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
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Monday, November 30, 2015
Song of Sand
This song is reminiscent of Sting's "Fragile" in three ways: It is short, it has a sparse acoustic arrangement, and it is anti-war. At least, the second verse of this one is.
Oh, also-- both mention "rain" that has not fallen yet, and the idea that blood leaves a "stain."
The first verse is set somewhere sandy-- perhaps a desert or beach-- presumably with sine wave-shaped dunes. She calls these "sand waves." To the speaker, they look like sound waves, and so she imagines what "song" they would make, if in fact they were that.
She would want it to be a "stinging" tune, something sharp and piercing. This seems at odds with the usually smooth, rounded shape one associates with sand dunes. So why does she want something honed to a point?
So it "Could split this endless noon/ And make the sky swell with rain." The heat is so endless, relentless, and intense, that it has felt as hot as noon all day. Wouldn't it be nice if the sky were to somehow be spit open so that the rain could fall and cool everyone off?
This hope for rain makes it more likely, then, that we are in the desert. At the beach, one could just run into the actual water waves and get refreshed.
It's also interesting to note that this verse is comprised of two, if related, questions. The second verse is, grammatically, all one question.
Aside from the opening "if," the second verse seems to have nothing to do with the first. This is where the anti-war message is offered.
"If war were a game" that were winnable... the implication is that it is not. Even winning costs a great deal of human life and pain. And today's wars, especially, are not fought with other nations who can surrender or sign treaties, but with amorphous, hydra-like organizations that feed on grudges and resentment. They never lose (even if they never can win), because as long as they keep fighting, the "war" is still on, in their minds.
Oh, also-- both mention "rain" that has not fallen yet, and the idea that blood leaves a "stain."
The first verse is set somewhere sandy-- perhaps a desert or beach-- presumably with sine wave-shaped dunes. She calls these "sand waves." To the speaker, they look like sound waves, and so she imagines what "song" they would make, if in fact they were that.
She would want it to be a "stinging" tune, something sharp and piercing. This seems at odds with the usually smooth, rounded shape one associates with sand dunes. So why does she want something honed to a point?
So it "Could split this endless noon/ And make the sky swell with rain." The heat is so endless, relentless, and intense, that it has felt as hot as noon all day. Wouldn't it be nice if the sky were to somehow be spit open so that the rain could fall and cool everyone off?
This hope for rain makes it more likely, then, that we are in the desert. At the beach, one could just run into the actual water waves and get refreshed.
It's also interesting to note that this verse is comprised of two, if related, questions. The second verse is, grammatically, all one question.
Aside from the opening "if," the second verse seems to have nothing to do with the first. This is where the anti-war message is offered.
"If war were a game" that were winnable... the implication is that it is not. Even winning costs a great deal of human life and pain. And today's wars, especially, are not fought with other nations who can surrender or sign treaties, but with amorphous, hydra-like organizations that feed on grudges and resentment. They never lose (even if they never can win), because as long as they keep fighting, the "war" is still on, in their minds.
But, if there was such a "game"-- and games have rules, yes?-- then "What kind of rule/ Can overthrow a fool" (presumably, the enemy) bloodlessly? The idea is to win but "leave the land with no stain."
That would be a useful rule, indeed. The bloodless revolution is always preferable. Diplomacy, pressure, economic sanctions-- there are many alternatives to war that can achieve the same results, with much less loss of life.
As the war-gaming computer Joshua learns in the movie WarGames, "the only winning move is not to play." Unfortunately, war is often not a game that one can choose not to play. The speaker knows this, which is is why she begins with "if."
One interesting word is "child." She asks about a child winning a war, which is odd because even in those horrifying cases in which children are made the take up arms, they generally are not running the war and certainly did not start it. Perhaps she means that only a child-like person sees war as a game, and a winnable one at that.
The song is pretty, but not cohesive. The first verse wonders: if sand waves were made audible, could they produce a song that would call forth rain from a cloudless sky? The second asks: What if there were a rule of war-- assuming that war was a game, and a winnable one at that-- that could automatically make the opponent step down from power without a fight?
These are interesting questions, but not related. It seems as if the producer said that there were a few more minutes on the CD, and would Vega like to put something there? And she looked in her notebook and said, "Well, I have these two ideas. I'm not sure they are a song, though, together." And the producer said, "Why don't you sing them and we'll see?" And they were pretty enough, and now here they are... or it is.
As to which war is meant...? This album was released in 1992. The Gulf War took place the year before. In 1992 itself, there were wars in Rwanda, Somalia, Bosnia, Croatia, Georgia (the country), and Afghanistan, as well as unrest in Iraq. It is too hard, sadly, to say which-- if any specific-- war Vega was thinking of, or which "fool" she was hoping was to be deposed; many of these wars involved a brutal dictator, in which he was attacking a weaker neighbor or his own citizens.
The song seems a somewhat haphazard way to end the disc, even if the song did recall her earlier albums. Which she already did with "Blood Sings," a much stronger and cohesive song.
The song also calls to mind two other tiny songs. One is "Song for the Asking," the last song on Bridge Over Troubled Water, itself the last Simon and Garfunkel album. The other is "Her Majesty," a cute ditty that ends Let It Be, itself (by some lights) the last Beatles album. It's sort of a song to send you out the door, with a parting thought.
Next Song: Woman on the Tier
That would be a useful rule, indeed. The bloodless revolution is always preferable. Diplomacy, pressure, economic sanctions-- there are many alternatives to war that can achieve the same results, with much less loss of life.
As the war-gaming computer Joshua learns in the movie WarGames, "the only winning move is not to play." Unfortunately, war is often not a game that one can choose not to play. The speaker knows this, which is is why she begins with "if."
One interesting word is "child." She asks about a child winning a war, which is odd because even in those horrifying cases in which children are made the take up arms, they generally are not running the war and certainly did not start it. Perhaps she means that only a child-like person sees war as a game, and a winnable one at that.
The song is pretty, but not cohesive. The first verse wonders: if sand waves were made audible, could they produce a song that would call forth rain from a cloudless sky? The second asks: What if there were a rule of war-- assuming that war was a game, and a winnable one at that-- that could automatically make the opponent step down from power without a fight?
These are interesting questions, but not related. It seems as if the producer said that there were a few more minutes on the CD, and would Vega like to put something there? And she looked in her notebook and said, "Well, I have these two ideas. I'm not sure they are a song, though, together." And the producer said, "Why don't you sing them and we'll see?" And they were pretty enough, and now here they are... or it is.
As to which war is meant...? This album was released in 1992. The Gulf War took place the year before. In 1992 itself, there were wars in Rwanda, Somalia, Bosnia, Croatia, Georgia (the country), and Afghanistan, as well as unrest in Iraq. It is too hard, sadly, to say which-- if any specific-- war Vega was thinking of, or which "fool" she was hoping was to be deposed; many of these wars involved a brutal dictator, in which he was attacking a weaker neighbor or his own citizens.
The song seems a somewhat haphazard way to end the disc, even if the song did recall her earlier albums. Which she already did with "Blood Sings," a much stronger and cohesive song.
The song also calls to mind two other tiny songs. One is "Song for the Asking," the last song on Bridge Over Troubled Water, itself the last Simon and Garfunkel album. The other is "Her Majesty," a cute ditty that ends Let It Be, itself (by some lights) the last Beatles album. It's sort of a song to send you out the door, with a parting thought.
Next Song: Woman on the Tier
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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