"The Man in Black" is, of course, Johnny Cash; he sings a song by that title as well. But it's also Wesley, in The Princess Bride, as The Dread Pirate Roberts. And then there are The Men in Black, alien hunters from the movie of that title. Now, the 2016 TV show Westworld, based on a 1970s movie, has a character named "Man in Black." (Zorro is also a man in black, although not called as such.)
A quick search reveals that "Man in Black" is used for everyone from racing's Dale Earnhardt to characters from TV's Lost and filmdom's For a Few Dollar's More-- and novels from Stephen King back to... Geoffrey Chaucer!
However, "women in black" are far rarer. The novel The Woman in Black is only from 1983, and everything based on it is even more recent. There is also a movement of anti-war protesters who came to be known as The Women in Black.
Well, now we might finally have a musical Woman in Black to compare to Cash.
The song is basically two lists: one of the kinds of people who do wear white, and then another of those who wear black.
"White," it says, is for: virgins, "children in summer," and brides.
"Black," meanwhile, is for: outlaws, dancers, "the poet of the dark," the crone, the bastard, "the schoolgirl in uniform," "the servant in the hall," the gangster, and the widow.
What's wrong with white? Nothing in general, just that it's wrong for her. Again, why? Well, "white is too blinding/ Always reminding/ Of the innocent who fall."
So, black is either for those who already fell, or for those who were never innocent to begin with and started, so to speak, on the floor. "Those," as she puts it, "of my station in life" (see the above list).
Black, furthermore, "is for secrets... it's the shade and the shadow." While white is "blinding" and revealing, black hides, and allows things to be hidden. While white shows things to the eye, black is "the depth into your eye," the pupil, the part that sees. Yes, ironically, it is the blackest part of the eye that lets the light in.
Let's look again at the list of black-wearers. The outlaw and gangster are criminals; of course they need to hide. The poet doesn't need to hide, but prefers to, the better to observe without being observed. The widow wears black out of grief and somberness; she is not supposed to attract men's romantic attention with color. So these prefer black by choice.
The servant is never to be the center of attention, but is meant to serve those who are. The old crone and bastard are, by their nature, outcasts and affronts to decent society, and so shunted into the shadows. The schoolgirl is likewise deemed unimportant by society-- she is both young and female, making her doubly dismiss-able. These are made to wear black so that they fade into the background, even against their will.
Then there is the dancer. She chooses to wear black, yet is in the spotlight! Public as she is, she as a person is less important than her art, her movements. By wearing black, she disappears as an individual, and becomes a mere screen on to which the audience projects its self-image.
"Black is the truth of my situation," the speaker concludes. "All other colors lie." So she either is made to wear black but has embraced it, or has chosen it outright. It allows her to hide.
Musically, the song is one of Vega's hardest-rocking numbers, at least since 99.9oF.
Next song: Portrait of the Knight of Wands
Showing posts with label seeing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label seeing. Show all posts
Monday, October 31, 2016
Friday, December 25, 2015
Headshots
"Headshot" is a term from modeling and theater. It refers to the photo of a model or actor's face that accompanies their resume or c.v. Such things are not allowed in most professions, given the potential for discrimination, but they are allowed-- even required-- in those fields where your face is one of your qualifications.
Evidently, someone was advertising their business, which was taking such photos. They used one of the headshots they had taken in the ad to show the quality and style of their photography. They then plastered these posters across the city; "He's everywhere," from a wall to a lamppost. "Turn the corner, and he's still there."
Apparently, there was no other information on the posters: "The sign said 'headshots'... a picture of a boy and a number you could call... and that was all."
Since there were so many posters, the lighting conditions in each case was different, which made each photo look different (even though it was the exact same image each time). In one case, a "shadow" fell across just the eyes in the image, and the viewer noted that this "can... make the difference/ In what you see."
As in "Marlene on the Wall," the speaker imagines the image being able to see the people looking at it, "Watching all the people/ Who are passing unaware."
While Marlene Dietrich's image simply "regards" her viewers in that song, the boy in this headshot seems to pass "judgment" on those who pass him. Perhaps he holds an air of arrogance or disdain... or perhaps this is just read into his expression by the viewer.
This negative interpretation of the boy's expression could be explained by the viewer's negative mood, in turn explained by the fact that the "day" was "cold and gray." Or maybe something more than just the weather?
"The boy becomes a picture/ Of guilt and sympathy." So... now the boy is not disdainful but pitiful and pitying for some reason.
"And so I think of you/ (and) Of the days we were together." The boy's image is nothing, really, but a reminder of a lost love. "I knew that you loved me/ That was the difference/ In what we see." (We know the relationship is in the past because of the word "were," "memory," and "history.")
A shadow across the picture of a face-- which was not part of the original image but only an accident of its placement-- can change the way one sees that face nevertheless. Similarly, her love for her lover was altered by the fact that she knew her love was returned. If she knew it was unrequited, she would have felt differently, as she now does.
That reciprocated love was nothing she caused, and yet it changed the way she saw him-- just like the shadow changed the way she saw the boy's face.
The song closes with the words "that's history," to mean that the relationship is over (and that maybe she should stop obsessing about it). But it's also the way we see past events-- through the lens of the present.
One generation, for instance, sees in a historic figure like Andrew Jackson a bold general and strong president. A later generation may see the same person as violent and bigoted. Jackson himself, of course, no longer has any say in the matter. He's just a face on some currency.
There have been numerous psychological studies on this issue. One study runs thus: In one case, a person is told they have failed a test, in the other that they passed admirably. In each case, an un-involved person is standing perhaps 10 feet away. Later, the test-takers are asked what they think of that person. Those who did well saw them favorably: "He seemed like a nice guy." Those who failed disliked him: "He was just standing there, listening to the teacher tell me I failed! What a jerk!"
The bad news for the speaker is that everything seems to remind her of her rejection, since even a nondescript poster-face seems to be judging her as a loser.
The good news for us is that if someone treats us poorly, we can now know that it may have nothing to do with us-- maybe we were just there when that other person was mad at the weather or heard some bad news.
Next Song: Caramel
Evidently, someone was advertising their business, which was taking such photos. They used one of the headshots they had taken in the ad to show the quality and style of their photography. They then plastered these posters across the city; "He's everywhere," from a wall to a lamppost. "Turn the corner, and he's still there."
Apparently, there was no other information on the posters: "The sign said 'headshots'... a picture of a boy and a number you could call... and that was all."
Since there were so many posters, the lighting conditions in each case was different, which made each photo look different (even though it was the exact same image each time). In one case, a "shadow" fell across just the eyes in the image, and the viewer noted that this "can... make the difference/ In what you see."
As in "Marlene on the Wall," the speaker imagines the image being able to see the people looking at it, "Watching all the people/ Who are passing unaware."
While Marlene Dietrich's image simply "regards" her viewers in that song, the boy in this headshot seems to pass "judgment" on those who pass him. Perhaps he holds an air of arrogance or disdain... or perhaps this is just read into his expression by the viewer.
This negative interpretation of the boy's expression could be explained by the viewer's negative mood, in turn explained by the fact that the "day" was "cold and gray." Or maybe something more than just the weather?
"The boy becomes a picture/ Of guilt and sympathy." So... now the boy is not disdainful but pitiful and pitying for some reason.
"And so I think of you/ (and) Of the days we were together." The boy's image is nothing, really, but a reminder of a lost love. "I knew that you loved me/ That was the difference/ In what we see." (We know the relationship is in the past because of the word "were," "memory," and "history.")
A shadow across the picture of a face-- which was not part of the original image but only an accident of its placement-- can change the way one sees that face nevertheless. Similarly, her love for her lover was altered by the fact that she knew her love was returned. If she knew it was unrequited, she would have felt differently, as she now does.
That reciprocated love was nothing she caused, and yet it changed the way she saw him-- just like the shadow changed the way she saw the boy's face.
The song closes with the words "that's history," to mean that the relationship is over (and that maybe she should stop obsessing about it). But it's also the way we see past events-- through the lens of the present.
One generation, for instance, sees in a historic figure like Andrew Jackson a bold general and strong president. A later generation may see the same person as violent and bigoted. Jackson himself, of course, no longer has any say in the matter. He's just a face on some currency.
There have been numerous psychological studies on this issue. One study runs thus: In one case, a person is told they have failed a test, in the other that they passed admirably. In each case, an un-involved person is standing perhaps 10 feet away. Later, the test-takers are asked what they think of that person. Those who did well saw them favorably: "He seemed like a nice guy." Those who failed disliked him: "He was just standing there, listening to the teacher tell me I failed! What a jerk!"
The bad news for the speaker is that everything seems to remind her of her rejection, since even a nondescript poster-face seems to be judging her as a loser.
The good news for us is that if someone treats us poorly, we can now know that it may have nothing to do with us-- maybe we were just there when that other person was mad at the weather or heard some bad news.
Next Song: Caramel
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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