Carson's Last Supper

The "last supper" everyone means when they use that term is, of course, Jesus' last supper the night before his crucifixion.

This song is about, and in the voice of, Carson McCullers, a (female) American author who did, to be fair, die younger than average-- at 50, of a stroke, and she was not healthy leading up to that.

The song is about a metaphorical supper, however, one at which all the world is welcome: "Each one belongs at this feast."

This includes both the "rich... whole... humble... grand" and the "poor... broken... twisted... proud." Both "the sinner and the sinned-against."

What will they drink to at this feast? Again, both the "pleasures... gains... bliss" on the one hand and the "pains... losses... sorrows" on the other.

She welcomes them all: "Come and be at this table." She urges them to take what is hers, and to share what is theirs in turn. When this happens, "All come together, feeding the soul."

She is saying that her work has attempted to encompass the entire human condition, because only this way can art be satisfied, can the reader be satisfied, can the writer be satisfied.

And when all elements of humanity are represented, the artist and audience will "be as one solid body together."

She is completely dedicated to this ideal. "This is my stand... one strong, true purpose... no hope of rest."

"The love of my life," she says, "is humanity." And yes, she means as far as representing all of humanity in her stories, but to the end of connecting fully with her readers. They have to be able to see themselves in her stories, and to identify with all her characters.

Even if you are not a Southern cafe owner who has been betrayed... you have been betrayed, at some point in your life, so can see yourself in the cafe owner.

The song is the last in a one-person show that Vega wrote about McCullers, and she plays the author onstage. So it's fair to say that this is what Vega hopes she has been able to do in her own work-- to represent, and thereby connect with, all of humanity.

Yes, you might say, but aren't most of Vega's songs about herself?

Maybe, but what better way to connect with humanity than to be... a human?


Next Song: [none so far]

Laying on of Hands/ Stoic 2

The "laying on of hands" is the idea that touch, all by itself, has healing properties. It is often used in religious contexts.

Mother Theresa was a Nobel Prize-winning nun who dedicated her life to treating and healing the poorest of the poor in India's slums; her name is fairly synonymous with altruism.

The speaker wonders how someone so in tune with the power of touch was never curious about more... intimate touches, from which a nun by definition abstains. Most of us cannot help but heed "Love's demands," and the body's "earthly commands."

The speaker then addresses the listener: "Touch is a language," she says, and it's true. Touch can convey everything from "brutality" to "tenderness."

Well, if that's the case, "What is it you have to say to me?/ Come and talk about it." Now, of course, if "touch is a language," and the language we will be "speaking," then the "conversation" could become very personal indeed.

In fact, "our bodies are exchanged in all eternity," which sounds like re-incarnation, in which case the same soul would necessarily touch multiple bodies through the eons.

Getting back to the idea of touch being equally capable of wounding or caressing, we must ask ourselves, "In this wilderness, do we hurt or heal within our daily plans?" It's a constant choice.

The ancient Roman named Epicetus was no Mother Theresa. He was a Stoic, like the emotionless person in the previous song. The speaker opines that he was probably sexless, "slept with his hands above the covers" (and away from his "private parts").

Since he, like Theresa, was celibate, he also had no "ex-lovers" to lose sleep over. However, she did not deny herself human contact altogether.

So we have three levels of "touchers," then: those like Epicetus who don't touch anyone else at all, those like Theresa who touches others to help them but not to receive any benefit herself...

And most of us, who like to touch others and to be touched in return, in nonverbal conversation. The speaker's conclusion? Such non-touching "virtue is overrated."

She much prefers "happiness." And happiness, as Charlie Brown, taught us, is a "warm puppy." And, well, other kinds of hugs.

While this is a short song, it says a great deal about our underappreciated sense of touch. Songs often explore the sensual aspect of touch, but ignore the simple relief that being warmly touched by another person can bring. This one manages to encompass both.

Next Song: Horizon (There Is a Road)

Silver Bridge

The idea of dying being a "crossing over" into another land or place is a universal one. So is the idea of that other land being across a body of water that has to be rowed across... or perhaps spanned with a bridge.

This song is about watching someone standing on that bridge cross over it. In other words, it's about someone dying.

The song starts with the end of the story, that it is about a "recently departed" individual who went into "that land uncharted."

There is foreshadowing in the "old man" going up to his room by "the stairway he ascended" after a goodnight kiss. The speaker reports him "struggle" all night to live, yet also reaching out to "Saturn," the king of the mythical gods.

The speaker enters the room, not sure what to do and "frozen" with indecision and "wonder." She simply "stared upon his body" in the "silver" moonlight. This moonbeam she images as the "silver bridge" in the title, between here and the hereafter.

Yet, she does nothing, having "witnessed all there was to see." She doesn't "move to him," since he "wasn't [hers] for claiming." Instead, she "withdrew."

Then she realizes he is, in fact, dead, "so much more than sleeping." She stays with him as a "vigil" the rest of the night and morning and even into the "afternoon." (Why she does not alert the authorities-- or the party for which he was "for claiming"-- much sooner is not mentioned, but highly irregular. Most would call as soon as they realized the person had died, or even if they thought he might be dying.)

The experience has had a profound impact on the speaker. She wonders about sleepless nights, and if they represent a form of "standing on that bridge." And, if so, "which way are you facing?" Is it the Land of the Living, or the "land uncharted"?

The lines are thin between sleep, unconsciousness, coma, brain death, death itself, and even animal and plant states like stasis and hibernation. It is understandable that a person with no medical training might not be able to tell the difference, certainly not by simple observation from several feet away.

The speaker seems to understand this and does not berate herself for not getting help sooner. She sincerely thought he was asleep.

But now, it seems, she is having trouble sleeping herself. And more troubled, in that she feels troubled by her inability to sleep... and worried about what that means, and what it portends.


Next Song: Song of the Stoic

Portrait of the Knight of Wands

The first song about tarot in this "deck" of songs is "Fool's Complaint," and you can read more about tarot in that entry. This song is, as its title indicates, about another card the knight (equivalent to a jack in a regular playing deck) from the suit called Wands (or Batons).

Since the character is in motion, his card signifies travel and change.

In the speaker's view, the knight has just witnessed the results of a battle, and now views the "last bastions" and "ruins." His reaction is anger; he has "thunder in his face... clouds gathered in the sky." 

There is still hope in the scene, however-- not all the plants are dead. The "flowers" especially remain.

What edifice was attacked? A building or a whole fort or town? We know there is a church nearby, since we see its "belfry," which lies "silent."

The knight is silent as well, and will not relate what has happened. But it was something that was part of "the wider lens of history."

Then comes this enigmatic line: "His mission, the transmission of technology."

Well, yes, that is one interpretation of the "change" his card signifies-- new invention. But why is that his entire mission? After all, the "technology" he wields is, basically, a stick. Another suit is the Sword; isn't that a more technologically advanced bit of weaponry than a cudgel? Yet another suit is the Cup, which implies metal-working, tableware (and all its attendant culture), and even wine-making. Even the Pentacles, the only abstract sign, points toward mathematics, perhaps even astronomy, astrology and religion. The Wand, which relates to magic, is almost anti-science. 

Further, what's the point of bringing technology to a church and a ruin? Is either going to embrace it? 

In any case, he espies a "cannon" and "muttered" that it is "To keep the bishop on his place." He is unhappy about it, but it unclear that he is unhappy that the church is rebellious... or happy about that but unhappy that his power has been checked by the royals and their army, of which he may be a part. 

We now turn toward the knight's state of mind, and find it "melancholy," and "severe"; "his inner burden weighed upon him heavily." Perhaps he was supposed to deliver technology to this building but arrived too late. 

But, like the flowers before, a new sort of "bird" appears to show that life will go on. 

What was the building that is now a ruin? "All the ancient knowledge lay in pieces on the ground." Perhaps, like many abbeys, there was a library here. The book The Name of the Rose is about just such a monastery, in which the monks safeguard, read, and copy old scrolls. Only now all is lost.

It seems the knight had some connection with this place. Was the place for or against technology? Was the knowledge bad because it was ancient and therefore superstitious? Or was the knowledge ancient and therefore rudimentary but fundamental, like that of ancient Greece, upon which so much science has been built? 

Also, was the knight delivering technology to this place? Perhaps he thought if he could modernize some of their ways, he could stop the royals from seeing it as a "bastion" of "ancient," outdated practices and therefore not a threat to progress? But now he sees the library asunder and the church under the watch of the army. They went for the military option, of course.

Or was he spreading knowledge from it, out into the world? And now he returns for more, only to find that because he was gone during the battle, he is the last hope for its dissemination? Does he wish he had been there to help defend it? Is he glad that he wasn't, in that he gets to live on and carry forth its mission, a heavy burden at that? Did he ever even read any of the invaluable scrolls he delivered?

It is not possible to say. The speaker seems selfishly unmoved by any of these scenarios, however: "The cause of all his suffering was not for love of me." It seems that yes, more is on his mind than romance. (Unlike the military men in "Knight Moves" and "The Queen and the Soldier.")

Ultimately, a tarot card is only so big and can transmit only so much information. Like a scroll, or a messenger.

Next Song: Don't Uncork What You Can't Contain.

Angel's Doorway

This is not a song about an angel, but of a man with the name of Angel. We learn of his line of work by dint of clues.

When Angel enters his house, his clothes cast a "cloud" of "dust and dirt and destruction." With only this much information, it's possible he is in demolition work.

He also works amid "fires and flesh and confusion." So it's more likely he's a fire fighter.

Whatever he does, he cannot talk about. At his "door," he has to "leave it on the floor." He is told "Don't bring it in."

That seems harsh. He had to live though it, now he can't even talk about it? Who came up with that policy?

His wife or girlfriend. "He can't show/ What she doesn't want to know/ Those things he's seen... that life he can't tell."

It's bad enough that she can "smell" the ashes on his clothes. Does she actually have to listen to his tales of death, gore, pain and loss? No, she has decided. No, she doesn't. Or at very least, she can't handle it, and is willing to admit that.

But that protection of her psyche comes at a price to his. "Inside his brain/ It's never the same/ Though he tries to maintain the illusion." Not being able to share your life with your spouse has got to make a rough job even worse. He can't about it at work, because it's the job and he has to "suck it up." But he can't talk about it at home, either. So where can he unburden himself?

There are jobs that we leave at the door. Police officers, soldiers, surgeons, rescue workers, funeral- home staff, prison guards... all have stories that they have to leave at the workplace and cannot share with their spouses. Sometimes because the spouse loves this person but simply cannot stomach the "realness" of the stories he or she lives every day.

People who see accident or crime victims on a daily basis may have to develop a numbness to that horror in order to do their jobs. And they need support to help them deal with seeing the absolute worst of humanity, and human suffering, on a daily basis. They need a place to empty themselves of these stories, to share their experiences with others who have dealt with similar things. Maybe a bar, maybe a support group.

But not, in many cases, home. The one place they should feel safe is also the place their spouses want to feel safe. Ironically, that spouse may have been drawn to someone who is strong in this way precisely because they are not, themselves, brave. A fearful, insulated person might want a knight in Kevlar armor to protect them... but then never talk about how they are doing just that.

So why is this character named Angel? Perhaps because he does the heavenly work of saving people every day... and so lives an otherworldly life he can never explain to those he is saving.

Next Song: "Anniversary"

St. Clare

Clare was an Italian saint, a prioress of the Franciscan Order. She dedicated her life to prayer and poverty. In fact, her following was known as the Order of the Poor Ladies, or just the Poor Clares. They were also monastic and preferred silence and hard work; they traveled little.

Ironically, she is the patron saint of goldsmiths and gilders, of embroiderers and needle-workers... and television. (Also: good weather, eye disease, and laundry. Obviously, it was eye disease first, then TV; one wonders if this wasn't a wry commentary on TV itself.)

Evidently, the song is about a woman who has left where she is to visit her home. To "keep her safe/ until she returns", a candle is lit and "that saint"-- which we only learn is Clare from the title-- is called upon for sacred protection.

We see "plaster and paint/ holding the fire." Perhaps this is a candlestick cast to resemble Clare, whose hands are positioned to hold the candle itself. She is described as "a poor woman's saint."

Yet, she "holds all man's desire." Well, she is holding a candle. Perhaps it symbolizes what people want-- light, warmth, tranquility. "Desire" doesn't have to mean sexual desire, does it?

Then why say she is a "woman's" saint, and then discuss a "man's" wants? Why not say "all our desire," meaning all of humanity's wants? Something about this woman-- this sacred, silent Clare-- is desirable, it seems.

The woman who left is now called a "bold little bird." She is told to "fly away home." This is a reference to the nursery rhyme "Ladybug, ladybug/ Fly away home." As ladybugs are also called "ladybird beetles," some have misheard the rhyme to be about an actual bird, not a bug.

In any case, she left here, and is going "away" there. But there is "home," so she is returning there, yes? And then she will "return" to here, we hope, where our candle burns for her.

The speaker wishes she could have accompanied her to smooth the way: "Could I but ride herd/ On the wind and the foam." From "foam," we know the woman is traveling over the sea (as in "oceans/ White with foam" from "God Bless America.") The speaker wishes she could have ridden herd, or been in control of, the waves on that sea, so as to make this woman's sea-path as smooth as possible. 


It is this travelling woman's willingness to travel that makes her desirable. After all, the "souls/ That curl by the fire" like a bunch of homebodies will "never know/ All man's desire." But she travels away from the hearth.

Now it is "spring," which implies the earlier part of the song took place in the winter, a bad time for sea travel. This explains why they were so worried about her, and why they were curled by the fire themselves.

It is early enough for the "snow" to "melt," the "stream" to unfreeze and run, and even "green" things like the water-dwelling vegetable "watercress" to grow. But it is still "cold."

Evidently, out travelling woman made it to dry land. She is shown "barefoot" and "cold," and standing or sitting "by the side of the road" now. She is "holding" both "a lyre," or small harp, and "all man's desire."

Why she had to go "home" to do this is unclear. Is she waiting for a ride to take her to her family's house? Is she lost? Or even shipwrecked on the wrong shore? We aren't told.

The lyre is obviously a symbol of music itself, and of poetry. It is associated with poets like King David and the god Apollo.

So, before, it was a "fire," and now a "lyre" that can "hold all man's desire." Perhaps this shows evolution. Early people craved the heat and protection of the fire, and learned of its ability to help cook food and make pots and tools. Later, when these basic needs were conquered, man could turn his desire to finer things, like the arts.

The song ends as it began. The implication is that the woman has not yet returned. The speaker awaits her still, praying for the saint's intervention and keeping the candle lit for her. (The only difference is that we now know it is a "white" candle, if that is significant.)

People go home to visit all the time, then come back to the place they now dwell. They usually travel in good weather if it can be helped, so we may assume that this woman's need to go "home" was urgent. Yet, once she has arrived on her native shore, she seems in no hurry to make it all the way from the port to her destination point. Or has she been home, and is now on her way back to us?

While it is difficult to even understand the sequence of events being described, it is harder still to understand what is being said here.

It seems odd to talk about saints, and women too poor to afford shoes, being ones who hold "all man's desire." Whether "man" means male people or all people, surely many people desire more-- or at least other-- than what it is these women offer, which is enlightenment and piety.

What about the things Clare herself is patron of? Don't people "desire" gold, and fine embroidery, and television? I'm sorry, but the statistics are pretty clear-- people want good reception as much as they want godly redemption.

Perhaps we are reading too much into the song. Perhaps the imagery is merely impressionistic. It is very pretty, sparse in its arrangements as an Order of the Poor Ladies' cloister.

Or perhaps one needs to know more about Suzanne Vega, or Saint Clare, to truly understand it.


Next Song: Zephyr and I

It Makes Me Wonder

This song is about what's known in psychiatric lingo as a "Madonna-Whore Complex." It happens when a man has difficulty sexualizing his wife... because she is also the mother of his children. She can't be both the holy Madonna and the raunchy whore! The same person, both, as the song says, "sacred and profane"? Impossible.

In this case, the woman is having some trouble of this sort of her own. While in the throes of passion, her "Virgin Mary" necklace flies up and hits her in the mouth, as if to punish her for her sinful behavior.

Which... is how one becomes a mother in the first place, right? It's very confusing.

The next verse appears to be about a baby that refuses to nurse. However, since this is the only verse about this, it may not be about that at all, but about a man who is acting like a "sulky baby" because he is turned off by her lactation. Leaving her "untouched" and unfulfilled. "Reject"-ed.

So she starts to "wonder" if he is holding her. Holding her, that is, to "the same blue flame" that he feels he is subject to. "I feel you scolding me," she says, instead of holding her. Scolding her for wanting sex when she shouldn't. And then making him feel bad for rejecting something she shouldn't want him to have to begin with.

Like I said, confusing.

She sees what the problem is. "Your virgin mary's in the way," she says-- when you look at me, you want to see a virgin... so you "hallucinate" one, she explains. This false vision "obscures" his view of the real her. "It's me here, made of clay!" she reminds him. She is not holy, but human; even the Bible says people are made from clay. So go ahead and grab her! It's OK.

He sees a thin line. On one side, "austerity" and celibacy. On the other, "just give in" and "embrace that white oblivion." Which could mean death (he says)... but also ecstasy (she says).

Frustrated, she tells him his "expectations" are too "high": "Who could live up to this?" Who could, in fact, be so pure? She wants to be chased, not chaste!

Even when he does kiss her, it's like that of an "angel." Pure, and "cold." Full of love, maybe, but not lust.

Sadly, in many such cases, the man will be unable to bring himself to have sex with his suddenly-holy wife and even cheat on her! With someone he does not esteem, and so feels comfortable "using."

While right after childbirth is no time for hanky-panky, the woman's body does reset in four to six weeks. By then, the husband should be missing having his wife in all her... ways and want to start things back up.

When he doesn't, when by that time he has idolized and idealized her, then the trouble starts.

Of course, it might have nothing to do with childbirth. A man may simply fall in love with a woman in a deeply spiritual way and feel it is wrong to "sully" that purity with passion.

In all such cases, both the man and woman suffer, and counseling is strongly urged... so that the urge can once again become strong.


Next Song: Soap and Water

Penitent

This is the first song on Vega's 2001 album Songs in Red and Gray. 

The title is not in the song, but the word "penitent" is a religious one, and it means "one who repents." (It is related to the word "penitentiary," which gives a clue as to that institution's initial purpose.)

The song starts the album off in an opposite stature than 99.9F; "Rock in This Pocket" brimmed with bravado.

Here, we find the speaker saying she was formerly "proud" and "above the crowd," but now is "low," even "on the ground." From this perspective, she is so lost she cannot even tell what her options are, "what avenues belong" to her.

We can't know this from the audio recording, but the liner notes make it clear that these lines are being addressed to God: "Now, what would You have me do? ...I wait to hear."

It seems the sin she is repenting is one of arrogance; she tried, she tells God, "to stare You down."

(It should be noted that there are major discrepancies between the liner notes and the official lyrics as posted on Vega's website. The liner notes seem to favor the (precious) lowercase, starting most lines this way, so all their capitalization is suspect. Meanwhile, the lyrics on the website have at least one major, obvious enjambment error that also calls their credibility into question.

This is no mere grammatical whine on my part-- there is a world (or more) of difference between "You" and "you"-- the very difference between God and human. And this is the very word whose capitalization is inconsistent, both within each version and between them. Well, also "Your" and "your."

If "You" means "God," which it must, what shall we make of the instances of "you"? It would be one thing if the switch happened midway through the lyrics-- first she addresses God, then a person. And she does seem to drop the You altogether midway in the liner version, but even there we have "Now what would You have me do/ I ask you please?" early on. This is clearly one consistent question addressed to one party, but first with a capital and then without.

Adding to the confusion, the liner notes drop the capitalized version altogether at this point... while the website version continues them. But... does it to so to mean this is still God being addressed? Or is it just that the word falls at the start of a line, and the website prefers the formal, correct style of starting each line with a capital?

I am going to say the entire song is addressed to God and the lowercase "you" and "your" instances are all lazy typos. The rest of the song only makes sense if she is speaking to, and of, God, as we shall see.

Yes, this is Vega's divorce album, and maybe some of this is supposed to also be to her ex. But the metaphors don't work. And what's she implying, if that's the case-- that he's a god? That he thinks of himself as one? Well, then at which points does she mean her ex, and which God? It would be impossible to untangle, even if the capitals were consistent, because lines start with capitals as well as references to God.)

The speaker says she is not the first to try to "stare [God] down." One is "the mother," probably Mary, who does try to sway Jesus' actions at various points. Also, "the matador," which is a very odd reference; the only thing I can imagine is that this is means Aaron and the incident of the Golden Calf, the closest thing the Bible comes to a man-and-bull scenario. And "the mystic," which could be any number of prophets to argued (or even wrestled) with God: Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Jonah...  

God's response to her challenge is to "appear without a face/ Disappear but leave [His] trace." Which is his "unseen frown." She simply "feels" God's disapproving disappointment.

Well, staring God down didn't work. So she has to apologize. But how? She is powerless, even powerless to think of her options. So she asks God how He'd like to be apologized to:  "Now what would You have me do, I ask You please?"

She says she waits for His "voice... word... sign." But admits, even then, "Would I obey?"

Well, God is not coming to her, so she starts to "look for" Him, on the "moor/ the desert and the ocean floor." Before she was only "down to the ground," now she's miles underwater-- and muses, "How low does one heart go?" How much must she lower herself before she is forgiven? (Would she look for her ex in all these places? Or is nature where one seeks God?)

"Looking for your fingerprints/ I find them in coincidence" (again, something you would say of God, not a person, who has no command over Fate). Many people feel that such cases can only be explained through Divine intervention or Providence. She seems to be forcing herself to this state though. She has to "make [her] faith to grow." It's not happening naturally, you see.

Finally, she seems to simply try asking for a pardon, sort of: "Forgive me all my blindnesses/ My weakness and unkindnesses/ As yet unbending still." First, she admits that her "unbending" nature is not a show of strength but of "weakness."

But then she wants to be forgiven... without having to change what she's doing wrong! She is "still" the same stubborn person, but wants God to just accept it and forgive her for it. "Look, I will not submit, and you'll just have to get used to it. Sorry." Strange "apology," that!

This next phrase could be taken two ways. The lines are "Struggling so hard to see/ My fist against eternity." Is she struggling to see something with her eyes, against the infinite void of eternity?

Or is this the "see" of the interviewer's question: "Where do you see yourself in five years?" Perhaps she wants to "see"-- in other words, "to see to it that"-- her fist is set against eternity.

And what is this eternity she sets her fist against? God? Death? The Universe? All of the above? Or even all of the Above?

The song ends with a question: "Will You break my will... could I obey?" This is a core religious question-- does belief mean submission? Does accepting God mean accepting God's control?

She doesn't want to fight God anymore. But how can she continue to be a strong, independent person with free will... and also "obey"?

If the one being addressed here is her ex-husband, she did leave him. And if the one being addressed is God, well, Vega left her Christian background for Buddhism. She might also have opted for the Jewish faith [not that I know how religious he was] of her once-husband, Mitchell Froom; the very word "Israel" means "One who struggles with God."

And then there was Galileo, who was forced to renounce his scientific discoveries by the Church; he is quoted as having said (albeit in Italian), "I refuse to believe that God gave me a brain and then told me not to use it."

She tries to be penitent. But she cannot. She was not built to bow.

And Whose fault is that?

Next Song: Widow's Walk

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

Birth-Day (Love Made Real)

Just to make it clear what the song is about, it's song's title is "Birth-Day." With a hyphen. It's not a "birthday," the anniversary of a birth, but the actual day of the actual birth.

In Vega's case, most likely that of her daughter, Ruby, who was born in 1994. This is the first song on Vega's Nine Objects of Desire, which was released in 1996. Her previous alum, 99.9..., came out in 1992; both albums were produced by Mitchell Froom, whom she married in 1995.

So, chronologically, it goes-- 1992, 99.9 is produced and released; 1994, Ruby is born (and this song was likely written); 1995, Vega and Froom marry; 1996, Nine Objects is released. (Sadly, Vega and Froom will separate in 1998, but that's covered in later albums, and first we have to get through their marriage, song by song).

To this song itself... it starts with the acknowledgement of the pain of childbirth, but with the self-reassurance that "this pain will go" once the process is over. But she must "step through all that's left to feel," first, and it is a gradual series of steps in most cases, not a running or rushing in any way.

Many couples feel the way the speaker does about their child, that it is their "love made real." Love itself is very abstract, but a child that is literally the product of that love, and is genetically half of each of them, becomes a living symbol of that love.

The directive, "Don't move, don't touch/ Don't talk so much" may be to herself, or to her over-helpful partner. Or both.

While many deliveries in the Western world are done with the mother on her back, there has been a movement to prefer-- or at least try-- earlier, more traditional methods. These include having the mother stand or squat, so that gravity can help pull... and having the mother on her hands and knees, imitating the way other mammals deliver. The speaker here tries these positions, telling herself to "strip" and then "find a place to kneel."

Even in the throes of the pain, the mother is keenly aware of the special-ness of the moment. Before, she calmed herself with the idea that the pain would "go," now she is sad to realize that "this day will go," and what is now an experience will soon be a mere memory.

A wave of pain hits, disrupting her philosophizing. Now she seems to "crawl the wall." Evidently, in her all-fours position, she is facing the wall and bracing against it with her hands, so looks like she is trying to scale it or crawl up it.

"She's the ticket to the future," she thinks of her soon-to-arrive baby. "Don't listen down the hall," of the maternity ward, she tells herself. Perhaps she hears the screams of other women in labor and worries that she will be in that much pain; perhaps she hears the cries of newborns and wishes that it  were her kid making that noise already. She reminds herself to focus on her own situation.

The position she is in not only resembles crawling, but prostrating oneself in prayer. "You can say your prayer to the head of this bed," she mutters, feeling that no caring God would put people through so much pain just to do the most natural thing, let alone answer a prayer to make it hurt less. And it hurts quite a bit, all over: "It begins at your knees and goes right to your head."

Now, she is re-positioned so that she is on her back, and held in place with a "strap" at each "wrist" and ankle. "I wait to meet my love made real," she repeats, hoping that a focus on her objective will help her endure the next phase.

At this point, she is so worn out that she has begun to "shake all over like an old, sick dog." If the childbirth has been "natural" to this point, now chemical medications are introduced. "There's a needle here, needle there"-- one serum to numb the area, and one to induce the cervix to widen. Her shivering has not subsided, even as the numbness and mental fatigue set in, and she starts to "tremble in the fog."

We're almost there, though... "It's a tight squeeze, vice grip," as the head and then the rest of the body start to pass through the opening. "Ice and fire" might refer to the off combination of numbness and pain at this point.

And...? It's a girl. "She's a hot little treasure," coos the new mother. "And the wave goes higher"-- the elation of holding the newborn in her arms is an intense wave of pure emotion.

The song's short phrases, disjointed images, and general confusion mirror the wild sensations of childbirth. The physical, mental and emotional aspects switch and mingle and compete, with a pain interrupting an emotion which in turn is shoved aside by an instruction from the doctor or a question from a nurse... it's a tumult in many dimensions. And the thudding, swirling music and lyrics capture the sense of being tossed about as if one is in a storm at sea.

But the pain, and the day, do go. And you're left with a baby at the end, who stays.

Not a bad trade, all told.

Next Song: Headshots

If You Were in My Movie

This is a series of sexual fantasies involving role playing. This is the idea of using professions or other activities as play-acting, so as to provide a setting for sexual experimentation. Ironically, playing a role creates an emotional distance that can allow one's true urges to surface: "It's not really me doing this," the brain rationalizes, "I'm just pretending." To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, "the mask is the true face."

The first scenario here is that of the doctor and the patient. This is one of unequal power, in which the doctor is the authority and the patient is in his hands (literally). In this version of the story, the doctor makes a house call, and touches the woman-- "diagnostically," of course-- on her stomach and throat. First.

Then she imagines the man as a detective "examining" the woman and a priest who somehow "give(s) the girl a thrill" while "keep(ing) her body in check."

These other scenarios are also ones in which the man has the power. The woman wanting to be taken is somewhat anti-feminist, perhaps, but it is an understandable response to society's double standard when it comes to sex: a woman does want sex, but unlike a man, she is not allowed to want it.

So she imagines she has to have it because it is forced upon her by someone in power over her. Not to the degree of rape, perhaps, but still very stern persuasion. Not "have sex with me or I'll hurt you," but "have sex with or I'll leave you" or some other undesirable outcome.

This scenario gives the woman permission to want sex, because she cannot be judged if she had no choice, right? Another potent, long-popular manifestation of this idea in popular culture is the vampire, coming into the woman's bedroom window at night and just taking her without permission... that monster!

Then she imagines her lover as the opposite of the noir detective, the noir gangster. This criminal, however, is the least powerful of the bunch! One might expect someone with no regard for the law to be ultimately free and self-determining. But he is "double-crossed" by his own moll, the "blonde." He is apprehended and brought before a jury, left only to mumble the weak excuse that he "hadn't done anything yet."

It is interesting that this is the final scenario. She wins because she gains the upper hand, but at what cost? Now the man is emasculated... weak and uninteresting.

While it is a step forward, perhaps, to have the woman in control, there is still another step to be taken-- equality. The speaker cannot yet imagine being another doctor the first calls upon to consult with, She is not his fellow detective, as in so many cop-buddy shows and movies. She is not a nun equal to the priest... who so enrapture each other they toss their vows and clothes aside.

And she is not his partner in crime. She is the moll roped into the mobster's control, who sees that the game is up and so rats him out to the pigs like a pigeon. Mixed animal metaphors aside, how telling that she can only imagine herself as under her lover's power, or he in hers...

...even though she is the director. After all, she imagines that he is in her movie.

Next Song: As a Child

Pilgrimage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Next Song: Rock in this Pocket

Tired of Sleeping

This seems to be a song about illness, told from the point of view of the ailing one.

If the idea of "sleeping" is literal, then this person has intense lethargy, such as with chronic fatigue syndrome, or is perhaps in an actual coma. If it is metaphoric, it can be seen as a state of severe depression, in the psychological, clinical sense.

In either case, the person is aware that she is sick and longs for her wakeful energy to return: "I'm tired of sleeping."

Why? She is not having nightmares, at least not insufferable ones: "The dreams are not so bad." Rather, she feels guilty as her lack of productivity, as if she is aware that others are doing everything for her she is usually capable of doing herself: "There's so much to do."

One of the people, perhaps the main person, caring for her is her mother. It is bad enough to have some paid nurse or orderly checking up on you. But to have your own mother continue to have to mother you as adult is heartbreaking.

Next, she becomes aware of an "old man." She realizes that he is trying to communicate with her. However, she "just can't hear what he's saying," either because he is speaking too quietly, or-- since she feels she just can't hear him-- that the fault is her illness'.

Who is he? Her doctor? A priest? We meet him again later for more clues.

First, we switch from an old man to "kids." They are "playing in pennies," that is, gambling with pennies as the stakes. They seem to have plenty to play with, as they are "up to their knees in money."

But they are also up to their knees in "dirt," perhaps the speaker's opinion of what money is worth. "All your money won't another minute buy," sings the rock group Kansas in "Dust in the Wind." So someone near death might see this quest for money as useful as a quest for dirt.

Now, where is this dirt? At the "churchyard steps." This brings religion into the mix. Combined with the pennies, these images together recall the imagery of moneychangers outside the Temple. And we all know how Jesus felt about that.

Further, the kids are at the "steps" of the church, or more at the steps of the "yard" before the "church." Near enough physically to see it. But while gambling, spiritually distant indeed. For the sake of pennies, they forgo the desire to enter the church and find true "riches."

Now, we return to the man. He "ripped out his lining." We are not sure yet why he would do so, but at this point we assume that she means the lining of a coat or suit jacket.

No. He somehow ripped out the lining of his "body"! Yes, "He tore out a piece of his body." Dare we ask which piece? He wanted to show "us"-- the speaker and her mother-- his "clean quilted heart."

This is quite graphic. And also quite impossible. Aside from the anatomical issues, hearts are made of muscle and are not "quilted." We are left to believe this is an hallucination or dream image.

But of what? The most common image of a person holding his own heart is Jesus, with his hands holding the Sacred Heart.

On the other hand... Jesus was not "old." He was only 33 at the time of his death. So this could be a conflation of Jesus and the Father...?

If the old man is a doctor, perhaps she sees him open his lab coat and show her the donor heart she is to receive, but in her illness-addled state, she sees the images she describes.

What is clear is that the image is a subconscious-based one, a dream image or hallucination. Her condition is medical, so it makes sense that her subconscious is showing her anatomical imagery.

The last image is of a "bird" that has been snared. It is "on" a string, but has not landed to perch there, as if on a branch or telephone wire. Rather, it is "hanging" from it. Further, she cannot leave the string, as she would of course be able to if she has simply lighted there. No, she is "twisting," "dancing," and "fighting" to be loose. She knows that "her small life" depends on her breaking free.

This is an apt metaphor for someone in a coma or other such state. The person-- the consciousness that is a person, the self-- is confined in the uncooperative body, like a trapped animal.

She wants to hear what the old man is saying. She wants to do things for herself, and have her mother stop tending her. She is spending all her psychic energy to re-enter the world of interaction and communication, but she is emotionally exhausted. She just wants to be well already!

The lyrics offer no resolution, and leave us with the frustrated invalid. But the music, which repeats the chorus several times, ends with an upward modulation. The entire time, the song has been sung in a low register. The final time, the melody line is noticeably higher, with a shade of echo.

This may be the singer's way of indicating that the soul has left the body and it, at least, is free.


IMPACT:
The song is the first on the album Days of Open Hand. Which won a Grammy. For Best Album Package.

Well, better than nothing.


Next Song: Men in a War