{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.}
I WENT TO THE FAR RIGHT
THEN I WENT TO THE FAR LEFT
I TRIED TO RECOVER MY CENTER OF GRAVITY
I GUESS I’M LOST I HAD TO PAY THE COST THE THING THAT HURT ME MOST WAS THAT I WASN’T LOST
The current ‘Madame X’ run we have going remains unbroken, as this marks the fifth Madonna Timeline in a row from the latest album. I was just about to suffer from some overplaying fatigue – a danger for any new Madonna album – but this has jolted me into an early Renaissance of celebrating that recent release. This is one of the more intriguing songs on ‘Madame X’ – with an old-world sound and ambivalent lyrics. Madonna returns to the well-tread (perhaps overdone) circle metaphor, but that is the only time when things dip a bit. The sparse arrangement of plucked strings and piano is a slice of atmospheric charm and drama, with searching lyrics that find Madonna ricocheting through time and space, touching on her own history, with a Wizard-of-Oz-like denouement.
I CAME FROM THE MIDWEST
THEN I WENT TO THE FAR EAST
I TRIED TO DISCOVER MY OWN IDENTITY
I GUESS I’M LOST I PAID A HANDSOME COST THE THING THAT HURT THE MOST WAS THAT I WASN’T LOST I WASN’T LOST
In a sunny summer dominated by the ‘Madame X’ album, this was a reminder that summer could go dark, and ruminations on finding oneself could run deep. Self-exploration and self-examination have earned dirty named for themselves in our selfie-obsessed society, but there is room for them when the intent is pure and the goal is noble and genuine.
NO, I WASN’T LOST
IT WAS A DIFFERENT FEELING
A MIX OF LUCIDITY AND CRAZINESS
BUT I WASN’T LOST, YOU BELIEVE ME
I WAS RIGHT, AND I’VE GOT THE RIGHT
TO CHOOSE MY OWN LIFE LIKE A FULL CIRCLE
LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE
LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE, LIFE IS A CIRCLE
Alone in a strange country… isn’t that everyone at some point? Even if you’ve never left home, there are moments when we all feel like a stranger, even in our own space, even in our native land. We are but visitors on this earth. Transient beings who will be turned over into the earth without much fanfare or remembrance. Not in the grand scheme of things, not in the infinite history of the universe. And such is the danger of ‘Extreme Occident’ if you let it get that far. Such is its beauty, too.
AQUILO QUE MAIS MAGOA
QUE EU NÃO ESTAVA PERDIDA
AQUILO QUE MAIS MAGOA
QUE EU NÃO ESTAVA PERDIDA
This song was on my summer playlist and it’s a fun little bop. Better than that, it’s a duet with two hot guys. I’m guessing they’re singing about girls, but who knows with Mr. Martin. He is pairing up with Maluma, and together it’s some sweet music.
They add to their hot factor with this lovely summer-sounding duet. It joins ‘Medellin’ as a Maluma-inspired summer track, and it sounds really good. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: summer is not over yet. The bulk of this month is still within its province. Celebrate the sun (and Ricky Martin’s moon) until the very last day…
{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.}
IT’S A LONG WAY (IT’S A LONG WAY) IT’S A LONG WAY (IT’S A LONG WAY) IT’S A LONG DAY (IT’S A LONG DAY) IT’S A LONG DAY (IT’S A LONG DAY)
LORD HAVE MERCY (LORD HAVE MERCY) THINGS HAVE GOT TO CHANGE (THINGS HAVE GOT TO CHANGE) THERE’S A STORM AHEAD (THERE’S A STORM AHEAD) I HEAR THE WIND BLOWING (I HEAR THE WIND BLOWING) LET ME CATCH MY BREATH (LET ME CATCH MY BREATH) WILL WE WIN THIS RACE? (WILL WE WIN THIS RACE?) SWEAR THE ROAD IS LONG (SWEAR THE ROAD IS LONG) AND THE HIGHWAY LISTENS (AND THE HIGHWAY LISTENS)
‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY (‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY)
Madonna’s magnificent ‘Madame X’ album ushered in this summer season, which made for some happy music and some gloriously sunny days. How many more Madonna albums will christen a summer? I’m not sure it will happen again. (The quintessential Madonna summer album is, and remains, ‘True Blue’ – but I’d venture that ‘Madame X’ comes close (consider future timeline entries ‘Crazy’, ‘Crave’, and ‘Come Alive’ – all carry an easy-breezy summer vibe.) That leads us to the latest official timeline post: ‘Batuka’ – which joins ‘Future‘ and ‘Killers Who Are Partying‘ as a modern-moment music recollection.
I WAS UP ALL NIGHT I SAID A LITTLE PRAYER GET THAT OLD MAN PUT HIM IN A JAIL WHERE HE CAN’T STOP US (WHERE HE CAN’T STOP US) WHERE HE CAN’T HURT US (WHERE HE CAN’T HURT US) WE WILL STAND TALL (WE WILL STAND TALL) UNDERNEATH THIS TREE (UNDERNEATH THIS TREE)
‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY (‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY) IT’S A LONG WAY (IT’S A LONG WAY) ‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG DAY (‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG DAY) IT’S A LONG DAY
BUT WHEN WE CAN STOP IT ALL (BUT WHEN WE CAN STOP IT ALL) IN THE RIGHT WAY (IN THE RIGHT WAY) WILL WE STAND TOGETHER? (WILL WE STAND TOGETHER?) IT’S A NEW DAY (IT’S A NEW DAY) SO DON’T JUDGE A HUMAN (SO DON’T JUDGE A HUMAN) ‘TIL YOU’RE IN THEIR SHOES (‘TIL YOU’RE IN THEIR SHOES) IF YOU HAVE A DREAM (IF YOU HAVE A DREAM) THEN YOU CAN’T STOP US (THEN YOU CAN’T STOP US)
The call-and-response chant that will likely form a rousing portion of her upcoming theatre tour is the best part of ‘Batuka’ – and while the conceit has its limits and repetitive drawbacks, it proves effective enough, and this song gives the ‘Madame X’ album part of its world-music pedigree. The video is a joyous celebration of the beauty that Madonna found in other parts of the world. You have to love her for that, and this one grows on you like some of her best summer music.
SING, “HALLELUJAH” (SING, “HALLELUJAH”) SAY, “AMEN” (SAY, “AMEN”) SING, “HALLELUJAH” (SING, “HALLELUJAH”) AND SAY, “AMEN” (AND SAY, “AMEN”) I SAY, “OH, YEAH” (I SAY, “OH, YEAH”) I SAID, “OH, YEAH” (I SAID, “OH, YEAH”) I SAY, “AMEN” (I SAY, “AMEN”) I SING, “HALLELUJAH” (I SING, “HALLELUJAH”)
‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY (‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG WAY) IT’S A LONG WAY (IT’S A LONG WAY) ‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG DAY (‘CAUSE IT’S A LONG DAY) IT’S A LONG DAY
MAY YOU HAVE AUSPICIOUSNESS AND CAUSES OF SUCCESS
MAY YOU HAVE THE CONFIDENCE TO ALWAYS DO YOUR BEST
MAY YOU TAKE NO EFFORT IN YOUR BEING GENEROUS
SHARING WHAT YOU CAN, NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS
MAY YOU KNOW THE MEANING OF THE WORD HAPPINESS
MAY YOU ALWAYS LEAD FROM THE BEATING IN YOUR CHEST
MAY YOU BE TREATED LIKE AN ESTEEMED GUEST
MAY YOU GET TO REST, MAY YOU CATCH YOUR BREATH
AND MAY THE BEST OF YOUR TODAYS BE THE WORST OF YOUR TOMORROWS
AND MAY THE ROAD LESS PAVED BE THE ROAD THAT YOU FOLLOW
Summer is for happy songs. Save the cynicism for fall or winter. Save the hope and the glory for spring. But give me a happy song before the summer ends. Give me poetry set to music. Nothing too deep, though. Please. Summer has its secret sorrows and carries its own heartbreak. That’s why it’s important to have sun and music and water that laps at distant shores. Palazzo pants and terry cloth wraps. Sunglasses and sunscreen, and Tom Ford’s ‘Soleil Blanc’. Brightness and shine and summer’s contented sighs.
WELL HERE’S TO THE HEARTS THAT YOU’RE GONNA BREAK
HERE’S TO THE LIVES THAT YOU’RE GONNA CHANGE
HERE’S TO THE INFINITE POSSIBLE WAYS TO LOVE YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
HERE’S TO THE GOOD TIMES WE’RE GONNA HAVE
YOU DON’T NEED MONEY, YOU GOT A FREE PASS
HERE’S TO THE FACT THAT I’LL BE SAD WITHOUT YOU
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
OH! I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT
I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
Some days summer wants only to rain, to blanket the world with a gauzy mantle of clouds and a thick veil of mist. Obscuring the sunny clarity that usually accompanies high noon with a hazy, soft-focus fog, summer likes to play its tricks on the unsuspecting sun-worshipper. Dampening emotion and sidewalks with tears from the sky, it displays another facet of its jewel-like form. See how it sparkles! See how it rends rainbows from raindrops!
MAY YOU BE AS FASCINATING AS A SLAP BRACELET
MAY YOU KEEP THE CHAOS AND THE CLUTTER OFF YOUR DESK
MAY YOU HAVE UNQUESTIONABLE HEALTH AND LESS STRESS
HAVING NO POSSESSIONS THOUGH IMMEASURABLE WEALTH
MAY YOU GET A GOLD STAR ON YOUR NEXT TEST
MAY YOUR EDUCATED GUESSES ALWAYS BE CORRECT
AND MAY YOU WIN PRIZES SHINING LIKE DIAMONDS
MAY YOU REALLY OWN IT EACH MOMENT TO THE NEXT
AND MAY THE BEST OF YOUR TODAYS BE THE WORST OF YOUR TOMORROWS
AND MAY THE ROAD LESS PAVED BE THE ROAD THAT YOU FOLLOW
Above all else, summer is the fruition of the promise of spring, even when it rains, even when it pours, even when it’s breaking your heart. And so we sing. We sing from the depths of sunny despair, we sing from the heights of crying eaglets, we sing and we dance and we fall to the ground exhausted from our song.
WELL HERE’S TO THE HEARTS THAT YOU’RE GONNA BREAK HERE’S TO THE LIVES THAT YOU’RE GONNA CHANGE HERE’S TO THE INFINITE POSSIBLE WAYS TO LOVE YOU I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT HERE’S TO THE GOOD TIMES WE’RE GONNA HAVE YOU DON’T NEED MONEY, YOU GOT A FREE PASS HERE’S TO THE FACT THAT I’LL BE SAD WITHOUT YOU I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
OH, I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT I WANT YOU TO HAVE IT ALL
Summer has a weird way of turning things upside down. More than Mercury in retrograde, it bungles the mind, messing with the matter in the head. Maybe it’s the sun – that glorious, vicious, life-giving orb – pulsating and pulling us to it, never quite letting us go, keeping us in orbit, bound forever, circling in the slightest parabolic curve. It brings us back to the past, much as it pushes us ahead. Like a myth, we take our places in the firmament.
COMBAT, I’M READY FOR COMBAT I SAY I DON’T WANT THAT, BUT WHAT IF I DO? ‘CAUSE CRUELTY WINS IN THE MOVIES I’VE GOT A HUNDRED THROWN-OUT SPEECHES I ALMOST SAID TO YOU
EASY THEY COME, EASY THEY GO I JUMP FROM THE TRAIN, I RIDE OFF ALONE I NEVER GREW UP, IT’S GETTING SO OLD HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
Some of us suit up, preparing for battle. Better to go out fighting than waiting to win. A victory of being right is always a valediction of some sort, because who could put up with that for too long? But we won’t give up that easily. The fight rages because the heart knows no reason. Summer fuels the madness. And a summer moon… well, who has a chance? We will ride out in the night…
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
DARK SIDE, I SEARCH FOR YOUR DARK SIDE BUT WHAT IF I’M ALRIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT HERE? AND I CUT OFF MY NOSE JUST TO SPITE MY FACE THEN I HATE MY REFLECTION FOR YEARS AND YEARS
We build our castle, and I make it as pretty as possible. A spear-studded iron barricade of youth, rusted and entwined with a climbing hydrangea. A glass windowpane, unbroken, and impossible to put together again if it were any other way. Memory rides on the breeze. On humid nights, the old Ko House organ releases scents and molecules from a lifetime ago, when we’d peek around their banister to see if the adults were still by the fire at Christmas. It still carries its song, music like scent, senses placing us back in our childhood. The summer stickiness pulls me back there then jerks me back to the present.
I WAKE IN THE NIGHT, I PACE LIKE A GHOST THE ROOM IS ON FIRE, INVISIBLE SMOKE AND ALL OF MY HEROES DIE ALL ALONE HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER, I’VE BEEN THE PREY SCREAMING, WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
These floors of wood once felt so solid, once felt so secure. They creak now, a bit battered, a bit worn, even a little warped. They’ve seen the seasons, they’ve paced the years. Crumbling into their waves, my body is not what it used to be. It creaks now too. It buckles and cracks and brings pain. It goes down, brittle shell meeting splintered resistance. This will not hold you like the earth. No arms will embrace you. Nothing will give you what you want. Nothing will give you what you need.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME)
‘CAUSE THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH CAN YOU SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME? THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH THEY SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME
A summer fairytale. Why would we ever trust the words of a fairy? And why ever in the summer, of all available points of time? That sun is on the rise. That heat is waiting to ascend. That army is ready to assemble. One crisp white shirt. One suit striped of pin. One tie of silk and elegance. Black belt in leather. A pair of shoes tipped with wings. Armor isn’t just steel and metal mesh. Looks can kill.
ALL THE KING’S HORSES, ALL THE KING’S MEN COULDN’T PUT ME TOGETHER AGAIN ‘CAUSE ALL OF MY ENEMIES STARTED OUT FRIENDS HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU
I’VE BEEN THE ARCHER I’VE BEEN THE PREY WHO COULD EVER LEAVE ME, DARLING? BUT WHO COULD STAY?
The war has always been within. Storms may circle, shots may strike, but the battle for your soul can only be won, or lost, by you. That’s the most difficult battle of all. Usually it’s impossible. Have you ever tried playing chess against yourself? Or any game for that matter. We are our own worst enemies. We know our weaknesses, we know our strengths, we know just where to strike to pierce the most vulnerable piece of heart. We know and so we guard against it, but in doing so we cut off all other aid or support. A self-fulfilling summer prophecy, cut with shards of sunlight and salty sea water.
(I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME, I SEE RIGHT THROUGH ME) WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? WHO COULD STAY? YOU COULD STAY YOU COULD STAY YOU…
{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.}
I suppose I should be grateful that the worst songs from Madonna’s ‘Madame X’ album are getting thrown out here first, not unlike the way the roll-out happened earlier this year. It will make the cuts to come that much sweeter. This is the dour ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ and the sooner it’s finished, the better. I like the sonics of it but the lyrics are messy and the melody mostly misses. Almost every Madonna album has a head-scratching clunker. (Even ‘Like A Prayer‘ had ‘Act of Contrition‘.) This is the one for the otherwise-excellent ‘Madame X’ opus.
I WILL BE GAY, IF THE GAY ARE BURNED I’LL BE AFRICA, IF AFRICA IS SHUT DOWN I WILL BE POOR, IF THE POOR ARE HUMILIATED I’LL BE A CHILD, IF THE CHILDREN ARE EXPLOITED
I KNOW WHAT I AM AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT
Despite my non-enthusiasm for the song, I’m interested in seeing what Madonna does with this for her Madame X Tour. It’s screaming for drama, and nobody does drama better than Madonna. It may also grow on me. I was playing the album while lounging by the pool and this one was surprisingly effective. Maybe it was the sun and mental meanderings of Portugal. Maybe it was the tequila.
I’LL BE ISLAM, IF ISLAM IS HATED I’LL BE ISRAEL, IF THEY’RE INCARCERATED I’LL BE NATIVE INDIAN, IF THE INDIAN HAS BEEN TAKEN AND I’LL BE A WOMAN, IF SHE’S RAPED AND HER HEART IS BREAKING
I KNOW WHAT I AM (GOD KNOWS WHAT I AM) AND I KNOW WHAT I’M NOT (AND HE KNOWS WHAT I’M NOT) DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE? (MM) WILL WE KNOW WHEN TO STOP?
SONG #153: ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ – Summer 2019
The older I get, the more difficult it is to make new memories, and most of them pale in comparison to the old ones. That’s the beauty and the tragedy of memory. One day, though, the experiences we are having now may be tinged with that rose-colored hindsight of memory and become something better than they are today. Such is the simple scene that came to mind when I played this song by Sia. I’d been playing that album as I floated in the pool for one entire summer, idly turning the pages of a book while trying not to get it wet, then pausing for a stint in the sun and some iced tea. Then I’d return to the water, awkwardly scrambling atop some cheap float that served its sole purpose for a single season.
When my mind wandered from the book to my surroundings, it would also imbue the gentle trajectory of my float’s journey around the pool with fantastical notions of cruise ships stopping at various Ports of Plants – beginning with the Japanese cherry tree, moving through the grove of arborvitae, and rounding the corner of the weeping larch. We’d pause for an excursion through the side garden, beneath the coral bark maple and the climbing hydrangea, before re-boarding and sailing past the potted angel trumpets and feathery-topped papyrus.
The water would push us along to the next stop at the main gardens, where we would disembark for a tour of the shade border, rife with hosta in bloom, Japanese anemones in bud, and Japanese painted ferns in full splendor. A variegated Chinese dogwood still held onto a few of its creamy bracts, while its non-variegated cousins provided welcome shade beneath their handsome green canopies. In the main garden bed, an explosion of fountain grass rose to the sky, matched by the brilliance of a stand of cup plants. The latter hosted butterflies and bees in a busy flower market; one had to look closer and delve deeper to find a lavender-hued lace-cap hydrangea hidden beneath a dogwood and slightly behind the fountain grass. There were some special singe-flowered peonies there too, but they had long since passed their blooming period.
Back in the water, floating over the deep end, we would proceed to the Forest of Ostrich Ferns, which hadn’t quite decided to start their typical scorched decline just yet. A few stalks of Joe Pye weed rose above them, taking advantage of the extra water the ferns got, and the way they shielded the soil from drying out too much. A Korean lilac drifted by, or rather we drifted by the Korean lilac; once in a while it would throw out a welcome re-bloom with the fragrance that brought one back to the very beginning of the summer season. Here we were already a month solidly into it, and that gone too soon.
A stiff upright stand of zebra grass rose behind the pool ladder, then we sailed into the welcome shade of a seven sons’ flower tree, just sending out its late-season buds of sweetness. They would soon open their tiny white blossoms to the giddy intoxication of bees from all over the neighborhood, and as I returned to the spot where my cruise-float began its journey, I was relieved to think there was still much summer to come.
On another song from this album, Sia sang of a sweet potato, bringing to mind the ever-fresh chartreuse shades of the sweet potato vine. There were dark burgundy varieties that some planted to contrast with the lighter green, but I was never a fan. I wanted things to be fresh and bright always, to keep the beginning of summer and not let it deepen too much. There was enough of that on the oak leaves, already deep green and leathery, and the acorns that were forming and just beginning to fall. Ahh, that word. It’s been said. Let us not utter it again.
Back in the pool, there was more summer to be had. My cruise around its perimeter left me dizzy from a sun-baked haze. The undulating water threw shards of reflected sunlight back at my face. There was something disconcerting yet giddy about this in-between state. Between solid and liquid, between light and shadow, between sunlight and water, we rode the little waves as a song about a sweet potato played in the background – a mesmerizing siren call that left the listener doped in a sweet trippy state of aural intoxication.
{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.}
It’s a rather dour statement, one that perhaps went with Madonna’s darker frame of mind during the creation of the ‘Madame X’ album. It’s also a collaboration with Quavo, and like most major stars of her caliber, collaborations too often end up deflating and diminishing the power of the individuals that comprise them.
Madonna apparently liked this song enough to use it at her infamous Eurovision performance, where Quavo joined her onstage. While all the ballyhoo seems to be about some missed ‘Like A Prayer‘ notes, the show was an impressive spectacle, and a hint of what might be to come on her Madame X theatre tour. Give me an armored Joan of Arc costume and I’m on board every time. As for ‘Future’, its best bit may be the ‘Don’t Tell Me‘ quote that comes during its transfixing bridge. The rest can bumble into the past.
While any smart person would hesitate to proclaim one particular summer their all-time favorite, the summer of 1990 stands out as a definite contender in my life. (2000 and 2010 do as well, for different reasons.) Way back in 1990, I was all of fourteen going on fifteen, but I can still remember more of that summer than I can of anything that happened yesterday.
It began with a first date with a guy, when all I could do was ‘Hold On’ because I didn’t even know what was happening. It continued with the striking of a pose: ‘Vogue.’ It got everyone a little Breathless, because ‘It Must Have Been Love’ before I even knew what love was. Does anyone really know what love is? It saw my friends and I making a trip to the then-Soviet Union ~ around the world and as far away from home as we could possibly be, so we made our own home and somehow I knew that I would be all right. A guy named Rat helped a little too.
It was a summer of wishful thinking and someone would be crowned a king…
I DON’T NEED TO FALL AT YOUR FEET
JUST CAUSE YOU CUT ME TO THE BONE
AND I WON’T MISS THE WAY THAT YOU KISS ME
WE WERE NEVER CARVED IN STONE
IF I DON’T LISTEN TO THE TALK OF THE TOWN
THEN MAYBE I CAN FOOL MYSELF
I’LL GET OVER YOU I KNOW I WILL
I’LL PRETEND MY SHIP’S NOT SINKING
AND I’LL TELL MYSELF I’M OVER YOU
CAUSE I’M THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING
I AM THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING.
I needed someone under me before I could get over them. Yet I was not quite ready to embark or even hope for a romantic quest. When I thought about girls, I wanted to be their friend more than anything else, to be part of their whispered secrets, to exchange silly notes, to be a member of their cloistered spheres and realms of influence. I wanted to BE with them, not to be WITH them. And at such a young age (because once upon a time fourteen was a very young age) I had no interest in anything else.
To make up for that, or to impel something ~ anything ~ into happening (such were my soap-operatic leanings) I wished to access the push and pull of this Go West pop song. I wanted the heartache because that would mean I’d had a love to lose. I wanted the break-up pangs of sadness because it would mean I would have had the happiness of romance. I wanted the blues because something in my soul accessed sadness easier than happiness. It might have been fucked up, but I’ve never claimed not to be fucked up.
I REFUSE TO GIVE IN TO MY BLUES
THAT’S HOW IT’S GONNA BE
AND I DENY THE TEARS IN MY EYES
CAUSE I DON’T WANT TO LET YOU SEE
THAT YOU HAVE MADE A HOLE IN MY HEART
AND NOW I’VE GOT TO FOOL MYSELF
I’LL GET OVER YOU I KNOW I WILL
I’LL PRETEND MY SHIP’S NOT SINKING
AND I’LL TELL MYSELF I’M OVER YOU
CAUSE I’M THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING
I AM THE KING OF WISHFUL THINKING.
Despite the warning of so many fairy tales, I wasn’t careful with what I wished for. Happily, I didn’t know that then, and I would welcome any bit of emotional flotsam that floated my way, eager for a feeling, for an emotion, for a reckoning… Summer did that to a person.
A fan hums and swivels in the corner. With each sweep of the room roving bands of air push against my face and it’s still not enough. When the heat is this immense and intense the only thing to do is be very still and quiet and think cool thoughts. A languid pop ballad sung by one of the cheesiest groups of all time is good too. Nothing too challenging. Nothing to make you think too hard. Enter ‘Too Much’ by the Spice Girls.
LOVE IS BLIND, AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE
DEEP AND MEANINGLESS, WORDS TO ME
EASY LOVER, I NEED A FRIEND
ROAD TO NOWHERE, TWISTS AND TURNS BUT WILL THIS NEVER END…
On years like this, when spring hardly gave us any sun or warmth, I’m not quite ready to barricade myself against the first little heatwave, if it can even be considered such. Our potted tropical plants are just beginning to unfurl their leaves, when in most other years they’d be in full lush bloom by now. The garden plants have largely caught up, especially in the last couple of weeks, as nature has a way of evening out the particular inconsistencies of an off-year. That said, on especially hot days, even if we haven’t had a lot of them, I find myself retreating into the controlled air-conditioned environment of the house, hunkering down in the dim coolness, where false visions of the world can be found on screen and the artificially-manipulated temperature no longer induces sweat and stickiness.
TOO MUCH OF SOMETHING IS BAD ENOUGH
BUT SOMETHING’S COMING OVER ME TO MAKE ME WONDER
TOO MUCH OF NOTHING IS JUST AS TOUGH
I NEED TO KNOW THE WAY TO FEEL TO KEEP ME SATISFIED
Back in the late 90’s, when I was still in college and between semesters, the summer was an extended staycation, with lots of lounging and lazy do-nothing days. The Spice Girls movie was playing on television, showing them on their tour bus doing some lounging themselves while this song played over the opening. It reflected the enjoyable ennui of summer, when lying around and raising your eyes to the television was more than enough exertion for the day. When at last daylight faded and the sun went hidden behind the other side of the earth, I’d traipse upstairs into the well-lit environs of my bedroom. In my heart swirled enough darkness; I was always seeking the light. There I would loll about on the cool, carpeted floor, reading or perusing magazines until the early hours of the morning. The next round of daylight could never come soon enough. It just felt better when the sun was shining, even if it got too darn hot.
To combat that, I found it best to put on a pop ballad, the cheesier the better, and let it wash over me like the waves from a fan. If you’ve got some sweet ice tea and hard raspberry candies, so much the better.
The drink sat before me with a requisite lime, made by a bartender who learned it instantly and who would remember it for all my time there. My friend Kristen sat beside me as we waited for the rest of our group to make it to the very tip of the Cape. We were all of twenty-five or twenty-six years old, and this would prove to be one of the first, and one of the last, of our youthful vacations together.
At the Gifford House, just down the road from the place we had rented out, a gaggle of gays had already started gathering. In mid to late July, the height and hounding of deep summer had commenced. Men milled about while a few ladies laughed and tore through the place in summer shorts and sun-blonde hair.
SHE’S FORTY-ONE AND HER DADDY STILL CALLS HER BABY
ALL THE FOLKS AROUND BROWNSVILLE SAY SHE’S CRAZY
CAUSE SHE WALKS DOWNTOWN WITH A SUITCASE IN HER HAND
LOOKING FOR A MYSTERIOUS DARK-HAIRED MAN…
It came on the sound system at the bar and everyone except me immediately began singing along. We had apparently landed in the very gay world of ‘Delta Dawn’ – a world I didn’t even realize was slipping away before I even had a chance to learn its wondrous ways. I sat there with Kristen and we looked around in happy amusement. Our extended weekend had started when we boarded the ferry in Boston – I didn’t have a boyfriend and it was already summer and we just wanted to have fun. Kristen was game for anything, so we sat there people-watching, and now listening as the whole place sang along to a song I’d never heard. Making a mental note that this was something I needed to learn, we listened as guys intermittently laughed, joked, talked, smoked, and sang along. It was the end of the 90’s – the end of the world’s innocence. I ordered another Tanqueray and tonic and we moved to the outside porch. It was still light out, and we were going out for dinner. Kristen had a boyfriend – she drew people to her and captivated them with an outgoing friendliness that I adored and envied. That night I was just happy that she was my friend. It emboldened me to be brave, and brave meant that I could flirt with a guy without worry or care.
At the other end of the porch, a handsome man was sizing me up, and I was doing the same. We would go our separate ways before ending up back at this porch by the end of the night. Without Kristen by my side, I had only my own wiles and wit to sustain conversation, and I tended to veer into cutting criticism far too easily. He didn’t seem to mind, and after a while of feeling him out I decided it was better to be kind.
He was cute. I was available. It was the end of the night. We were so young.
Moving shadows, soft moans, summer mugginess, sweaty stickiness, salty sweetness… he came and went and in the coolness of the night I waited for the next chapter to begin. When we saw each other on Commercial Street the next day it was as if we had never met.
How long it seemed to have taken for a man to be a mere footnote in my story, and how soon I’d learn to relegate them to even less. My heart had been slow to understand, but once the lesson was figured out, once I understood the basic mechanism of the thing and how everything related, it was impossible to forget. I would never not be a little cold again. That’s how the heart protects; that’s how the heart heals.
IN HER YOUNGER DAYS THEY CALLED HER DELTA DAWN
PRETTIEST WOMAN YOU EVER LAID EYES ON
THEN A MAN OF LOW DEGREE STOOD BY HER SIDE
AND PROMISED HER HE’S TAKE HER FOR HIS BRIDE…
As for Ms. Dawn, she knew her way around heartache. It debilitated her, but she lived with it. Dwelling inside perpetual disappointment is also dwelling within the realm of hope. They are sister spirits, and one is rarely encountered without the other. Not to say that it makes the hurt any less, and sometimes I think the smallest bit of hope is the most dangerous thing in the world. How long had she waited? Is she waiting still?
In that last summer of youth in Provincetown, we left our own ghosts behind. Friends and strangers, lovers and dangers, they wander the nights of memory, summer phantoms carried on the sweet, rotting scent of privet and salty sea mist.
DELTA DAWN WHAT’S THAT FLOWER YOU HAVE ON?
COULD IT BE A FADED ROSES FORM TIME GONE BY?
AND DID I HEAR YOU SAY HE WAS MEETING YOU HERE TODAY
Despite what you may be wishing, I’m not going away this summer. ALANILAGAN.com will not be taking its summer break as I’ve done for the past two years. Don’t get me wrong, I loved those breaks. Love loved LOVED those breaks. But I have to admit, I’m a Virgo, and I like structure, and without this personal sounding board I felt a little lost at sea. This place has become, for better (for me) or worse (for you) a diary and calendar of sorts.
Because of that, I’ll be able to spread out some summer songs – and a summer song means something different for everyone. Mine are born from any reason such as the time they were released, the sentiment, the melody, or a couple of sunny references. We begin with ‘Magic Is The Moonlight’ and I’m partial to Julie London’s version of it. As the pool water glistened hazily in the background, and the night breeze gave us a little relief, I played this song to lure summer to stay as long as she would deign.
LIVING IN THE SPLENDOR
OF YOUR KISS SO TENDER
MAKES MY HEART SURRENDER
TO YOUR LOVE DIVINE
MAGIC IS THE MOONLIGHT
MORE THAN ANY JUNE NIGHT
MAGIC IS THE MOONLIGHT
FOR IT MADE YOU MINE.
Will she stay with us a little longer, having arrived so late? She is welcome to linger, beyond September, beyond October… let her balmy embrace last. It’s been so long in coming, we don’t want to rush anything. Take your time… make it slow…
As for our summer schedule, we are also taking it slow and perhaps slowing things down. There will be daily posts, they will just be a little lighter in tone and length – the sort of thing that can be read on your phone while lounging by the pool or sea, or while riding in the car with the windows down, wind blowing through your hair as you adjust the stereo and someone brings you to some glorious summer destination.
This will be a place of respite for when the days get too hot and unbearable. At the moment, such heat would be a welcome novelty, but I know that by the end of next month some of us will be looking for cooler reprieves. Let this be such a sea of cool tranquility.
{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.}
Turning back to Madonna’s ‘Rebel Heart’ album, ‘Borrowed Time’ is one of the bonus tracks from that musically fertile period. Rumor has it that originally ‘Rebel Heart’ was to be a double album, with two of Madonna’s emotional sides on raw display. I think that would have been a killer concept; whittled down to one collection left the final version feeling slightly disjointed and all over the place. Still, it was a beautiful mess, and while ‘Borrowed Time’ is rightfully left off the main event, it’s a lovely-enough tune.
DO WE NEED TO START A WAR
DO WE NEED TO TAKE A SIDE
IF WE OPEN UP OUR EYES
REALIZE THAT WE ARE DYING
IS IT ALL WORTH FIGHTING FOR
IT ALL COMES DOWN TO
WHO’S WRONG OR RIGHT
WHO’S BLACK OR WHITE
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE BLEEDING FOR
STRAIGHT OR BI OR
GOD ALMIGHTY
DOESN’T MATTER UNDERNEATH IT ALL
‘CAUSE WE’RE ONLY HERE TO LOVE
LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW
SO LET’S LIVE EACH MOMENT LIKE OUR TIME IS ONLY BORROWED
Back in 2015, after all the leaks and falls and wonky stand-up moments, ‘Rebel Heart‘ arrived with the insistent drumming and drive of a standard Madonna album, even if she was not pushing any overt boundaries. Rather than one or two main collaborators, however, Madonna and/or her management had a hefty cadre of contributors adding to its spotty feel. When it was high, it soared, as in the title track, the second single ‘Ghosttown‘ and the glorious ‘Messiah.’ When it went low on ‘Best Night,’ ‘Queen,’ and ‘S.E.X.‘ it was a reminder that not all that Madonna touched turned to gold. Still, give me a slight Madonna misfire over any current pop star’s smash hit any day. More indicative of the album and Madonna’s head at the time were songs like ‘Joan of Arc’ and ‘Inside Out‘ – two gorgeous songs that deserved more attention and honor.
DO WE NEED TO BUILD A BOMB
DO WE NEED TO FIRE A GUN
IF YOU HAVE TO STAND YOUR GROUND
IT’S A WAR THAT CAN’T BE WON
IS IT ALL WORTH DYING FOR
IT ALL COMES DOWN TO
WHO’S RICH OR POOR
VIRGIN OR WHORE
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE PRAYING FOR
DEATH OR LIFE
YOU’RE TRUTH ALMIGHTY
DOESN’T MATTER UNDERNEATH IT ALL
‘CAUSE WE’RE ONLY HERE TO LOVE
LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW
SO LET’S LIVE EACH MOMENT LIKE OUR TIME IS ONLY BORROWED
The ‘Rebel Heart’ album spawned the Rebel Heart Tour, something warmer and more heartfelt than previous tour outings (such as the criminally and intentionally-icy MDNA Tour). It remains to be seen where she’ll go next with her upcoming Madame X Theater Tour, but the encroachment of time has always been her greatest enemy, and the one consistently driving force that grows louder with each passing year. That must feel suffocating to someone like Madonna, and her quicksilver darting is testament to her mantra that it’s tough to hit a moving target. She hasn’t got much time to wait…
IT ALL COMES DOWN TO
WHO’S RICH OR POOR
VIRGIN OR WHORE
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE PRAYING FOR
DEATH OR LIFE
YOU’RE TRUTH ALMIGHTY
DOESN’T MATTER UNDERNEATH IT ALL
‘CAUSE WE’RE ONLY HERE TO LOVE
LIKE THERE’S NO TOMORROW
SO LET’S LIVE EACH MOMENT LIKE OUR TIME IS ONLY BORROWED
I SING MYSELF TO SLEEP A SONG FROM THE DARKEST HOUR
SECRETS I CAN’T KEEP IN SIGHT OF THE DAY
SWING FROM HIGH TO DEEP, EXTREMES OF SWEET AND SOUR
HOPE THAT GOD EXISTS, I HOPE, I PRAY
Is there a greater joy than discovering an old album by your new favorite band and sifting through to find the gems that came before? Such were the happy musical hunting expeditions on which I’d find myself in the late 90’s after having happened upon the brilliant ‘Laid’ album by James. They quickly became my favorite band and I was searching through their back catalog when I found this song.
At the time, I was a little bit lost between Boston and Amsterdam, as it was the summer. My summers then, in the almost-post-graduate point of life, were divided between the steamy streets and sullied T-stops of Boston and the stultifying, if comfortably air-conditioned, poolside doldrums of my parents’ home in upstate New York. There were Structure stores in both locations, so I would schedule my shifts according to which location I’d be at, spending a few weeks at each before going back to the other. Somehow I also found time to travel and tour, and since Chris had just moved to San Francisco, there was a reason and excuse to visit that alternately sunny and foggy city.
DRAWN BY THE UNDERTOW, MY LIFE IS OUT OF CONTROL
I BELIEVE THIS WAVE WILL BEAR MY WEIGHT, SO LET IT FLOW
OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
SIT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN
IN SYMPATHY
Along with Erasure’s ‘Don’t Say Your Love Is Killing Me’, this song by James became part of my summer lexicon. Chris and I would sit on a hill near Berkeley, smoke silly bidi cigarettes after downing a bottle of Boones, and lament our privileged existence. We were both, admittedly or not, searching for love, and it never seemed to come quite quickly enough. Had we known then what we know now it would have been so much easier to bear, but that’s the conundrum of youth. Too much time, not enough appreciation. Too much beauty, not enough worth.
NOW I’M RELIEVED TO HEAR
THAT YOU’VE BEEN TO SOME FAR-OUT PLACES
IT’S HARD TO CARRY ON
WHEN YOU FEEL ALL ALONE
NOW I’VE SWUNG BACK DOWN AGAIN
IT’S WORSE THAN IT WAS BEFORE
IF I HADN’T SEEN SUCH RICHES
I COULD LIVE WITH BEING POOR
OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN, OH SIT DOWN
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
SIT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN, DOWN
IN SYMPATHY
On a windy, sunny day we walked past the colorful line of homes immortalized by the opening credits of ‘Full House’ – how badly we all want to be part of the sitcom of life, safely and warmly ensconced on a cozy couch in a living room where nothing but studio laughs and lukewarm drama percolated – nothing too dangerous, nothing too disruptive. We arrived at the beach, where the might of the Pacific Ocean merely whispered along the shore. I knew better than to trust a sunny stretch of sand. Deep in that water and far in the distance swum giants both lethal and innocuous – sharks and whales, and Humboldt squid that wouldn’t give up even when hauled aboard your harvester ships. Leviathans that roamed in the darkest depths… I sensed their presence a thousand miles away, and shuddered in the sun.
We backed away from the ocean, from its immensity and sprawling expanse, from the sudden sense of being so small and insignificant. It would be easier to make sense of the world on a smaller scale, to bring it down to a table and a pair of chairs in a restaurant, where we controlled completely what would arrive, how much butter went on a roll, how many sips of water to take. Among the billions, just two young men beginning their life journeys.
THOSE WHO FEEL THE BREATH OF SADNESS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
THOSE WHO FIND THEY’RE TOUCHED BY MADNESS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
THOSE WHO FIND THEMSELVES RIDICULOUS
SIT DOWN NEXT TO ME
We stepped into a bookstore that Jack Kerouac reportedly frequented. Or maybe they were just featuring his work. The memory grows hazy. A veil is lowered. The fog rose all the way to Nob Hill. Pairs of old men shrouded in cigarette smoke pushed chess pieces across tiny tables, sipping tiny cups of cappuccino. Would this be where we ended up?
Memory lapped upon memory, turning things over and over again, beating the brain into sandy submission. The shores of the past meet the shores of the future and present, but where? How far along will such a sea take us? How far will we need to go?
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE, IN FEAR, IN HATE, IN TEARS
IN LOVE,
IN FEAR,
IN HATE…
I used to think that by this point in my life I’d have it all figured out. Now I wonder if we’re never supposed to have it figured out. Maybe figuring it all out while we are here is the end of life. The end of seeking. The end of searching. The end of trying. The end of living.
Back then we would cry out in frustration and desperation. In confusion and delusion. Now we cry out in submission and reconciliation, and I’m not sure which is worse.
Our friends are our consolation.
You cannot be completely lost if you are lost together.
Wacky, wild, weird and wonderful ~ all the superlatives you’ve heard about Madonna’s latest effort ‘Madame X’ are true, and then some. Early indications were questionable, with some die-hard fans finding many (or all) of the pre-release songs lackluster ~ and truth be told they comprise some of the weaker cuts of the album. I happened to be one of the few who loved ‘Medellin’ as a lead-in to the gloriously insane soundscape that ‘Madame X’ ultimately conjures. The duet with Maluma, performed as a holographic party at this year’s Billboard Music Awards, was seen by some as an oddly-muted lead single, but it ushers in a brand-new Madonna, which at this point in her storied career is a major feat unto itself. ‘Madame X’ gives us not one new re-invention, but a dazzling array of personae within which Madonna moves with characteristically-chameleon-like sinew. Whereas image may have fueled past musical endeavors, this time around the look (and it’s an intriguing, multi-faceted, one-eyed siren of sinister sexiness and voluptuous mystique) trails the music in impact. (Take note of the fact that the amazing video for ‘Dark Ballet’ shows only a few seconds of Madonna, cloaked in black lace at that.)
As a whole, ‘Madame X’ functions quite thrillingly as a sonic roller-coaster fit for a scintillating summer. It will invariably be saddled with expectations and a world of social media viciousness, but if you listen to the music you’ll find that everything’s gonna be all right, because the music is more daring and different than anything she’s made in years. That doesn’t always make it better, but it makes itself relevant and meaningful in a three-decade body of work that suddenly feels like an albatross, especially for someone who wants to keep moving forward.
As ‘Medellin’ reaches its giddy release, Madonna invites the listener to take a trip, alternating Spanish lyrics with Maluma and setting the album off on its world-wide trajectory. From there, ‘Dark Ballet’ reveals disturbing hints of tension and unrest, tied up in an insane Tchaikovsky bit over which Madonna gives warning to various entities: “They think we’re not aware of their crimes. We know, but we’re just not ready to act.” Only two songs in, she’s already tried out about five distinctly different voices, from her husky whispered “Cha-cha-cha’s” to the almost-unrecognizably-robotized distortion of ‘Dark Ballet’ and she’s just getting started.
Beginning ‘God Control’ with what sounds like a forced jaw effect, we hear Madonna like we’ve never heard her before. She previously promised ‘I Don’t Give A Fuck’ in 2012’s ‘MDNA’ album, but here she really means it. Even long-time fans of her more daring songs may be surprised by how experimental she’s going with ‘Madame X’ ~ and after finally giving up on chasing past chart glory, there’s a new freedom at work here, even better than her brilliant ‘Rebel Heart’ opus. ‘God Control’ is a highlight, and a powerful encapsulation of this whole new Madonna: exuberant, experimental, and ecstatic in all six-plus minutes of its glory. “It’s a hustle!” she gleefully proclaims at the midpoint, channeling all the disco divas that ever were and ever will be. This glitzy frenzy just keeps building and building until you can envision the final pan-out of a club at its most collectively-throbbing climax, hand-clapping choral chanting transcendently rising to rapture. Beneath it all lurks some troubling commentary on us as a nation, but the music’s so good it almost doesn’t matter, further fueling its potent pack of mixed messages.
An old-world accordion opens the gorgeous ‘Crazy’ and finds Madonna vacillating between joy and despondency, finally and fittingly settling on a certain ambivalent self-empowerment. It’s a piece of pop sweetness ~ captivating melodies and Madonna’s hopeful and mournful delivery. She moves from the high coos of a teenager to the deeper-throated whispers of a very wise and world-weary woman.
‘Crave’ with Swae Lee is deceptively quiet, and it finds Madonna at her most vocally relaxed, cooing like Ariana Grande as skittering high-hats delicately underscore all the obsessive love at hand.
The variety of voices employed here is schizophrenic, but rather than turning things into a disjointed affair, they somehow work to create a cohesive tapestry with their disparate nature. ‘Madame X’ is a skilled shape-shifter, and to her credit Madonna manages to wear multiple hats without ever letting them wear her.
Things falter a bit on the uninspiring ‘Future’ and the dour ‘Killers Who Are Partying’ which quickly falls into Mama-Don’t-Preach muck, but they aren’t bad enough to mar the overall experience of ‘Madame X’, the rest is simply too challenging, too daring, too good. Listen to things pick up whenever Madonna gives in to her new muses, as in the percussive call and response of ‘Batuka’ and the enthralling ‘Come Alive’ ~ all cheeky “I don’t want to blend in, why do you want me to?” attitude like that New York City street urchin from the early 80’s. The new influences of Portugal find delicious fruit in ‘Faz Gostoso’, a rollicking bit of Portuguese aided and abetted by Anitta – irrefutable proof that a good dance song need not originate in the disco, or in English for that matter.
If you’re looking for the ultimate pre-game party-prep track, seek no further than ‘I Don’t Search, I Find’ which locates Madonna back at the apex of 90’s acid-house eleganza. Her icy voice defiantly laments, “There’s no rest for us in this world,” before she gives into the essence of the music, and, finally, enough love.
‘Looking For Mercy’ is a classic Madonna power ballad that grows and grows, ultimately moving beyond a bit of maddening repetition into a clear demonstration of Madonna’s vocal prowess ~ when she cries out for “somebody to teach me to love, somebody to help me rise above” it’s one of the most commanding demonstrations of how stirring her voice can be. ‘Madame X’ could have done with a few more of these moments, and after further listening they may reveal themselves. For now, this is a dense collection of songs that cements her role as artist above all else. More than singer, more than actress, more than movie-maker, more than Madame, Madonna has always and originally been an artist, because an artist is the only thing that can encompass all she hoped to be. ‘Madame X’ returns her to those experimental roots while revealing striking new facets and shadings of her musical legacy. It also marks a way of reconstructing a fractured world, and if the pieces don’t always fit perfectly back together there can be beauty in the cracks as well.
There is a darkness at work here, and ‘Madame X’ is reportedly a direct result of Madonna’s loneliness and search for friends in Lisbon, where meeting up with other musicians at late night jam sessions was a comfort in a strange land. The album is proof that only in music Madonna does find her truest home. We welcome her back from her journey, eager to hear tales of her adventures… and it all sounds absolutely exquisite.
