Rufus Wainwright has been one of the shining stars during this strange and difficult time, with his daily #Quarantunes and #RobeRecitals series. He also just released a new song from his upcoming album, “Unfollow the Rules” and it is a glorious work of art that resonates powerfully with someone like me. Reveling in alone time has been one of the grandest quests of my adult life, and quite often during my childhood as well, now that I think about it. In these turbulent times, it rings a little differently, which is the way relevant art often works.
I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BE-GONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
TO GET YOU ON THE MISTS OF AVALON
TO SAVE YOU FROM THE CLIFFS OF LOVERS LEAPING OFF
AND ON AND OFF AND ON AND OFF AND ON
Wainwright works in many realms; most of us know him as singer and songwriter, but he’s also a talented artist. His work inspired the gorgeously illustrated video that is both whimsical and evocative. He’s delayed the release of his album at this point because he wanted the album artwork to be part of the listening experience. That is the work of a true artist. The quest for a vision. The hope and prayer for a proper execution. A worthy attempt at finishing the hat.
The push and pull of the artistic life is something Wainwright has mastered, or at the very least has given a great show of having mastered. I wonder how close we can get to the real gears and grids of an artist’s mind. How close would the artist want an audience to get?
I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BE-GONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
TO GET YOU ON THE WINGS OF A PERFECT SONG
TO SAVE YOU
FROM THESE STINGS OF HAVING TO TURN OFF
AND ON AND OFF AND ON AND OFF AND ON
There is an art to alone time too. How to get it, how to craft it, how to carve it into the sculpture of your day. Requesting it can be tricky. It’s so easy to offend people these days. And we all want our loved ones to be sensitive, don’t we? But not too sensitive. Not sensitive enough to be hurt by our inoffensive little jokes and actions. Not enough to be hurt by our wanting to be alone sometimes.
There is an art to detachment and distance. It’s more nuanced and complicated than a simple balance. The human heart is not governed by science and calculation, it won’t be swayed by reason or knowledge. It is an impossible thing to calibrate. There are days when being apart is more an act of love than being together. I can’t explain why it should be that way. I wish I could. My life would have gone much easier.
I NEED A LITTLE ALONE TIME
A LITTLE DREAM TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
I NEED A LITTLE BEGONE TIME
A LITTLE ON MY OWN TIME
BUT DON’T WORRY I WILL BE BACK BABY
It is late spring, and there hasn’t been any significant heat to make this bedroom bay-window difficult. In another month summer will have arrived, and it will be decidedly less fun to stay here in the afternoon sun. For now, it is the perfect place to be.
I sit in a silly Pier One papasan, back when they used to sell me merchandise, and idly flip through the pages of a book. Over the previous winter, I’d gotten into the habit of reading in the bedroom after a work shift when I found myself lost for something to do. It eased the nights of solitude, and while solitude proved bothersome a few short months before, now it was something I almost embraced. I was learning to be ok on my own. Better than ok, I was verging on happiness.
WE WERE AS ONE BABE
FOR A MOMENT IN TIME
AND IT SEEMED EVERLASTING
THAT YOU WOULD ALWAYS BE MINE
NOW YOU WANNA BE FREE
SO I’M LETTING YOU FLY
‘CAUSE I KNOW IN MY HEART BABE
OUR LOVE WILL NEVER DIE, NO
It was basically my first summer alone in Boston. I’d usually have headed back to my parents’ home to take advantage of the central air conditioning and refreshing pool. For most of this summer I’d stay in Boston. I spent the days working at Structure, which was almost a full-time gig, given that they scheduled me for 35 hours a week. I could pretty much choose my shifts though, and it was a social outlet which was good since I didn’t yet have many friends in Boston – certainly not in the summer when most of my friends went home. Not quite 21 years old, I still didn’t go out much, and that was fine. It forced me to make the most of nightly solitude in other ways.
Mariah Carey was continuing her mid-90’s domination of the pop scene, and back when MTV was still playing videos her sweet ode to innocent love was playing all the time. Its summer camp lake scene was something I didn’t recognize from my own youth, but romance was something equally unrecognizable for me. The idea of it held much appeal and allure, but the reality proved elusive, probably because my idea of it was far from reality. Still, it was nice to fantasize about a gentleman with whom I might share a spring or summer, or at the very least a shower.
YOU’LL ALWAYS BE A PART OF ME
I’M PART OF YOU INDEFINITELY
BOY DON’T YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME?
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
AND WE’LL LINGER ON
TIME CAN’T ERASE A FEELING THIS STRONG
NO WAY YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SHAKE ME
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
When my work-day was done, I’d find my way back to the condo and station myself in the bedroom window, reading and pausing for a brief siesta before getting running gear and stepping into the dinner-time air. Neighbors sat on their front steps eating off their summer plates and clinking glasses of wine. I’d wave and rush by in a jog. It felt good to be outside. The long winter of commuting to Brandeis still felt chilly in my memory. It was nice just to be free from that, and to pass the flowering trees and their perfume. Everyone was outside, it seemed. And they were all going to dinner or socializing, while I rushed by, ever on the outskirts, ever hurrying away from such interactions.
[It feels far away, not only because it was almost a quarter of a century ago, but because in just a few short weeks I’ve already grown dangerously accustomed to being without human contact. The notion of pausing and speaking with people I know, just on the street, feels suddenly, and yet forever, foreign.]
I AIN’T GONNA CRY NO
AND I WON’T BEG YOU TO STAY
IF YOU’RE DETERMINED TO LEAVE BOY
I WILL NOT STAND IN YOUR WAY
BUT INEVITABLY
YOU’LL BE BACK AGAIN
‘CAUSE YOU KNOW IN YOUR HEART BABE
OUR LOVE WILL NEVER END, NO
As much as I shy away from people, part of me seeks them out. I cross Columbus and head to Tremont, where all the restaurants and cafes are. The South End is just beginning to turn into an unaffordable place, but it’s not quite there yet. Vestiges of the large gay population remain, centered around Geoffrey’s and Francesca’s, but I keep myself on the outskirts, literally running past the people even as I crave to be near them.
If part of me wanted to meet someone special, I didn’t think the whole running thing through. How exactly did I intend to meet anyone while jogging? If someone gave me the once-over, did I really expect to stop in my sweaty state and strike up a conversation, out of breath and flustered? No, I didn’t think it through, but that made no difference. The point is the run. It occupies my time and keeps me in shape.
YOU’LL ALWAYS BE A PART OF ME
I’M PART OF YOU INDEFINITELY
BOY DON’T YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
AND WE’LL LINGER ON
TIME CAN’T ERASE A FEELING THIS STRONG
NO WAY YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SHAKE ME
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
I run up and down Tremont, passing the places where the people gather, peeking in on their evening expositions, watching their laughter and the way they bring food and cocktails to their lips. As fast as I rushed by, I could still see. The sun slowly goes down and still the light remains. Sweat runs down my face and it is time to head back. There was nothing special waiting for me at the condo, but there is just so far one guy can run in an evening.
Back in the bedroom, there is no longer the direct sunlight of afternoon streaming in. It’s a little sadder, though I’m not sad. On the television, Mariah is back on, singing this happy song, as I step into the shower. Dousing myself in the Dewberry line from the Body Shop, I make an unintentional memory. There is nothing special happening in my life, I’m simply existing – working and running and reading and sleeping and eating bagels from Finagle. I’d dated men and women by that point, I had my moments of not being alone. This was something different: I had to know that I’d be ok on my own if I needed to be. I fell asleep with a book on my chest, the bathroom light still annoyingly bright.
I KNOW THAT YOU’LL BE BACK BOY
WHEN YOUR DAYS AND YOUR NIGHTS GET A LITTLE BIT COLDER
I KNOW THAT YOU’LL BE RIGHT BACK BABY
OH BABY BELIEVE ME IT’S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME, TIME…
In the morning the light from outside is back, pouring in the front windows of the condo now. There is orange juice in the fridge, and a brown paper bag of bagels on the counter. If I’m feeling especially decadent, and planned ahead, I would indulge in a container of cream cheese. On the fanciest days I will go so far as to toast the bagel. For the most part, I eat them plain, tearing their doughy forms into bite size pieces and popping them into my mouth as I stand near the windows looking out onto Braddock Park. I am a typical single guy in Boston, just more accustomed and comfortable in being on my own. I’m also only twenty years old. The friends I make at work can go out to bars, which limits my participation. Secretly, I thrill at being off the hook for attending those gatherings just because of my young age. And so I run.
YOU’LL ALWAYS BE A PART OF ME
I’M PART OF YOU INDEFINITELY
BOY DON’T YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T ESCAPE ME
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
AND WE’LL LINGER ON
TIME CAN’T ERASE A FEELING THIS STRONG
NO WAY YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SHAKE ME
OOH DARLING ‘CAUSE YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MY BABY
Looking back, I recognize in my actions a number of the things I’ve been practicing lately, specifically within the realm of being more mindful and present. I couldn’t realize it then, because it often felt like I was always way too much in my head, but in retrospect I was also remarkably in the moment. I worried for my future, but not to an extent that it stalled or crippled me. I remember being in that moment, inhabiting that specific time, those particular spring days that bled into summer. And some part of me knew that was important, because I still remember it, and the Dewberry fragrance brings it all back, as does this song.
The world has changed quite a bit since then. Boston has changed quite a bit. I’ve changed quite a bit. But that part of me that could simply enjoy an almost-summer night, running and chasing the sun down, still exists – time really can’t erase a feeling this strong – and the promise of Boston holds a place in my heart – in the past, and in the future.
YOU AND I WILL ALWAYS BE
NO WAY YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SHAKE ME
NO WAY YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SHAKE ME
Sundays are usually melancholy days. We spend our lives making them such – from school dread to work dread to church dread – and even if Sundays are better than Mondays, the impending end of the weekend has always imbued them with a sadness I’ve never quite been able to shake. In switching trains of thought recently, I’ve come to see things differently, and have worked to embrace Sunday as much as Saturday. In essence, they are the same – if anything, Sunday comes with added options for rest, as most places have reduced hours on that day. Well, when they’re operating in usual fashion. That’s no longer the case. And so we have this timely song.
TRUDGING SLOWLY OVER WET SAND
BACK TO THE BENCH WHERE YOUR CLOTHES WERE STOLEN
THIS IS A COASTAL TOWN
THAT THEY FORGOT TO CLOSE DOWN
ARMAGEDDON – COME ARMAGEDDON COME ARMAGEDDON COME
EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
EVERY DAY IS SILENT AND GREY
We had snow just a few days ago, meaning that while it’s technically spring, it’s not necessarily in the air yet. While spreading mulch, however, I did catch a bit of magnolia on the chilly wind, a hint of perfume that may last a little longer in the cooler temperatures. The one saving grace of the weather is that flowers hang around as if they were being coddled in the florist’s fridge. These simple thoughts float across the mind as I contemplate a Sunday.
HIDE ON A PROMENADE
ETCH ON A POST CARD:
HOW I DEARLY WISH I WAS NOT HERE
IN THE SEASIDE TOWN
THAT THEY FORGOT TO BOMB
COME, COME NUCLEAR BOMB! EVERY DAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
EVERY DAY IS SILENT AND GREY
Sundays carry a certain inherent sorrow too, something that has imbued all our lives in the last few years. I’ve discovered that it’s vital to acknowledge and occasionally embrace that sorrow, because it won’t go away or subside if you simply ignore it. The world is troubled. I feel it more on Sundays.
TRUDGING BACK OVER PEBBLES AND SAND
AND A STRANGE DUST LANDS ON YOUR HANDS
(AND ON YOUR FACE)
EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
“WIN YOURSELF A CHEAP TRAY”
SHARE SOME GREASED TEA WITH ME
EVERYDAY IS SILENT AND GREY
Or more accurately, ‘Almost Blue’ and some melancholy jazz featuring Chet Baker and his trumpet. Any Friday night plans? Me neither. Except perhaps some light reading and more of Mr. Baker and his evocative music. For some of us, music is helping us get through this isolation phase. I’ve been delving into Dua Lipa for daytime inspiration, and ‘The Malady of Elegance’ for sleep. Chet Baker falls somewhere in-between the two, because music can be many things depending on time and mood. Sadly, Baker didn’t have the happiest life, but his talent and his music brought happiness to others. Someone once remarked that he was “an American dream being dragged through the mud,†and hearing that rips a little hole in my heart. There are also reports he wasn’t the greatest partner, proving that heartache and hurt often leads to more heartache and hurt.
Once in a while, Friday night is a quiet night.
We’re likely to have more nights like this in the near future. Meet you back here next week.
“Having to live up to the fantasies of others is a big drag.†– Chet Baker
Though I’ve been doing my meditating in complete silence, I’ve been falling asleep to ‘The Malady of Elegance’ by Goldmund, which I’ll admit to purchasing without hearing a single note of it, based solely on its name. In the past, this sort of blind buying has paid off, as in the case of Shirley Horn’s ‘Here’s to Life’ and Viktor & Rolf’s ‘Spicebomb’ and Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Minerale’ but it’s not a wise or safe practice, so I can’t recommend it. I can however, strongly recommend ‘The Malady of Elegance’ for those moments when you might be looking for an aural background to peaceful contemplation, or just a bit of music with which to calm down.
As mentioned, I’ve been listening to this as I fall asleep, and I can imagine it would sound equally lovely on a Sunday afternoon, a rainy morning, an after-work wind-down, or any moment where one needs a little respite from the wickedness of the world. We may need that a bit more these days. I know I do. Find a few moments, locate your quiet space, take a couple of deep breaths, and let the music move you.
Most of the Easter mass celebrations of my childhood ended with the triumphant chords of Beethoven’s ‘Ode to Joy’ ringing throughout St. Mary’s church as I and another altar boy led the priest down from the altar and out of the church. If old-fashioned Monsignor Glavin was giving the mass, we would go back to the area where we got dressed and take one final respectful bow. If it was Father Gulley, he usually lingered out with the congregants, socializing and talking and blessing babies while the altar boys hurried back to get changed without any ritualistic bow. Strange, the things one remembers, the memories that one can occasionally pull from an Easter weekend that went unremembered for so many years.
As for that joyous symphony by Beethoven, it begs for a reinterpretation, and was given a major overhaul when Adrienne Rich wrote her magnificently disturbing poem, “The Ninth Symphony of Beethoven Understood At Last As a Sexual Message” from ‘Diving Into the Wreck: Poems 1971-1972’ as seen below.
A man in terror of impotence
or infertility, not knowing the difference
a man trying to tell something
howling from the climacteric
music of the entirely
isolated soul
yelling at Joy from the tunnel of the ego
music without the ghost
of another person in it, music
trying to tell something the man
does not want out, would keep if he could
gagged and bound and flogged with chords of Joy
where everything is silence and the
beating of a bloody fist upon
a splintered table
It gives quite a different view of that old ‘Ode to Joy’, and I challenge you to do some historical research on Ludwig and come back with your take on this particular piece unchanged. (Or just watch ‘Immortal Beloved’ and you’ll get a similar life-altering experience.)
I just heard the sound of the future and it is funky. This is the kind of party music we need right now. It’s been way too long since I got excited about a proper music album. While I enjoyed Madonna’s last summer opus ‘Madame X’ it fell short of finding the joy in former glories like ‘Ray of Light‘ or even ‘Confessions on a Dance Floor‘ and its somewhat dour themes were at odds with its summer release time. Far better suited for spring and summer fun is the latest from Dua Lipa, and I spent the other day throwing a dance-party for one while isolating in home. This is going to be the soundtrack for spring transitioning into summer ~ I’m calling it now ~ and ‘Cool’ may very well be the main theme for the upcoming sunny season. We shall see. In the meantime, I’m all sorts of inspired by this album ~ a practically perfect selection of pop music the likes of which I can’t recall enjoying in a very long time.
Opening title track ‘Future Nostalgia’ sets the tone of the aural adventure to come ~ this is the funky future with a knowing nod to the pop-candy of the past. It starts on a strong note, and the cool thing is that it doesn’t once let up (the 38 minutes actually feels way too short for such brilliance). Stand-out tracks include the funkalicious ‘Break My Heart’, ~the giddy abandon of ‘Physical’, and the earworm sample in ‘Love Againâ’. That Tik Tok classic ‘Don’t Start Now’ has already cemented this album’s must-have status. She gets deep too, even if it’s coated in glossy pop genius, as in closing track ‘Boys Will Be Boys’. And I dare anyone to sit still for ‘Levitating’ or ‘Hallucinate’ ~ because this forty-four year old was bopping about his make-shift home office. Dare we say that we have a Madonna-in-the-making for 2020? I’ll go out on a limb and say this one shows the same promise of a certain 80’s street urchin.
ONCE I WAS A SENTIMENTAL THING
THREW MY HEART AWAY EACH SPRING;
NOW A SPRING ROMANCE HASN’T GOT A CHANCE
PROMISED MY FIRST DANCE TO WINTER;
ALL I’VE GOT TO SHOW’S A SPLINTER FOR MY LITTLE FLING!
SPRING THIS YEAR HAS GOT ME FEELING LIKE A HORSE THAT NEVER LEFT THE POST;
I LIE IN MY ROOM STARING UP AT THE CEILING
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
In this spring that feels like anything but spring, bereft of much hope, despite its relatively benign beginning, this song was shared on FaceBook by Kevin Sessums. It’s perfect for this moment in time. Ambivalence, melancholy, and a thread of worry belie all the awakening beauty of the season, not unlike the way most doomed romances awaken in a mess of mixed emotions. For early April, particularly in years like this (not that we’ve ever quite had a year like this), the voice of Ella Fitgerald is one small balm on the frazzled emotions we may be experiencing.
MORNING’S KISS WAKES TREES AND FLOWERS
AND TO THEM I’D LIKE TO DRINK A TOAST;
I WALK IN THE PARK JUST TO KILL LONELY HOURS
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST
ALL AFTERNOON THOSE BIRDS TWITTER TWIT
I KNOW THE TUNE, “THIS IS LOVE, THIS IS IT!”
HEARD IT BEFORE AND I KNOW THE SCORE
AND I’VE DECIDED THAT SPRING IS A BORE!
LOVE SEEMED SURE AROUND THE NEW YEAR
NOW IT’S APRIL, LOVE IS JUST A GHOST;
SPRING ARRIVED ON TIME, ONLY WHAT BECAME OF YOU, DEAR?
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
SPRING CAN REALLY HANG YOU UP THE MOST!
FEELS LIKE ALL THE DAYS ARE GONE
JUST CATCH THE BREEZE, YOU KNOW YOU’VE HAD YOUR FUN
RAIN WASHES WAVES DOWN
When an old friend from high school tags you out of the blue on FaceBook, it usually means something. That’s the universe nudging you to pay attention, to take heed, to listen. In this case Ian introduced me to this song by Slowdive, and it came at just the right moment.
Ian’s taste didn’t often dovetail with mine, but they always had an open mind when it came to music. I gave this one a listen and was entranced with its dreaminess, and resonant lyrics. You should give it a spin too.
AND I, I WANT THE WORLD TO CRY
AND I, I WATCH THE WINDS YOU FLY
YOU CAN BELIEVE IN EVERYTHING
YOU CAN BELIEVE IT ALL
What a world. What a predicament. How did we let it get this far gone? It’s felt icky for a while now, and we all have our reasons and theories for it. At this point, I almost feel as if the mess has been made, we just need to clean it up and dole out blame and come-uppance at a later date, or perhaps not ever at all. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that sometimes you have to simply let go. Holding onto any sense of justice or right is subjective anyway, and more a reflection of some false image of someone else or, worse yet, of ourselves. Perception versus reality, and in the end reality always wins. Why bother fighting it? I didn’t mean to get so deep – I only wanted to share this song. From the best of intentions…
HEY, ARE YOU FEELING SOMETHING NEW
JUST WATCH THE RAIN, IT HELPS IN ALL YOU DO
THE BREEZE IT BLOWS, IT BLOWS EVERYTHING
As for Ian, I don’t remember much about our interactions beyond Latin class, and our seats were so far apart not even that rings with many specifics. That’s more of a failing on my part. We live such isolated lives, and in high school I never ventured beyond a few select silos. Maybe the current imposed isolation has me yearning for the days when it was a choice.
AND I, I WANT THE WORLD TO CRY
AND I, I WANT THE SUN TO SHINE
YOU CAN BELIEVE IN EVERYTHING
YOU CAN BELIEVE IT ALL
No one has had a better handle on the bittersweet and heartbroken anger that fuels empowerment better than Madonna. For all her steely nerve and breathtaking independence, she’s always been a romantic at heart, and she’s been hurt playing the game of love as much as anyone else. Maybe even more-so if we are to judge from her musical response to heartbreak. While some of her post-break-up songs are sorrowful (‘Take A Bow‘, ‘The Power of Good-bye‘, ‘Frozen‘, ‘You’ll See‘) there are others that simply rage, forming the jumping-off point to a whole new realm of empowerment, which always feels unlikely at such difficult times, but which has to happen in order to move ahead.
Here’s a little empowerment mix for anyone that needs to rage before moving on.
Living For Love– It’s all about getting back up again, literally and figuratively. “I found freedom in the ugly truth/I deserve the best and it’s not you.”
Devil Wouldn’t Recognize You– “Now that it’s over you can lie to me right through your smile/I see behind your eyes/now I’m sober, no more intoxicating my mind/Even the devil wouldn’t recognize you, but I do.”
Gang Bang– Madonna at her most bitter and pageful, ‘Gang Bang’ is a hyperbolized jaunt through a little bit of the old ultra-violence, but it’s her whispered delivery of barely-veiled vitriol that gives this track its lethal bite: “You were building my coffin, you were driving my hearse.”
Unapologetic Bitch– A barbed gem from the ‘Rebel Heart’ opus, this finds Madonna unapologetically ticking off a list of offenses from a former lover: “Tell me how it feels to be ignored.”
I Don’t Give A…– Blunt, brutal, and brash, this exhaustive rendering of all that’s required when moving on cloaks some potent heartache: “I tried to be a good girl, I tried to be your wife/ Diminished myself and I swallowed my light/ I tried to become all that you expect of me/ And if it was a failure/ I don’t give a…”
Best Friend– How this bonus track from the ‘MDNA‘ period got lost in the shuffle is anyone’s guess, and it’s an eternal shame, as it’s one of the most devastatingly personal examinations of a failed relationship that Madonna has ever written: “I lost my very best friend/ Not gonna candy-coat it and I don’t want to pretend/I put away your letters, saved the best ones that I had/ It wasn’t always perfect but it wasn’t always bad.” It’s her most pointed and powerful take on divorce since ‘Til Death Do Us Part‘ from the ‘Like A Prayer’ album.
Sorry– This dance-floor tantrum was thrown in the face of wrong-doing, when saying sorry simply isn’t enough anymore: “You’re not half the man you think you are.”
Jump– In every romantic bust-up, there comes a turning point when the anger and rage turn to resolve and betterment, when a person finally realizes the only thing to do is move on, starting at the jumping point. Are you ready?
Express Yourself– Continuing on with Madonna’s perhaps-greatest rallying cry for empowerment, this classic song demands nothing but the best for its protagonist, wisely leaving wimps and wannabes in the dust: “And when you’re gone he might regret it, think about the love he once had/Try to carry on but he just won’t get it.”
Falling Free– The final song on the brutal ‘MDNA’ break-up album, this finds the ambivalent abstraction of setting someone free, and finding freedom of your own in the process: “I let loose the need to know, and we’re both free, free to go.”
Messiah– A warning as much as a bittersweet resignation: “I am the promise that you cannot keep/ Reap what you sow, find what you seek.”
I Fucked Up– Madonna never fessed up to being wrong for the bulk of her career, and we loved her all the more for it. By the time the divorce album of ‘MDNA’ came along, however, she had to admit her part in the proceedings, and did so in this blunt apology song. Like ‘Best Friend’, this one got lost in the bonus track shuffle, and its heartbreaking and almost unnoticed final line is tellingly ambivalent: “I’m sorry, I’m not afraid to say, I wish I could have you back, maybe one day… or not.”
I’ll Remember– One should always end on a hopeful note, or at least a note of reconciliation. Maybe even redemption. Love is always worth the pain.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
This particular story must begin not with a Madonna song but a selection from ‘Swan Lake’ by Tchaikovsky. It rises slowly from a mist, just above some tremulous body of midnight water sparkling beneath a mysterious moon, in the darkness of winter on the edge of glassy-eyed solitude. There is beauty here, and there is danger ~ the razor-thin line between love and betrayal. In so many ways, one wouldn’t exist without the possibility or reality of the other. When men dance with men, there is a whole new set of rules and mores. Rarely does the dance end without injury; sometimes it only ends with death.
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE, BUT I’M NOT CONCERNED
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DREAM, BUT A DREAM IS EARNED
I CAN DRESS LIKE A BOY, I CAN DRESS LIKE A GIRL
KEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL WORDS, ‘CAUSE I’M NOT CONCERNED
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS SUCH A SHAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S OBSESSED WITH FAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S IN SO MUCH PAIN
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
UP IN FLAMES
We are in New York City for a production of ‘Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake’, the pseudo-ballet that turns the classic tale into a coming of age homosexual love story of sorts, while touching on all sorts of emotional mayhem and compelling visuals along the way, including a cadre of shirtless male swans that are feral, ferocious, exquisite and enchanting. I’d taken Andy to see it many years ago, and tonight I was gifting it to Suzie, along with the same pre-theatre dinner stop at the Russian Tea Room – for Tchaikovsky, of course.
The evening is threatening rain, which is actually rather benign for a January night. Even so, I brought the wrong coat for rain. After our dinner, and mocktails at The Plaza, we have an hour or so before the show, so we duck into a teahouse called Radiance. Warm wooden surroundings echo the heat of the teapots. We consider a turmeric blend but opt for something called Serenity with chamomile and lavender. When Serenity is an option, one should always choose Serenity. There, in the midst of a dark gray night, and before the curtain rises on ‘Swan Lake’, we nestle into a secret nook hidden in a non-descript stretch of street across from the theater. It is a jewel-box of a teahouse that perfectly cradles us within its curving carved wood. My necklace of black feathers, a last-minute find while waiting for Suzie to arrive, and just the thing for an evening of dramatic swans, is mostly concealed by an ornate silk scarf scented with Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Fleur’.
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL PLAN (HMM), BUT I’M NOT CONCERNED (OH YEAH)
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL GAME (HMM) THAT I NEVER LEARNED
PEOPLE TELL ME TO SHUT MY MOUTH (SHUT YOUR MOUTH)
THAT I MIGHT GET BURNED
KEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL LIES (HMM) ‘CAUSE I’M NOT CONCERNED
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS SUCH A SHAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S OBSESSED WITH FAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S IN SO MUCH PAIN
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
A twist on the typical take of this balletic tale, this version always brings out new sensations and emotions depending on where one is in their life. The first time I saw it I was touched by the familial relations and the way image and outward appearance of a family unit was more important than what went on behind closed doors. It was a brilliant rendering of that space where what people saw of your back as you sat down in the front pew of church with your family mattered more than what was in a little boy’s heart, where appearance counted for more than substance, because what happened behind the walls of your childhood house could better be hidden and explained or unexplained away all that much easier. Distant parental figures unskilled at unconditional love, particularly for a child who didn’t behave or desire the way most other children did.
That first time I was also moved with the way the show illustrated the first flush of romantic love, that feeling of being both wanted and protected, loved and desired, cared for and completed. When the protagonist arrives at the edge of a lake and finds the beauty of the swans, it was a transcendent experience for anyone who has spent any amount of time hiding and then discovering who they were. For a gay man of a certain age, it was powerful stuff.
For this evening’s performance, those moments touched me again, but I was most moved by what happens when it appears there may be a happily ever after, when man and swan dance together while the world of swans and humans looks on, and then attacks, because at some point every couple comes under attack. Most of the time the attacks come from the inside – occasionally they come from an outside source, and only the lucky ones get out without an element of destruction. The final scenes were heartbreaking, as the very essence of love and companionship was torn violently asunder, and the envy and vindictiveness of others intrudes, ripping any remnants of innocence apart. The swan troop swoops in and attacks the one swan who saved the young man, because not everyone can be happy in the happiness of others. They killed him, but they could not kill love. The young man dies too, but not his love. For its time, it existed – like a little fire, providing warmth and haven from a cruel, frigid world – and it lasted for as long as it lasted. In such a sense, love can be both finite and forever.
The curtain fell. The show was over. We exited the theater.
Another ballet was about to begin… a Dark Ballet.
Beauty.
Darkness.
Dance.
Sacrifice.
Storm.
All of it fits within the realm of Art, that all-encompassing way that humans have developed of dealing with the world as we know it. How to interpret and shape a vision, how to reflect upon and expound upon the particular time at hand, how to express a way out when one needs to escape. Art, in its most desperate state, is survival.
It was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art during the Met Gala when Madonna premiered a snippet of this song during her magnificent performance, paving the way for the dark beauty that would be her ‘Madame X’ album. It was theatrical, and the ‘Dark Ballet’ bit incorporated classical piano riffs and some balletic dancing recalling Madonna’s own storied beginnings as a dancer, where she was supposedly christened ‘Madame X’ by none other than Martha Graham.
I WILL NOT DENOUNCE THE THINGS THAT I HAVE SAID
I WILL NOT RENOUNCE MY FAITH IN MY SWEET LORD
HE HAS CHOSEN ME TO FIGHT AGAINST THE ENGLISH
I AM NOT AFRAID AT ALL TO DIE ‘CAUSE I BELIEVE YOU
GOD IS ON MY SIDE AND I’LL BE FINE
I AM NOT AFRAID ‘CAUSE I HAVE FAITH IN HIM
YOU CAN CUT MY HAIR AND THROW ME IN A JAIL CELL
SAY THAT I’M A WITCH AND BURN ME AT THE STAKE
IT’S ALL A BIG MISTAKE
DON’T YOU KNOW TO DOUBT HIM IS A SIN?
I WON’T GIVE IN
Tchaikovsky is sampled here in a nod to the genius and insanity of ‘A Clockwork Orange’, and it’s brilliant and mad and utterly exhilarating. Her voice digitally distorted beyond recognition, and past the point where words can even be understood outside of the printed lyrics here, she warps the human sound into a computerized entity at once remote and commanding. There is a chill to the proceedings, in spite of the bouncy ballet music, and the juxtaposition is one of the most thrilling moments on the entire ‘Madame X’ opus. Three decades into her career, to find Madonna still experimenting and daring us to hear new things is quite a remarkable feat, one that should not go unnoticed in this era of play-it-safe stars and ultra-careful celebrities. The chance to get canceled for one kooky mis-step looms terrifyingly on the landscape of any burgeoning starlet; that Madonna dances boldly on in the presence of such landmines is testament to what I’ve always admired about her.
She ends the magnificent journey with a spoken warning as Tchaikovsky spins giddily on behind her:
THEY ARE SO NAIVE
THEY THINK WE ARE NOT AWARE OF THEIR CRIMES
WE KNOW, BUT WE ARE JUST NOT READY TO ACT
THE STORM ISN’T IN THE AIR, IT’S INSIDE OF US
I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT LOVE AND LONELINESS
BUT IT’S GETTING LATE NOW
CAN’T YOU HEAR OUTSIDE OF YOUR SUPREME HOODIE,
THE WIND THAT’S BEGINNING TO HOWL?
The electronic classical interim fades as the simple piano melody and its dour minor key returns. There is one last line, sung plainly, as much a wish as a sneer. It contains all the hope and poison of the world, and the unspoken notion that if everything was always beautiful, we might never recognize beauty. How sad, when you think too much about it, when you really dig into the philosophy of the idea. How glorious too, that we have the opportunity to live in this world right now. To live in the world at any time, really. We are afforded such scant joy in the grand scheme of the universe.
My brother and I never shared a taste in music, though our musical preferences occasionally dovetailed. He was, in fact, the one who got Madonna’s ‘True Blue’ album first. I hadn’t come around to her completely just then, if you can imagine. Every once in a while I’d venture into his room when he was out and find some jewel of a song among the rap and hardcore bands he favored back in the late 80’s and early 90’s.
I was attracted to the colorful, psychedelic cover of ‘Lovegod’ by The Soup Dragons and its lead-off track ‘I’m Free’ – and when I delved a bit deeper I fell in love with the fourth track, ‘Softly’ – the requisite slow-burner on every rock band’s album. (Remember ‘More Than Words’?)
Figuratively, my brother had already left the nest, always a little bit ahead of me, a little braver in some ways. He went out all the time, to God knows where and with God knows whom, while my family pretended not to fret and worry, and maybe they really didn’t. I would wander into his room, where the afternoon sunlight was strongest, and sit on the floor, listening to the few good songs I could find there, watching the dust drift slowly through the air, and waiting for my moment to fly.
It was spring. The earth was about to crack open, spilling a winter that would finally melt away, melting a heart that would finally thaw from its frozen limbo.
ALL I WANTED TO
WAS TO BE WITH YOU
TO LIVE INSIDE YOUR HEAD
AND TO KILL YOU DEAD
EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR FACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
AND EVERYTIME I’M OUTER SPACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
Who could tell why I was so consumed by this song? I’m not so sure I could have put it into words myself, not then and probably not now. As it stands, I’m struggling just writing this post. There are days when the words don’t flow, when they don’t automatically assemble in a structure resembling sense or order.
It was the time of my life when I felt poised for something grand, when hormones were raging, and I wasn’t even sure where to direct my desire. I just knew that I felt something – a longing, a pull, a hesitancy, a thrill – and somehow in this simple set of chords I also realized that love might never come easily to me, that it might be the knife sheathed in something seductive and pretty, ready to draw blood, ready to draw venom.
WHEN I CUT MY HAND
AND I BREAK YOUR HEART
AND I MAKE YOUR LOVE
JUST FALL APART
EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR FACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
AND EVERYTIME I’M OUTER SPACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
Dorothy Parker once wrote a delicious poem about how breaking a heart is sometimes worse than having your own heart break. It would be lovely if that were true. I’m not so magnanimous to have ever felt that, however. Being on the receiving end of heartache would always prove more sorrowful. There is clearly more work to be done on my behalf. And while I wait, this song drones on in the background, reminding me of a different time, for better or worse…
AND EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR FACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
AND EVERYTIME I’M OUTER SPACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
AND EVERYTIME I SEE YOUR FACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE
AND EVERYTIME I’M OUTER SPACE
YOU KNOW I SOFTLY DIE…
ON A BLUSTERY WINTER DAY
ON A CROWDED UNDERGROUND TRAIN
WE HAD THE NUMBERS
HOLDING THE CARDS CLOSER THAN EVER
YOU COULD AVOID THOSE EYES FOREVER
IF YOU JUST TRY IT
LOST TO THE CITY
WILL I EVER SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN?
LOST TO THE PARTY
IT’S A WONDERLAND WE’RE LIVIN IN
AND I’M NOT SAYIN’ I’M WAITING FOR A STAR SIGN
BUT YOU ARE ON YOUR WAY TO BEING LEFT BEHIND… LEFT BEHIND… LEFT BEHIND
Not because it’s Valentine’s Day, not because of any trite or silly romantic notion of the emotion, and not for any contrived message of mucky emotional import, but only because every day is a day worthy of celebrating love, in all its forms. And I happen to love this song. It’s a lovely reminder that sometimes going through life is much better when shared along the way. It doesn’t have to be about extreme passion or die-hard loyalty or the perfectly idealized soul-mate. It’s about going through life with the person who may or may not be the man or woman or non-binary person of your dreams but who might be compatible and caring and kind. We may never understand how the world works, but everything is easier when there’s someone to hold your hand during the difficult times, or simply sit beside you. Especially in the winter.
FEBRUARY RAIN IS WASHING ALL OUR DAYS AWAY AND YOU FEEL TIRED
AND THE PUDDLES AT YOUR FEET SHINE THE TRAFFIC LIGHT
WISHES THAT YOU KEEP AND YOU FEEL LUCKY
WE COULD BE LIONS AND I’D PROTECT YOU IN OUR DEN
WE COULD BE POLAR BEARS AND I WOULD HUNT YOU ‘TIL THE END
AND I’M NOT SAYIN’ I’M WAITING FOR A STAR SIGN
BUT YOU ARE ON YOUR WAY TO BEING LEFT BEHIND… LEFT BEHIND… LEFT BEHIND
FEEL LIKE THE WORLD IS ENDING AND I’M WITH YOU AND I DON’T CARE…
It seems incredulous based on history and previous traditions, but this site is in need of some sparkle and pizzazz. I’ve tended to traffic in such enchantments to an extent that when a period of serious posts and contemplative quietude occurs it gives off the notion that the blush is off the rose, that fun is off the table, and glamour is gone for good. Not so, not so, not so.
We may be battered and bruised, we may be downtrodden and blue, but the heart of a chameleon remains pure. A trickster has survival instincts that run deep. Those instincts are instrumental in making a new way for oneself when the old avenues are closed down and not navigable. A proper trickster will always find a way, in our mercurial magic and transformative nature. There’s nothing wrong with dressing up our journey with fancy finery in the process, or thrilling our companions with bejeweled glory. To catch the eye is an art form. It takes a certain kind of sorcery. Those who make the attempt to marvel do so at great risk. The rest of the world loves to see a misstep or a fall. There are those who will always revel in the misery of others. I don’t care to figure out why.
Let us instead do our best to shine.
Let us brush off our imaginations and return to the land of unabashed play, where fantasy and make-believe and magic prance like pink ponies, and flowers and feathers fall from branches cradling drops of sunshine. Where the sky is always blue, when it’s not eavesdropping and cloaked in black to better see the dancing moonbeams.
The best way I find to conjure such enchantment is in getting all gussied up and decoratively decked out. At its best, it’s life-affirming, at its worst it’s frivolous, and whether best or worst it’s entirely harmless and far better than any number of vices. From your head down to your toes, from your fascinator to your velvet shoes, and every shade of Tom Ford in between, you still have the power to enthrall.
The possession to fascinate.
The wherewithal to survive.
The frivolity to enchant.
The charm to sparkle.
Here, now, is a song to help you channel your own fabulousness. It’s like ooh la la la la…
Certain songs are like elegies, for those moments when there’s nothing left to say. We listen to their sadness and try to make sense of the sorrow, but there is no answer or solution to loss and grief, only bottomless depths of more. Perhaps there is comfort in company; quite often there is not. That doesn’t mean the effort is in vain.
When the loss is not by death or force, when the loss of someone from your life is by choice, sometimes that’s even harder to take. And when you’re the one to go, sometimes another’s heart is harder to break.
IN EVERY HEART THERE IS A ROOM
A SANCTUARY SAFE AND STRONG
TO HEAL THE WOUNDS FROM LOVERS PAST
UNTIL A NEW ONE COMES ALONG
I SPOKE TO YOU IN CAUTIOUS TONES
YOU ANSWERED ME WITH NO PRETENSE
AND STILL I FEEL I SAID TOO MUCH
MY SILENCE IS MY SELF DEFENSE
AND EVERY TIME I’VE HELD A ROSE
IT SEEMS I ONLY FELT THE THORNS
AND SO IT GOES, AND SO IT GOES
AND SO WILL YOU SOON I SUPPOSE
Once there was a girl who loved me very much. She loved me more than I could ever love her, maybe more than I could ever love anyone. Being loved like that is a luxury we should all be lucky enough to feel at one point. It scares most people, but we are better for it. Later on in life I would be the one to do the loving, or so I thought, though never quite as purely and unreservedly, never in such undiluted and untainted form.
Oh I thought I did. It felt like I loved more fiercely and carelessly than anyone could have ever loved someone, even those I barely knew, but it was fallacy and fabrication. To be loved by someone who knows you, and who has known you since you were a child, is how we complete our souls. Not all of us are lucky enough to have that.
BUT IF MY SILENCE MADE YOU LEAVE
THEN THAT WOULD BE MY WORST MISTAKE
SO I WILL SHARE THIS ROOM WITH YOU
AND YOU CAN HAVE THIS HEART TO BREAK
AND THIS IS WHY MY EYES ARE CLOSED
IT’S JUST AS WELL FOR ALL I’VE SEEN
AND SO IT GOES, AND SO IT GOES
AND YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS
SO I WOULD CHOOSE TO BE WITH YOU
THAT’S IF THE CHOICE WERE MINE TO MAKE
BUT YOU CAN MAKE DECISIONS TOO
AND YOU CAN HAVE THIS HEART TO BREAK
I probably didn’t deserve such a beautiful song. I’m not sure if I deserve it now, but maybe I’m a little closer. We approach grace in different ways. It takes a little longer for some, and most of us fall down along the way. We just need to find those who will help us get back up, who will sit with us in silence or just be there without fanfare or expectation.
AND SO IT GOES, AND SO IT GOES
AND YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS.
