really only tour their mansions once they are... oh. Hmm.
"But I do try to see the kingdom every now and then." This line sounds like something a royal personage would say, if forced to leave the palace. Unless it means "The Kingdom" as in "of Heaven." But how does one "visit" Heaven? At church? At a graveyard?
Oh, she's about to tell us: "If you ask me where it is..." Yes? "It's on a humble map." Well, an earthly king would brook no such map of his kingdom, so this must mean she is referring to Heaven. Further, "to enter in the doorway, show your handicap." Yes, before one enters the Pearly Gates, one must be prepared to confess one's shortcomings and sins.
This song sounds like it comes from a person reconciled with her mortality, but not ready to actualize it. "Time is burning... it burns away," she muses. She doesn't say she wants to fan the flames and hasten its burning, just that she is aware that it is, in fact, doing so.
She'd like to be remembered, but if that's not to be-- oh, well. She doesn't care if she meets anyone famous in Heaven as much as she simply would like to go there and see it for herself. And she is prepared to wait her turn, then come clean as she steps up.
An almost logical approach to what, for most, in a highly emotional subject.
Next Song: My Favorite Plum
It begins by the speaker saying she like tombstones because they endure. Then she says "If it stands or if it crumbles/ Only time will tell." So... does it endure or might it erode? Unless she means, by saying that a tombstone "weathers well" that it gains character as it ages.
She continues that she wants her name carved "deep" into the stone, to make sure that if and when the stone does erode, the name will remain. So she expects visitors. Yet, she does not wish to greet them: "You must let me sleep."
She does say that the guests must comport themselves: "There'll be no dancing on my gravestone." Usually, this expression means "to celebrate a death," usually of one's enemies. But she says this as if she means there might be genuinely happy dance parties at her grave-site, and doesn't want those, either.
Then comes a line which does not seem to directly relate to death: "I don't need to see the gates of famous men." But when would someone want to do that? We want to see the men, not their gates (aside from on the actual website "Driveways of the Rich and Famous"). We really only tour their mansions once they are... oh. Hmm.
"But I do try to see the kingdom every now and then." This line sounds like something a royal personage would say, if forced to leave the palace. Unless it means "The Kingdom" as in "of Heaven." But how does one "visit" Heaven? At church? At a graveyard?
Oh, she's about to tell us: "If you ask me where it is..." Yes? "It's on a humble map." Well, an earthly king would brook no such map of his kingdom, so this must mean she is referring to Heaven. Further, "to enter in the doorway, show your handicap." Yes, before one enters the Pearly Gates, one must be prepared to confess one's shortcomings and sins.
This song sounds like it comes from a person reconciled with her mortality, but not ready to actualize it. "Time is burning... it burns away," she muses. She doesn't say she wants to fan the flames and hasten its burning, just that she is aware that it is, in fact, doing so.
She'd like to be remembered, but if that's not to be-- oh, well. She doesn't care if she meets anyone famous in Heaven as much as she simply would like to go there and see it for herself. And she is prepared to wait her turn, then come clean as she steps up.
An almost logical approach to what, for most, in a highly emotional subject.
Next Song: My Favorite Plum
Sunday, September 27, 2015
In Liverpool
Liverpool, of course, is now best known as the home of The Beatles. However, it is also a city where other things happen, and I don't see another reference to them in the song.
The other reference that is in the song is to a "hunchback," since the best-known church-bell ringer is Quasimodo, the fictioanl Hunchback of Notre Dame (and if someone can explain to me why a college with the French name of "Notre Dame" ["Our Lady," i.e. the Virgin Mary] is home to the Fightin' Irish and not the Fightin' French, I'd be much obliged, as I've always wondered.) Not that it is relevant to the song... in which a church-bell ringer appears prominently.
The song, because of that bell-ringer, is one of Vega's most enigmatic. So we will leave the bell-ringer aside for a moment and focus on the verses, which seem a straightforward break-up song.
It starts with the setting for the remembrance of loves past. We are in Liverpool, England, and it is a Sunday, when people are in church and the church-bell ringers are at work there. As everyone is worshipping, there is "No traffic/ On the avenue... No sound, down in this part of town."
We also learn a bits about the now-gone lover, piecemeal. So far, we learn that he is "pale and thin," the last trait of which reminds us of the lover from the song "Gypsy," who had "a long and slender body." In the next verse, we learn that he is from a different time-zone, since he is "Homesick/ For a clock that told the same time" as the one he is used to.
We learn that the she was somehow affected by him: "If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms/ You'll probably swallow some of their history." This could be an illusion to many things, but I think it might be a disease he had contracted earlier in his "history" that he has now passed to her. It could also simply be a character trait, like melancholy. On a personal note, an ex-girlfriend of mind told me that my love of my faith and faith-community awoke a similar yen in her she had not know was there. So it could be something of this nature as well.
Now that they are apart, the speaker says, "I'll be the girl who sings for her supper," which implies the speaker is in fact Vega herself, who as a professional musician does exactly that; the allusion is to a Mother Goose rhyme: "Little Tommy Tucker/ Sings for his supper/ What shall he eat?/ White bread and butter." In the rhyme, Tommy can't even afford a "knfe" to butter his bread with, so he ends up "without any wife." Alone, just like our singer, here.
We learn two more things about the lover: He is "monk"-like, and he has a high forehead. Perhaps the disease he shared was not of the intimate kind? Perhaps he was like a monk in that there was no intimacy at all... and that was the bit of his history that colored their relationship-- the inability to get close, for having been hurt before.
"He'll be the man who's already working," the song continues. Wait, "He" who? Hmm. Perhaps the non-lover was unable to be close to her because he was unable to get close to women, since he was more interested in men. And now this mysterius "he" is already employed, to boot, at something more stable that "singing for his supper."
What does his job, "spreading a memory all through the sky" involve, however? Could this be mean he makes eulogies, or writes obituaries? Does he scatter cremated ashes as part of his job? A "memory" does not have to be a "memorial," though. It could be that he is a radio reporter who focuses on nostalgic stories.
In any case, that is this other individual. Our speaker is still in Liverpool, and it is still Sunday. "No reason to even remember you now," she muses... "except"...
The "boy in the belfry," the church-bell ringer. What has he been up to that has triggered this flood of memory? "He's been ringing the bells in the church for the last half an hour." That is certainly a long time to continually ring church bells! Usually, they toll the hour or signal an event like a wedding, funeral, or emergency. You would think that after the first five or ten minutes someone would have gone up to the belfry to see why the boy was ringing them for so long.
But no one does, and we'll never know what his reason was. "He's throwing himself down from the top of the tower." He has committed suicide, again for an unknown reason.
All she can do is speculate. "He's crazy," she muses. But what drove him to that state? Well, to her, the bells "sound like he's missing something/ Or someone that he knows he can't have now."
Why, of all things, would she assume that was his reason for all that bell-ringing? Simply because misses someone: "If he isn't, I certainly am." We often impute reasons to others that are based solely on our own experiences and states of mind.
The speaker hears bells, and her memory of a lost love is awakened. She thinks over the whole relationship, and tries to makes sense of it. Perhaps the church bells reminded her of the man's monkish behavior. Then she realizes, "Those bells have been going on a while now... what's that about?" She looks over to the bell tower and sees the bell-ringer leaping to his death. "Only one thing could have caused all of that," she thinks. "Heartbreak."
More likely, this is not something she witnessed, but perhaps read about, and imagined herself there. Either that, or the feeling of loss called to her mind the idea of wanting everyone to know about he death of this relationship, and the only way to express such an immense loss was with church bells.
Next Song: 99.9F
The other reference that is in the song is to a "hunchback," since the best-known church-bell ringer is Quasimodo, the fictioanl Hunchback of Notre Dame (and if someone can explain to me why a college with the French name of "Notre Dame" ["Our Lady," i.e. the Virgin Mary] is home to the Fightin' Irish and not the Fightin' French, I'd be much obliged, as I've always wondered.) Not that it is relevant to the song... in which a church-bell ringer appears prominently.
The song, because of that bell-ringer, is one of Vega's most enigmatic. So we will leave the bell-ringer aside for a moment and focus on the verses, which seem a straightforward break-up song.
It starts with the setting for the remembrance of loves past. We are in Liverpool, England, and it is a Sunday, when people are in church and the church-bell ringers are at work there. As everyone is worshipping, there is "No traffic/ On the avenue... No sound, down in this part of town."
We also learn a bits about the now-gone lover, piecemeal. So far, we learn that he is "pale and thin," the last trait of which reminds us of the lover from the song "Gypsy," who had "a long and slender body." In the next verse, we learn that he is from a different time-zone, since he is "Homesick/ For a clock that told the same time" as the one he is used to.
We learn that the she was somehow affected by him: "If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms/ You'll probably swallow some of their history." This could be an illusion to many things, but I think it might be a disease he had contracted earlier in his "history" that he has now passed to her. It could also simply be a character trait, like melancholy. On a personal note, an ex-girlfriend of mind told me that my love of my faith and faith-community awoke a similar yen in her she had not know was there. So it could be something of this nature as well.
Now that they are apart, the speaker says, "I'll be the girl who sings for her supper," which implies the speaker is in fact Vega herself, who as a professional musician does exactly that; the allusion is to a Mother Goose rhyme: "Little Tommy Tucker/ Sings for his supper/ What shall he eat?/ White bread and butter." In the rhyme, Tommy can't even afford a "knfe" to butter his bread with, so he ends up "without any wife." Alone, just like our singer, here.
We learn two more things about the lover: He is "monk"-like, and he has a high forehead. Perhaps the disease he shared was not of the intimate kind? Perhaps he was like a monk in that there was no intimacy at all... and that was the bit of his history that colored their relationship-- the inability to get close, for having been hurt before.
"He'll be the man who's already working," the song continues. Wait, "He" who? Hmm. Perhaps the non-lover was unable to be close to her because he was unable to get close to women, since he was more interested in men. And now this mysterius "he" is already employed, to boot, at something more stable that "singing for his supper."
What does his job, "spreading a memory all through the sky" involve, however? Could this be mean he makes eulogies, or writes obituaries? Does he scatter cremated ashes as part of his job? A "memory" does not have to be a "memorial," though. It could be that he is a radio reporter who focuses on nostalgic stories.
In any case, that is this other individual. Our speaker is still in Liverpool, and it is still Sunday. "No reason to even remember you now," she muses... "except"...
The "boy in the belfry," the church-bell ringer. What has he been up to that has triggered this flood of memory? "He's been ringing the bells in the church for the last half an hour." That is certainly a long time to continually ring church bells! Usually, they toll the hour or signal an event like a wedding, funeral, or emergency. You would think that after the first five or ten minutes someone would have gone up to the belfry to see why the boy was ringing them for so long.
But no one does, and we'll never know what his reason was. "He's throwing himself down from the top of the tower." He has committed suicide, again for an unknown reason.
All she can do is speculate. "He's crazy," she muses. But what drove him to that state? Well, to her, the bells "sound like he's missing something/ Or someone that he knows he can't have now."
Why, of all things, would she assume that was his reason for all that bell-ringing? Simply because misses someone: "If he isn't, I certainly am." We often impute reasons to others that are based solely on our own experiences and states of mind.
The speaker hears bells, and her memory of a lost love is awakened. She thinks over the whole relationship, and tries to makes sense of it. Perhaps the church bells reminded her of the man's monkish behavior. Then she realizes, "Those bells have been going on a while now... what's that about?" She looks over to the bell tower and sees the bell-ringer leaping to his death. "Only one thing could have caused all of that," she thinks. "Heartbreak."
More likely, this is not something she witnessed, but perhaps read about, and imagined herself there. Either that, or the feeling of loss called to her mind the idea of wanting everyone to know about he death of this relationship, and the only way to express such an immense loss was with church bells.
Next Song: 99.9F
Monday, July 20, 2015
Book of Dreams
As befits a song about dreams, this song is surreal, full of non-sequiturs, and stream of conscious-- or, more accurately, subconscious-- imagery and sound.
It is constructed to feel unconstructed, yet to deconstruct it is our task.
The song begins with the repeated line that contains the title: "In my book of dreams." This repetition serves to flash a warning: dream-imagery ahead! It also mimics the rhythm of someone drifting off, or the repetitious movements made to induce hypnotic slumber.
The wind that pushes us into the waters of the subconscious is an "urgent whisper." This is not given, but taken for this purpose, and from the "you," perhaps the listener (whom we shall consider a man for clarity's sake alone, to be able to use a different pronoun).
We know these are waters we travel because of the next series of images. The "arc of a white wing," which was not just taken this time but stolen, could be that of a seagull, or perhaps a sail looks like a white wing . Then she "rode like foam on the river... turned its tide..." So yes, the dreamworld is more an waterway, in which there are no roads, barriers or borders, than a land-bound place.
However, this is not a river of water. It is a "river of pity." She does not sink into it, but rides like foam on its surface. This recalls the expression "to wallow in pity," which this speaker decidedly does not do. Instead, she turns pity's tide to "strength." In doing so, she "heals" a "hole" than had been "ripped" in... not the sailcloth, but in "living."
So the dreamer has undergone some recent trauma, a hole that was ripped in her life. But rather than succumb to pity, she responded with fortitude. This is reflected in the active, forceful verbs that start each line: "took," "stole," "turned" "healed."
Even "rode" is not passive here. We car passengers think to "ride" is passive while to "drive" is active, but here she "rode the foam," like a horse or bicycle, so the verb reflects an actor, not one acted upon or along for the ride.
Evidently, she records her dreams in a journal or book, and a hardy one, too: "The spine is bound to last for life/ Tough enough to take the pounding." This could also refer to her own backbone, which we have just seen is formidable.
The pages of the book are "made of days of open hand" (whence the album's title). This expression implies that her days are spent in opening her hand, a gesture of both generosity and acceptance, as well as honesty.
Further, we see that the book is considered important, as the pages are numbered in "silver." This could also be a reference to money; this book also has elements of a ledger of accounts.
Yet, the book is also mundane, as the highlights are not done in gold or diamonds, say, but in ho-hum "magic marker"-- which sounds "magical" but which everyone knows is not.
We have been working, to this point, under the assumption that the book is a record of her dreams. Yet, we now she she uses it to "take the name of every prisoner." This is a somewhat shocking revelation! Does she really feel that those who have relationships with her are trapped by her, captured and kept, with no freedom to leave? Or is it that this idea applies to those in her dreams?
Perhaps he is not the victim... but she is. She may want to let people, thoughts, images, go-- but cannot. They are trapped in her memory, and they stalk the prison yards and dungeon passages of her dreams. Therefore, their names are in her book.
She promises that "yours is there," meaning the name of whomever is being addressed. He hopes that he is trapped only in her memory and subconscious, not her clutches...
The first verse was about active dreaming. She says she "stole [his] urgent whisper," and then proceeds to ignore it, and the pity that came with it. Instead, she actively turns the tide and heals the hole in her life. Then she describes her dream journal as being strong as well, and both special and approachable.
She concludes by telling the listener-- the ones that whispered pity before-- that he is part of her dreams, even though she rejected his sympathy. She still recalls the fact of it, and seems to even use it as a pushing-off point. Her rejection of the pity is part of what drives her to heal herself.
She doesn't thank him for this. But she doesn't forget him, either.
Next Song: Institution Green
It is constructed to feel unconstructed, yet to deconstruct it is our task.
The song begins with the repeated line that contains the title: "In my book of dreams." This repetition serves to flash a warning: dream-imagery ahead! It also mimics the rhythm of someone drifting off, or the repetitious movements made to induce hypnotic slumber.
The wind that pushes us into the waters of the subconscious is an "urgent whisper." This is not given, but taken for this purpose, and from the "you," perhaps the listener (whom we shall consider a man for clarity's sake alone, to be able to use a different pronoun).
We know these are waters we travel because of the next series of images. The "arc of a white wing," which was not just taken this time but stolen, could be that of a seagull, or perhaps a sail looks like a white wing . Then she "rode like foam on the river... turned its tide..." So yes, the dreamworld is more an waterway, in which there are no roads, barriers or borders, than a land-bound place.
However, this is not a river of water. It is a "river of pity." She does not sink into it, but rides like foam on its surface. This recalls the expression "to wallow in pity," which this speaker decidedly does not do. Instead, she turns pity's tide to "strength." In doing so, she "heals" a "hole" than had been "ripped" in... not the sailcloth, but in "living."
So the dreamer has undergone some recent trauma, a hole that was ripped in her life. But rather than succumb to pity, she responded with fortitude. This is reflected in the active, forceful verbs that start each line: "took," "stole," "turned" "healed."
Even "rode" is not passive here. We car passengers think to "ride" is passive while to "drive" is active, but here she "rode the foam," like a horse or bicycle, so the verb reflects an actor, not one acted upon or along for the ride.
Evidently, she records her dreams in a journal or book, and a hardy one, too: "The spine is bound to last for life/ Tough enough to take the pounding." This could also refer to her own backbone, which we have just seen is formidable.
The pages of the book are "made of days of open hand" (whence the album's title). This expression implies that her days are spent in opening her hand, a gesture of both generosity and acceptance, as well as honesty.
Further, we see that the book is considered important, as the pages are numbered in "silver." This could also be a reference to money; this book also has elements of a ledger of accounts.
Yet, the book is also mundane, as the highlights are not done in gold or diamonds, say, but in ho-hum "magic marker"-- which sounds "magical" but which everyone knows is not.
We have been working, to this point, under the assumption that the book is a record of her dreams. Yet, we now she she uses it to "take the name of every prisoner." This is a somewhat shocking revelation! Does she really feel that those who have relationships with her are trapped by her, captured and kept, with no freedom to leave? Or is it that this idea applies to those in her dreams?
Perhaps he is not the victim... but she is. She may want to let people, thoughts, images, go-- but cannot. They are trapped in her memory, and they stalk the prison yards and dungeon passages of her dreams. Therefore, their names are in her book.
She promises that "yours is there," meaning the name of whomever is being addressed. He hopes that he is trapped only in her memory and subconscious, not her clutches...
The first verse was about active dreaming. She says she "stole [his] urgent whisper," and then proceeds to ignore it, and the pity that came with it. Instead, she actively turns the tide and heals the hole in her life. Then she describes her dream journal as being strong as well, and both special and approachable.
She concludes by telling the listener-- the ones that whispered pity before-- that he is part of her dreams, even though she rejected his sympathy. She still recalls the fact of it, and seems to even use it as a pushing-off point. Her rejection of the pity is part of what drives her to heal herself.
She doesn't thank him for this. But she doesn't forget him, either.
Next Song: Institution Green
Monday, May 11, 2015
In the Eye
This is a very short song. It only has two verses and a chorus,
which repeat in their entirety. The chorus itself is only 12 words long, and
there are only 42 individual words in the song altogether.
All of the words are simple and direct and known to elementary
school children. In fact, only a few of those words are more than one syllable
long: “alive,” “everything,” “inside,” “into,” “memory,” and “myself.”
Yet, as a statement, it is quite powerful
in its defiance and strength.
The song doesn't seem to need much
interpretation. It doesn't use the word "haunt," but that is
the threat it describes. "If you were to kill me... I would burn
myself into your memory... I would make you wear me like a scar."
“If you were to kill me,” the speaker implies, “I would haunt you
for the rest of your life. The fact that I was able to meet my death while
still meeting your gaze would let you know that although you have destroyed my
body, you never conquered my spirit, and I continue to defy you even after my
physical death.”
An idea that repeats is that of “in.” There are the lines “In the
eye,” “into your memory,” “live inside of you,” and even “run through.” The
idea is that the speaker would be indelibly embedded into her killer in some
sense.
So now killing her is a bad idea for another. Aside from being a
crime and a sin, it would not even really result in her death! She would be
physically dead, sure, but her memory and spirit would be alive inside her
killer! So what’s the point?
Next Song: Night Vision
Monday, April 20, 2015
Tom's Diner
This is one of Vega's bona-fide hits, and we will deal with its success and impact later. But first, to the song:
A few lines break through the string of routine occurrences, this list of mundane commonplaces. Two are similar: "I'm pretending not to see them" and "I'm trying not to notice." In a public world, it is hard to give people privacy when they obliviously display their private acts.
The song starts simply enough. Our speaker is waiting to get served at her habitual coffee shop with her empty cup. But the counterman "fills it only halfway," and then, before she gets the chance to protest, she notices that he no longer notices her. A new stimulus has earned his response. Someone is "coming in." She shakes her umbrella, letting us know it is now raining outside.
Then we have the private-in-public act: a kiss. "I look the other way," our shy speaker says. "Instead, I pour the milk."
Trying to distract herself, she skims the newspaper briefly, but then thinks, "I'm feeling someone watching me, and so I raise my head... Does she see me?"
Now, how could she have sensed being watched? The person she thinks is watching her is outside of the building. Then she realizes the woman cannot see through the pane at all, but "sees her own reflection."
This person is also unself-conscious. She is "hitching up her skirt" and "straightening her stockings" while being, basically, on television to anyone looking out through the window, as well as any passers-by in the rain. She is blissfully aware of others' eyes on her, and is self-seeing only ("she sees her own reflection"-- and nothing else).
Again, our speaker is embarrassed at this lack of shame on another's part. Surely, this kind of garment adjustment should be done in a restroom, not on the sidewalk.
Now that these two displays are over, our speaker notices the rain itself. The tempo of the song, brisk to this point, now slows as she turns her attention toward a memory. It is triggered by cathedral bells, which could recall either a wedding or a funeral. "I am thinking of your voice," she admits, "and of the midnight picnic once upon a time before the rain began."
This is a clever innuendo. Now it is morning, this remembered assignation happened at "midnight." She is in a roofed-over restaurant, this "picnic" seems to have been consumed/consummated out of doors.
But that storybook romance was "once upon a time." And now, there is only "the rain" and no picnic weather is pending-- "This rain, it will continue."
Did the cathedral bells mean that he married another, that he died, or...? We never learn. All that we know-- all that matters-- is that he is gone.
Something snaps her out of her reverie: "I finish up my coffee and it's time to catch the train." Off she runs, into the rain and into her workday, fueled by nothing but a splash of caffeine and a shot of adrenaline. It's not even clear that she paid for her half-cup of coffee.
These words are offered by a woman painfully aware of herself and her surroundings. She is self-conscious to a high degree, concerned with who sees her, and whom she sees, and whom she sees seeing her...
...all in a world of people who seem not to care who sees what about them. Even the "actor who died while he was drinking," the one whose obituary she glanced at in the paper (Golden Age golden boy William Holden), had his personal misery splayed out in a headline.
Was she always this way? Or was it only since her heartbreak that she drew inward and was ashamed of possibly, accidentally, displaying her grief, and therefore any emotion?
And why is she so mortified at people who are clearly blind to their own appearances-- why does she care if they don't?
IMPACT:
As was mentioned, Tom's Diner was hit... in Europe. It reached as high as #16 in Ireland, but only #58 in the UK. It also charted in Sweden (#56) and Denmark (#24). It did not make the US charts.
But the song's lack of an instrumental track (although an instrumental version by Vega herself ended the album) leant it to other uses. One was the addition of such tracks by dance DJs and other musicians (including Billy Bragg and members of REM), most notably a British duo who went by DNA. Their version, which marries the lyrics to a beat by Soul II Soul, went to #2 in the UK... and #5 in the US. The DNA remix also charted in the Top 10 on the Modern Rock and R&B charts, a rare occurrence. So many remakes and remixes have been made that they were collected in one place and were enough to fill Tom's Album. (A fuller list of covers and remixes is available on the song's Wikipedia page).
The other innovation the a cappella nature of the song leant itself to was technological. This song is the first ever recorded as an MP3, a format which now dominates digital music. While the first experiment (like most) was less than optimal, the track was used to hone the technology to the degree that Vega is considered by audio engineers as "The Mother of the MP3." This accolade sits nicely alongside her designation as the first virtual-reality concert performer in Second Life; she performed this song in that set as well as "The Queen and the Soldier."
Even the diner itself remains famous-- it's the one labeled with a neon sign reading simply "RESTAURANT," seen in many a Seinfeld episode.
Next Song: Luka
A few lines break through the string of routine occurrences, this list of mundane commonplaces. Two are similar: "I'm pretending not to see them" and "I'm trying not to notice." In a public world, it is hard to give people privacy when they obliviously display their private acts.
The song starts simply enough. Our speaker is waiting to get served at her habitual coffee shop with her empty cup. But the counterman "fills it only halfway," and then, before she gets the chance to protest, she notices that he no longer notices her. A new stimulus has earned his response. Someone is "coming in." She shakes her umbrella, letting us know it is now raining outside.
Then we have the private-in-public act: a kiss. "I look the other way," our shy speaker says. "Instead, I pour the milk."
Trying to distract herself, she skims the newspaper briefly, but then thinks, "I'm feeling someone watching me, and so I raise my head... Does she see me?"
Now, how could she have sensed being watched? The person she thinks is watching her is outside of the building. Then she realizes the woman cannot see through the pane at all, but "sees her own reflection."
This person is also unself-conscious. She is "hitching up her skirt" and "straightening her stockings" while being, basically, on television to anyone looking out through the window, as well as any passers-by in the rain. She is blissfully aware of others' eyes on her, and is self-seeing only ("she sees her own reflection"-- and nothing else).
Again, our speaker is embarrassed at this lack of shame on another's part. Surely, this kind of garment adjustment should be done in a restroom, not on the sidewalk.
Now that these two displays are over, our speaker notices the rain itself. The tempo of the song, brisk to this point, now slows as she turns her attention toward a memory. It is triggered by cathedral bells, which could recall either a wedding or a funeral. "I am thinking of your voice," she admits, "and of the midnight picnic once upon a time before the rain began."
This is a clever innuendo. Now it is morning, this remembered assignation happened at "midnight." She is in a roofed-over restaurant, this "picnic" seems to have been consumed/consummated out of doors.
But that storybook romance was "once upon a time." And now, there is only "the rain" and no picnic weather is pending-- "This rain, it will continue."
Did the cathedral bells mean that he married another, that he died, or...? We never learn. All that we know-- all that matters-- is that he is gone.
Something snaps her out of her reverie: "I finish up my coffee and it's time to catch the train." Off she runs, into the rain and into her workday, fueled by nothing but a splash of caffeine and a shot of adrenaline. It's not even clear that she paid for her half-cup of coffee.
These words are offered by a woman painfully aware of herself and her surroundings. She is self-conscious to a high degree, concerned with who sees her, and whom she sees, and whom she sees seeing her...
...all in a world of people who seem not to care who sees what about them. Even the "actor who died while he was drinking," the one whose obituary she glanced at in the paper (Golden Age golden boy William Holden), had his personal misery splayed out in a headline.
Was she always this way? Or was it only since her heartbreak that she drew inward and was ashamed of possibly, accidentally, displaying her grief, and therefore any emotion?
And why is she so mortified at people who are clearly blind to their own appearances-- why does she care if they don't?
IMPACT:
As was mentioned, Tom's Diner was hit... in Europe. It reached as high as #16 in Ireland, but only #58 in the UK. It also charted in Sweden (#56) and Denmark (#24). It did not make the US charts.
But the song's lack of an instrumental track (although an instrumental version by Vega herself ended the album) leant it to other uses. One was the addition of such tracks by dance DJs and other musicians (including Billy Bragg and members of REM), most notably a British duo who went by DNA. Their version, which marries the lyrics to a beat by Soul II Soul, went to #2 in the UK... and #5 in the US. The DNA remix also charted in the Top 10 on the Modern Rock and R&B charts, a rare occurrence. So many remakes and remixes have been made that they were collected in one place and were enough to fill Tom's Album. (A fuller list of covers and remixes is available on the song's Wikipedia page).
The other innovation the a cappella nature of the song leant itself to was technological. This song is the first ever recorded as an MP3, a format which now dominates digital music. While the first experiment (like most) was less than optimal, the track was used to hone the technology to the degree that Vega is considered by audio engineers as "The Mother of the MP3." This accolade sits nicely alongside her designation as the first virtual-reality concert performer in Second Life; she performed this song in that set as well as "The Queen and the Soldier."
Even the diner itself remains famous-- it's the one labeled with a neon sign reading simply "RESTAURANT," seen in many a Seinfeld episode.
Next Song: Luka
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