Unbound

This song forms the second half of a pair; the first was "Bound," the previous song on the album.

Many larger plants come with their roots wrapped in cloth and bound with twine for easier, cleaner transportation. Often the cloth is organic-- left on once the plant is settled into its new earthy home, the roots will penetrate the cloth as they grow and it decomposes.

However, this one plant was the exception. "I knew a plant/ Whose roots were bound/ And then returned/ Into the ground." But in this case, "every day/ It struggled so."

The solution? Simply remove the cloth: "I dug it up/ I cut the twine." It worked: "I watched it drink/ I watched it feed/ And grow beyond/ Its simple need."

This process had an impact on the gardener, too. Once she freed the roots, she felt, "I made it mine." Now the plant was not bound by a physical barrier, but wrapped in an emotional relationship. Well, on the gardener's part, in any case. The plant's side of the story remains untold.

In case you thought the song was only about transplantation techniques for garden flora, the speaker explains why this plant's story resonated with her: "I was once/ Bound at the root/ Confined with twine/ Both mind and foot." Both her ability to think and travel independently were being hampered.

But "I cut it loose/ And now I'm free." The song, once again, seems to be about Vega's divorce. Here, we really see the psychological restraint and restriction the marriage must have had.

"Now I'm (as) free/ As anything alive could be." Now, she can, like her plant, "grow beyond (her) simple need" and perhaps, even supply the needs of others. Funny how that works.


Next Song: "As You Are Now."

Calypso

Vega is not the only one to have been enchanted by this mythical nymph, whose name means "to hide or deceive."

Jacques Cousteau named his boat for her, and John Denver wrote a song with this same title about that scientist. There have been other US and UK military ships with the name as well. The piece of tech that is branded Calypso is, aptly, an underwater camera.

There is an entire genre of Latin dance with this name; Harry Belafonte recorded an album of its music. Calypso is also the name of a moon of Saturn, an asteroid, and what NASA called its "Cloud-Aerosol Lidar and Infrared Pathfinder Satellite Observations (CALIPSO)" orbiter.

And "Calypso" is a town in North Carolina, a cave in Malta, a soap opera in Venezuela, an airplane in Belgium, and an orchid found almost everywhere.

But the most appropriate use of the name must be Calypso Deep, the lowest point in the Mediterranean...

Because Calypso, according to Homer, lived on the Mediterranean coast. And it was she who kept Odysseus in thrall for seven of the ten years between his leaving the Trojan War and his return to his beloved Penelope. Yes, of all of the monsters he faced in The Odyssey, the most victorious over him used no other weapon than song.

Vega tells the tale from the sea nymph's viewpoint. She has Calypso introduce herself and explain that she saved Odysseus from "drowning."

The time of this song? The day he leaves after seven years. "Now today, come morning light, he sails away/ After one last night, I let him go."

She is aware that the only reason he stayed is that she made him. She had hoped that he would eventually simply love her of his own. But, while she "could taste the salt on his skin," she knew it was both "salt of the waves and of tears and while he pulled away, I kept him here for years."

While she was beautiful-- "my garden overflows... My hair blows long as I sing into the wind"-- she knew that her willowy wiles were no match for Penelope's pull on him.

She is well aware that his departure is permanent. "It's a lonely time ahead," she acknowledges, but "I do not ask him to return."

Instead, "I will stand upon the shore with a clean heart and my song in the wind."

There is no proper chorus, but five times in this short song, Calypso repeats "I let him go." It seems she is of two minds about this decision.

One is that she proud of herself. It would have been easy to continue to imprison Odysseus eternally-- she could have made him immortal. But she knew that the relationship was forced, and so false. And she finally could not allow the situation to endure. So she did the grown-up thing and let him go. "Yes, the whole mess was my fault-- but I fixed things in the end and now I want credit for that," she seems to say.

So much for her mind. Her heart is very upset with the new reality, however. "I let him go!" it weeps. "How could I have done such a thing! He's gone forever, and I'm alone again, and he could have just stayed here, and I could have been at least falsely happy instead of truly miserable. This is just awful. Yes, the situation had to end, but I'm still so, so sad that it did."

The first thing Calypso told us about herself was not that she was immortal or magical or even musical, but that she has "lived alone." Now that Odysseus is gone, she foresees "a lonely time ahead." Her solitary status is how she defines herself.

If she could only find someone to love her for her many gifts, to love her for her "sweetness," her beauty, and her talent. And not someone who was already taken, someone she had to force to stay. Surely in all the sea there is a lonely sailor with no one waiting at home, who would willingly stay and hear her sing eternally while combing and combing her long hair.

Maybe he won't be Odysseus. But Jason's a hunk, too.


Next Song: Language