Category Archives: Music

The Madonna Timeline: Song #91 ~ ‘True Blue’ – Summer 1986/1992

{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.}

Hey!
What?
Listen…

I’ve had other guys,
I’ve looked into their eyes,
But I never knew love before
Til you walked through my door…

The title track to Madonna‘s third album, ‘True Blue’, this was a sugary-sweet pop confection recalling the girl groups of the 50’s, transformed 80’s-style. It was the perfect soundtrack to the summer – and that summer was certainly dominated by this album (such as the hot garage moment of ‘Live to Tell’). My memories of the original release of ‘True Blue’ were mostly of the ‘Make My Video’ contest that MTV had sponsored. The black and white nostalgic clip was vastly superior to Madonna’s own soundstage produced blue-soaked effort, Debi Mazar be damned. The song had greater relevance later in my life, in the early nineties.

I’ve had other lips
I’ve sailed a thousand ships
But no matter where I go
You’re the one for me, baby, this I know
Cause it’s true love,
You’re the one I’m dreaming of
Your heart fits me like a glove
 And I’m gonna be true blue, baby, I love you.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of the car of the young lady who would become my first serious girlfriend, riding to a music rehearsal. She played the flute, I played the oboe, and we both needed someone who played the piano. At the very end of spring we drove across the winding roads of upstate New York, en route to this piano accompanist who would be my only guide as I played some three-movement Handel piece for NYSSMA (don’t even ask what it stands for as I can’t be bothered to remember).

I’ve heard all the lines
I’ve cried oh so many times
Those teardrops they won’t fall again
I’m so excited cause you’re my best friend.

The sun was stationed in the clear blue sky. The trees were lush with that chartreuse shading signaling the start of the season. The grass was already high. I looked over at her hair blowing in the wind, catching the faint hint of her perfume as the wind whipped it around. I don’t know why – as we had always been only friends – but this song came on and I had a premonition that we would one day be more. That day would come that fall, but for now it was just a song playing in the car, and we were driving along with the windows open and the spring air filling the space, and the end of another school year was in sight, and I saw the world open up and become just a little bit brighter.

So if you should ever doubt,
Wonder what love is all about
Just think back and remember dear,
Those words whispered in your ear…

You never forget your first love. We were both so innocent then, so unscathed and unrocked by life. You can never get that back, and if you’re lucky enough to share that time in your life with someone kind, someone trustworthy, someone decent and honorable and good – it makes a binding pact with the world that things might be all right. That would prove invaluable – lifesaving, in fact – later in our journey. She would go on to be one of my best friends, and we survived our break-up and somehow became better, and closer, for it. Whenever I felt scared or lonely or lost faith in people, I looked to her. Sometimes I would call her, in the middle of the night, in sleepless college darkness, just to feel reassured. Sometimes I would visit her and her family to confirm that there was still kindness and goodness in the world. Sometimes it was enough just to remember our time together.

No more sadness,
I kiss it good-bye,
The sun is bursting right out of the sky,
 I’ve searched the whole world for someone like you…
Song #91 : ‘True Blue’ ~ Summer 1986/1992
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This is Madness

Once upon a high school time, this would have been a favorite song of mine. Its obsessive hooks, its obsessive theme, it all would have proven obsession for a teenager in the midst of too many hormones, pent-up emotions, and beaten-down rage. As such, it may be providing fodder for those currently in the midst of such madness. I’m a bit beyond it now, but it brings me back to those nights, when the world began to open up in terrifying, mind-altering ways, transforming me from a boy into a young man, irrevocably changing me, robbing me of innocence, depriving me of hope.

 
 
M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m mad, mad, mad…
M-m-m-m-m-m-m-m mad, mad, mad…
I – I can’t get these memories out of my mind
And some kind of madness has started to evolve…

Once upon a college time I was a stalker. I knew all the *69 tricks, and the *67 cover stories. I wore black to blend into the night. I was there at your bedroom window. I was there when you left in the morning. I was there when you returned in the afternoon. I patrolled your house when you were gone. I smelled your pillow and left my own scent there. You knew it. You wanted me there as you pushed me away. It was okay. I understood. You needed. I wanted. We never met in the middle. And all I could do was long for you.

I have finally seen the light
And I have finally realized what you mean.
And now I need to know if this is real love
Or is it just madness keeping us afloat?
When I look back at all the crazy fights we had
Like some kind of madness was taking control.
Now I have finally seen the light
And I have finally realized what you need.

Once upon a twenty-something time, I searched for something more. It was no longer enough to obsess. I needed something back. I needed you to give me something for all that they had taken from me. I needed you to want. It was unfair of me, yes, it was. I see that now. I may have seen that then. I demanded it anyway. You cannot escape this life unscathed by the rendering of love. And yes, it cuts both ways, delivering its sweet exquisite joy as it rips your heart apart.

And now I have finally seen the end
And I’m not expecting you to care
But I have finally seen the light
I have finally realized
I need to love
I need to love…

We have done so much damage to each other while dancing this dance, and I don’t think either of us was in enough control to stop it. We embraced our collisions, we matched our pain, hurt for hurt, one-upping the other in manipulation, in meanness, in madness. We were so lost, and we thought if we were lost together it would help us find the way. That never works.

We left each other there, for better or worse. We limped away, too proud to lick our wounds. We were  hurt. We were hurt deeply. Unforgivably. And we deserved it all. We weren’t kind. We weren’t good. But we tried. I have to think that we tried. And in some second act, some faraway world, maybe we’ll make it right, maybe we’ll make it work. Maybe it won’t be madness.

Come to me
Just in a dream.
Come on and rescue me.
Yes I know, I can be wrong,
Maybe I’m too headstrong.
Our love is…
Madness.
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Gershwin & Gatsby

A recent trip to see the National Symphony Orchestra has rekindled an interest in classical music, so when the Albany Symphony Orchestra announced tomorrow’s program featuring a Gatsby-inspired bit of Gershwin, I jumped at the chance to attend (even if Gershwin is not exactly ‘classical’ in the traditional sense). Many moons ago, I actually played with the Albany Symphony Orchestra for one of their concerts, sitting beside my teacher and mentor, Gene Marie Green. She taught me everything I knew about the oboe – and it was enough to get me into the Empire State Youth Orchestra, and a few substitute appearances in Albany and Schenectady.

There’s something very powerful about listening to a piece of music played live and uninterrupted from start to finish, something lost in today’s haste-prevents-waste world. A piece of music is a journey, not to be disturbed or heard in snippets or increments. The only way to see the journey through is to start at the beginning, continue through the middle, and last until the very final note reverberates into silence. It’s too bad so many start fidgeting after only five minutes in. Anything beyond the duration of a commercial break is deemed long-winded. But that won’t stop my enjoyment tomorrow, it will only hinder theirs. I won’t mind the candy-unwrapping or seat-shifting. I will listen to the music, I will hear the words of Fitzgerald, and I will be in heavenly abandon.

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The Right Time

Tricky thing, time. Plays all sorts of jokes on us. Even when we get it right, which is more rare than we realize, it still laughs, dismissing our vain notion of having mastered it. We are always at its mercy. So much of life is about timing. Too much, if you think about it. And it’s always a losing battle. Still, we seem to want to do our best to kill it, to stop it, to slow it, to move it, to hasten it or to rewind it. It’s never, and it’s always, the right time.

Keep looking through the window pane,
Just trying to see through the pouring rain
It’s hearing your name, hearing your name
I really never felt quite the same
Since I lost what I had to gain
No one to blame, no one to blame…

I like this song. It ticks along as if it has no timely agenda, just soulfully spreading its mellow vibe out over the night, into the break of morning. The passing of a day conveyed in the dark. The twirling of a clock, infinitely circling. The stillness of the hour. The hour at hand…

Seems to me, can’t turn back the hands of time
Oh it seems to me, can’t turn back the hands of time.
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We Were the World

I must have been in fourth grade when it came out. It was the year it was still okay to be friends with both boys and girls and not have it mean anything more. It was the year I had perfect attendance. It was the year I came into my own, becoming the wise-ass snarky bitch hopefully-tempered-with-kindness-and-occasional-compassion that I am today. It was, no matter what else was going on in the world, a happy time, and Michael Jackson was putting together all the top singing stars to save the world (well, ALMOST all… ahem – a certain Queen was in absentia.)

There comes a time when we heed a certain call
When the world must come together as one.
There are people dying, it’s time to lend a hand
To life, the greatest gift of all.
We can’t go on pretending day by day
That someone somewhere will soon make a change.
We are all a part of God’s great big family
And the truth, you know, love is all we need.

‘We Are the World’. Out of the greedy frenzy of the 80’s came this incongruous plea for aid to Africa. It looks so raw now, so dated, but it seemed so fresh and amazing then. Funniest appearances? I think it’s a toss-up between Bruce Springsteen and Cyndi Lauper. I love them both, but this is them at their caricature-ish best/worst. And what the hell is Dan Ackroyd doing here?

Yet as hilarious as this might look to you (and it does to me), there is still something incredibly moving about it, in the way that I’m always moved by groups of people singing at/to me, especially in the name of doing something good. No matter how small or fruitless, the act of trying to help never fails to touch my heart.

PS – You know that Dionne Warwick and Willie Nelson were totally taking tokes before, after, and during this.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #90 ~ ‘Love Spent’- Spring 2012

{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.}

You had all of me, you wanted more
Would you have married me if I were poor?
Guess if I was your treasury,
You’d have found the time to treasure me…

This stunning song, one of the strongest cuts from last year’s darkly gorgeous ‘MDNA’ album, was wisely added about half-way through the ‘MDNA’ tour, given a stripped-down acoustic makeover that made the scorchingly personal lyrics all the more powerful. In it, Madonna scolds a former paramour (likely Guy Ritchie) about preferring her bank account over her love. On paper it sounds a bit trite and forced – in song, and certainly in that live performance, it becomes so much more.

How come you can’t see, all that you need is right here with me?
Up until the end, all this pretend wasn’t for free…

I don’t know what it’s like to be used for my money (mostly because I’ve never a substantial amount of my own), and I’ve certainly never latched onto someone because they’ve had money either (having never dated a rich boy). But I’m told, and I can understand, that money is one of the biggest causes of break-ups and relationship troubles. (Tell it Suze Orman.) I suppose no one knows that more than Madonna, who reportedly moved into the billionaire’s club recently.

Hold me like your money,
Tell me that you want me
Spend your love on me
Spend your love on me.
Now you have your money
Spend it ’til there’s nothing
Spend your love on me,
Spend your love on me.

It’s hard to work up much empathy for a billionaire, but it does add another layer of complexity to the Madonna mystique. Imagine having that kind of money, the worries and responsibility that goes with being a corporation unto yourself. Sure, she has people who can take care of all of that, but how do you trust all of them? And how do you know if you’re being used? There’s whole other levels of worry, doubt, and dilemmas that grow exponentially as your net worth increases.

If we opened up a joint account,
Would it put an end to all your doubt?
Frankly if my name was Benjamin,
We wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in.
You played with my heart,
Til death do we part,
That’s what you said…

To some, this song might be read as another trifle of self-indulgence, but I don’t see it that way. I don’t hear a rich lady complaining about having too much money, I hear a woman crying out to be loved for herself as much as for her riches. I hear a person’s lament at not being the most important part of their beloved’s life. I hear the plaintive request that the passions a paramour feels include those of their partner. In essence, I hear the hurt of someone who will never be all that their loved one wants.

I want you to take me
Like you took your money
Take me in your arms
Until your last breath
I want you to hold me
Like you hold your money
Hold on to me
Til there’s nothing left

That’s a desperate place to be ~ offering your love but being wanted for something else you possess. Whether it’s money or fame or power, so much of life is simply bits for barter, this for that, and so little is unconditional. This is the sound of one of the richest women in the world begging for something more- something that money can’t buy. It is the currency of love.

Love spent
Really love spent
Yeah, I’m love spent
Wondering where the love went
Love spent
Yeah I’m love spent
Really love spent
Wondering where it all went

I want you to take me like you took your money
Take me In your arms until your last breath
I want you to hold me like you hold your money
Hold me in your arms until there’s nothing left.
Song #90: ‘Love Spent’ – Spring 2012
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The Cheesier the Pop Song, The Better

And they don’t come much cheesier than Starship and ‘Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.’ A perfect slice of 80’s camp, this is from a film called ‘Mannequin’, the plot of which is basically a mannequin coming to life and a man falling in love with her. But if Kim Cattrall is the mannequin, we are all on board. The movie defines ‘cheese’ in the best possible ways, and something in the melody and the trite lyrics spoke to a boy not-so-bravely embarking on his adolescence.

Looking in your eyes, I see a paradise
This world that I found is too good to be true
Standing here beside you, want so much to give you
This love in my heart that I’m feeling for you…

The song peaked at this time of the year (actually hitting #1), and spring is something which makes pop songs more potent. (Maybe not as much as summer, but powerful in other ways – in the release and relief from winter, in the thawing and the awakening of the earth again, in that scent of life being reborn, carried on a warm wind.) Before girls (or boys), I found comfort in the company of friends, hanging out on a weekend in April, itching for the school year to enter its final throes, and seeking out whatever excitement that an eleven-year-old can possibly hope to find. Our concerns were still confined to baseball card trades, sleepovers, and who got to sit where at the movies. Movies like ‘Mannequin’ – which we saw at the Cinema 4 in the Amsterdam Mall – which is where I saw most of the movies of my childhood. (Yes, ‘Cinema 4’ meant there was a whopping total of four theaters.)

We didn’t know or care that there was more out there. Nor did we care about the impossibility of a mannequin coming to life or even the whole notion of falling in love.  There would be time enough for that, and something in me pushed that time far off into the future – I somehow knew it would not be an easy thing for me. But that night, on the sparkling pavement of the upper floor of the mall parking lot, we weren’t looking for love. We were just looking to be kids. The weekend was ahead of us, and we were invincible. Nothing was going to stop us now. Cue the cheesy guitar solo – extra cheese please.

And we can build this dream together
Standing strong forever
Nothing’s gonna stop us now…
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How Bon Jovi Says Good-bye

Was a more perfect end-of-high-school song ever written? If so, I haven’t heard it. (And don’t throw that ‘Theme from Ice Castles’ bullshit this way…) This is ‘Never Say Good-bye’ by Bon Jovi. It was not my theme from high school graduation, as I was not quite graduating from elementary school when this song came out. Instead, it reminds me of someone else, and of a summer day when we were still too young to shine.

Remember when we used to talk about busting out
We’d break their hearts, together, forever
Never say goodbye, never say goodbye
You and me and my old friends, hoping it would never end
Never say goodbye, never say goodbye
Holdin’ on, we got to try, holdin’ on to never say goodbye

We were hanging out under the picnic table at a high school graduation party for a neighbor. We were young – only ten or eleven, maybe twelve, but old enough to comprehend what was going on. The graduate – God-like, blonde, golden boy – came out of the house looking forlorn. The kids watched him walk by, basking in the glory by proximity, in awe of his ease among adults, wanting only to be older ourselves. He was so cool. One of the other kids said he looked dejected because he was about to break up with his girlfriend.

But they had the whole summer ahead of them, I thought to myself. As if reading my mind, the kid said, “He wants to end it now so it’s easier.” I nodded, taking in this sage bit of wisdom, thinking we were somehow cool for getting it, for feeling it a little bit too.

I watched him put his arms around the girl, marveling at the easy way he did it. I also held the secret we knew inside, emboldened by knowing something that she didn’t quite know yet. Part of me wanted to be there when he told her, to see how something like that worked. Would she take it well? Would she understand? Would she cry? Would she walk away? The scenarios unfurled before my active imagination, and I found myself selfishly, insanely, wishing he would do it soon, while we were still there. It appealed to my soap-operatic love of drama, fed by the likes of ‘Santa Barbara’ and ‘Days of Our Lives’.

The white tablecloth fluttered above our heads as we sat beneath the picnic table. Kids can go unnoticed like that, seeing what goes on, taking it all in, and processing it in our childhood minds. It was another step to adulthood. One day I might have to be the strong one, the person who moved first to end a relationship that would never work out. (In truth, that would prove to be a lesson I would never learn; I could not be the first to end something, as later years would attest.) For now, it was exciting just to be in the atmosphere of someone to whom real things were happening, someone not on a daytime drama, someone we kind of knew and cared about. Someone whose life was just taking off. We had a few more years to go before taking such flight. And we didn’t know how lucky we were.

We never know.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #89 ~’Intervention’ – Spring 2003

{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 got to save my baby
Because he makes me cry
I got to make him happy
I got to teach him how to fly
I want to take him higher
Way up like a bird in the sky
I got to calm him down now
I want to save his life

In the spring of 2003 I was working at the Thruway Authority, in an office of men, in Construction Management no less (quite a far cry from where I began, and where I am currently – in offices almost entirely stocked with women). It’s not a sexist thing to say that working with women is different than working with men. And I hope you won’t find it sexist of me to say that it’s often easier to work with men than women (because I hear that from women far more than men).

Sometimes it’s such a pleasure
Sometimes I wanna tear it all down
It’s easy to be lazy
And hard to go away from the crowd
I know the road looks lonely
But that’s just Satan’s game
And either way my baby
We’ll never be the same

Operating as the secretary to the Director, it was actually one of the more pleasant working experiences I’ve had, not only because the Director was cool but because there was so much less drama. Guys disagree differently than girls – not necessarily in a better way, just differently. I always knew where I stood with the guys, and though they had their own gossipy cliques and catty comments, if you confronted them they’d usually give you a straight answer. The women I had worked with previously hadn’t done that. They’d smile and pretend to like you and then you’d find out they were talking shit about you ten minutes earlier. That kind of passive-aggressive nonsense I didn’t abide.

In the blink of an eye everything could change
Say hello to your life, now you’re living
This is it from now on
It’s a brand new day
It was time to wake up from this dream (from this dream)

But what does that have to do with ‘Intervention’? I’m not sure. It was just the song that was playing in my car as I remembered switching from an office of women to an office of men. And if there’s one person that always gets me thinking about the differences between men and women, it’s Madonna.

Song #89: ‘Intervention’ – Spring 2003

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The Music of Spring, The Music that Made Me Cry

It was the last ‘Appalachian Spring’ and we were rehearsing Copland in a church as part of my final season in the Empire State Youth Orchestra. I loved the music, but hated the competition and the demands placed on teenagers, the politics, the whole scene. But on this March night in the earliest part of the 90’s, I listened only to the music, I got lost in the notes, and it all made sense as I prepared to say good-bye. I looked around the Shaker-like surroundings. The wooden floors and pews, the grand high windows letting in the white light from outside. There was a stark beauty to it all, a barren, rustic, American beauty. Filled with promise, yet not without regret, I took it in.

The music slowed and quieted, and the heart went along with it. It perked up, it sped along, like a stream bulging with the melted snow of winter, all rivulets running into one great body: all paths lead to God. It was the last concert I would ever play as part of the Empire State Youth Orchestra. No more Melodies of Christmas, no more all-day Play-a-thons at Crossgates or Clifton Country Malls, no more five-hour practice sessions on Tuesday nights. I walked out of that church without looking back. I had done the best I could do. It had not been enough. But the music – the music stayed with me. The might and majesty of a piece like ‘Appalachian Spring’ – the beauty of Aaron Copland’s music, wrought from the inspiration of Martha Graham, of America, of the very beginning of spring – it remained a part of my heart, lodging itself safely within, barricading against the semantics and the technicalities that made the creation and execution of art so difficult.

The trumpets sound, the traditional Shaker tune races to its climax, and the stately finale dissolves into delicate grandeur, like the last mound of dirty snow, rejoining the land, nourishing the roots, coming down from such lofty and dangerous heights. The final notes dissipate almost silently into the air. There is a moment of grace in this church. My eyes suddenly fill with tears, and I wipe them quickly away. It is one of the first pieces of music that makes me cry. All the years of practice, of hard work, of mistakes and failings – they are worth it for this one window of time.

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gain’d,
To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,
To turn, turn will be our delight
‘Till by turning, turning we come round right.
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A Lover of Attention

Twenty years ago James released what I humbly consider to be their best album, ‘Laid’. Contained within were some of their most moving, diverse, and brilliant songs, including this one, ‘P.S.’ At the time, the album was a lifesaver for a college freshman just trying to survive. But deeper and more disturbing than that, this particular song was a finger pointed directly at me, an inescapable indictment of all that I would ever do – a warning that would go both heralded and unheeded – a catastrophe, a triumph, a failing, and an accusation. In the loneliest nights, the words haunted me, the melody taunted me, the undertow pulling everything down with it ~ and I let it happen, I let myself be pulled. It was easier to give in, to give up.

You’re a weapon of devotion
Keep the faithful entertained
You’re a lover of attention
Found a way to pawn the soul
Disposition may be fetching
But the world moves on and leaves you far behind

What had ever come of my love? Nothing good, nothing lasting. Nothing but mistrust, blame, anger, fear – and that’s not even touching on the romantic stuff yet. Family and friends were more than enough to throw any love back in my face, to make me wonder at my worth. It would never be enough. And why should it? Love should be limitless, unconditional, unwavering and unquestionable. It should be. It absolutely should be. But it’s not.

I hear you, I hear you, whispering such gorgeous stories
I see you, I see you, trying to break free
You liar, you liar, you can’t live the dreams you’re spinning
You liar, love to be deceived

They speak of me. When they think I don’t notice, I do. I am used to it. You learn to decipher whispers when they follow you from an early age. You know when they’re vicious, when they’re harmless, when they’re flattering, and when they’re horrid. You can tell the kind whispers from the cruel ones, the taunting from the admiring – but at their heart they’re all the same: whispers. Never meant to be heard by their subject.

Maybe I’m being paranoid. Or self-obsessed. Accustomed to both charges, I let them they roll off the armor of my outfits. I duck behind the gauntlets of Jean Paul Gaultier, I hide within the folds of Ralph Lauren, I defy in the crispness of Calvin Klein. Around my person an impenetrable and invisible shield of cologne waits to release its dangerous invitation. A pocket of Prada proves protection enough. And you – you see right through it.

You’re falling, you’re falling, falling from your god-like distance
You’re fashion, just fashion, fashion doesn’t keep
You’re sour, so sour, all is hope and trust is misplaced
You’re sour, now you are alone

In the last days of a winter that felt unending, my bed remained unmade. An absent roommate who had already found puppy love with a girl across campus left me alone, and gratefully so. I could thrash in solitude through the nights, tear-stained moments of terror ripping me violently from any hope of sleep, and unseen by prying eyes. If you don’t know what it is like to be alone…

Walking on fire, feel the way the world’s inclining
Walking on fire, hate to deceive
Walking on fire, now the world will keep its distance
Walking on fire, you rather than me

My pretty clothes hung in the thin closet. My outfit for the next day hung on the back of the desk chair. My daily organizer was open to the next list of what I had to do on the next morning. Everything was ordered, everything was set, everything was next. It was never now. It was only the reach for what lay ahead.

My son says, dear father, what did you do when the world turned over
Keep spinning, keep spinning, send us off to sleep
You liar, you liar, all your words are just dust in moonshine
You liar, love to be deceived

One night the winter just walked away. Left me there. I made the bed. Vacuumed the floor. Opened the window a crack. A pine tree waved in the wind. An unseen bird cried in the distance. The earth heaved in its thaw, releasing itself in a torrent of icy tears. I felt nothing.

Armed with the sustenance of my solitude – and you will never have that sort of power if you have never been alone – I walked out of the dorm and into the outside air. Saying hello to a few passing students, I mustered my smile. It was easier that way. It ended things faster. It caused less trouble. Less consternation. Less… discomfort. Because that’s what we’re supposed to do, right?

Walking on fire, found a place away from humans
Walking on fire, hate to deceive
Walking on fire, now the world will keep its distance
Walking on fire, you rather than me…
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I’ll Be There For You

It seems strange when I think back on it, but I guess Bon Jovi played a bigger part in the soundtrack to my youth than I realized. Chalk it up to the fact that one of my best friends, Ann, was in love with Jon, so by proxy a little of that love rubbed off on me. Lord knows when I was in 9th grade I was far from understanding the angst and heartache that resonates in a song like ‘I’ll Be There For You’, but if I was far from understanding what it was to love like that, I knew what it was like to have a friend like Ann. Friendship – not romantic love – was the first meaningful connection I made in life.

I’ll be there for you
These five words I swear to you
When you breathe I want to be the air for you
I’ll be there for you
I’d live and I’d die for you
I’d steal the sun from the sky for you
Words can’t say what love can do
I’ll be there for you
I know you know we’ve had some good times
Now they have their own hiding place
Well I can promise you tomorrow
But I can’t buy back yesterday

Back then I had a fairly close circle of friends. I was not popular, I was not loved by the masses, but I was adored by a small number of people who were like family to me. To this day, I maintain that small circle of friends, courting the love of a select few in preference to all else. In the final breath of winter, when the season verges on the next, and the cusp of spring is in the air even with the imminent threat of another storm, I am reminded of the ties of friendship, and those early days of a burgeoning friendship, when you could stay on the phone with a friend for hours, talking and laughing and thinking this was the most important conversation of your life.

Say what you will about me, my loyalty to my friends has never wavered… and it never will.

 

I guess this time you’re really leaving
I heard your suitcase say goodbye
Well as my broken heart lies bleeding
you say true love is suicide
You say you’ve cried a thousand rivers
And now you’re swimming for the shore
You left me drowning in my tears
And you won’t save me anymore…

 

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Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

My pal Parley pointed out that today marks the anniversary of the death of Patsy Cline, a favorite around these parts (and the closest I’ll get to appreciating country music, I’m afraid). Ms. Cline sang of heartache and heartbreak better than just about anyone else – it’s there in her words, there in her voice, there in the longing expressed by her heart. Certain singers have an intrinsic loneliness to their work – Judy Garland, Annie Lennox, and even Madonna (listen to ‘I Want You‘ or ‘You’ll See‘ – hell, the whole ‘Something to Remember’ album) – and I tend to gravitate toward them because of it. Not that they haven’t had a lot of love or romance in their lives, but because they somehow felt the heartbreak more acutely, or at least managed to translate that pain into song. A sad torch song or a bluesy siren’s cry will always trump a dance-pop tune for me, especially at night. I’m melancholy that way, even if laughing with friends beats crying with lovers.

Sweet dreams of you
Every night I go through
Why can’t I forget you and start loving someone new
Instead of having sweet dreams about you?
You don’t love me,
It’s plain I should know,
I’ll never wear your ring
I should hate you the whole night through
Instead of having sweet dreams about you.
Sweet dreams of you
Things I know can’t come true
Why can’t I forget the past, and start my life anew
Instead of having sweet dreams about you…?
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Fifteen Years of Light

No famous faces, far-off places, trinkets I can buy
No handsome stranger, heady danger, drug that I can try
No ferris wheel, no heart to steal, no laughter in the dark
No one-night-stand, no far-off land, no fire that I can spark…

The incantation came three-quarters of the way into the opening track of Madonna’s ‘Ray of Light’ album, celebrating its 15th anniversary today. As I listen to the song now, it resonates differently than it did then, in ways both wonderful and wistful. On this day, Spring seems light years away, as snow falls down coating the outside world in white. Back in 1998, the season of rebirth was in the air at the midnight hour of ‘Ray of Light’s release.

That enchanting evening, rife with mystical magic and musical majesty, has been well-documented in this space numerous times. Today, I listen to the album from start to finish as Andy sleeps and snow falls. It is, literally and figuratively, the morning to 1998’s night. The wondrous thing about the album is that it works so brilliantly in both.

It seems that everyone – even non-hard-core-Madonna fans – has a ‘Ray of Light’ memory. It is, far more than any other period in her career, the one moment when the world collectively came together in love and support of the Queen. Critical notices were glowing, sales were stellar (in spite of the fact that the album failed to reach #1, held down to the #2 spot not by that “damn Bodyguard soundtrack”, but by another cultural phenomenon, ‘Titanic’), and Madonna was back in vogue, ending the tumultuous 90’s as she began it: on top.

This was, even more-so than the glorious ‘Like A Prayer’, the album that solidified Madonna’s musical legacy, defining her once and for all as a serious artist, with a lasting body of work. Listening to the album now, it sounds as classic and pure as it did fifteen years ago, with nary a notion of nostalgia or dated-ness. In fact, ‘Ray of Light’ may be the most timeless of Madonna’s albums, thanks in no small part to its marriage of guitars and electronica, the latter of which might have worked against it, had electronica not been around since the 70’s.

The album also found Madonna at her most melancholy and contemplative, which is where I’ve always felt most connected to her. Sure, there were racing highlights like the title track, and the classic-Madonna-backed-by-Niki-and-Donna dance of ‘Nothing Really Matters’, but at its heart, this was a dark, moody, moving album – less concerned with getting people on their feet, and more intent on getting into their hearts.

It was a spiritual journey, which sounds a lot more lugubrious than the melodies would have you believe, and it’s a testament to the alchemy between Madonna and William Orbit that it worked so well. With its extreme themes of love, death, fame, desire, heartbreak, childhood, and even sanskrit, it’s amazing how cohesive the roller-coaster of emotions ends up being, but Madonna’s voice encapsulates it all, backed by the guitar-based delicacies of Orbit’s music.

For me, the lightning and thunder will always be found in the first track, ‘Drowned World: Substitute for Love.’ Nowhere else has Madonna sounded more genuine, more heartfelt, more emotionally open than on this song. For anyone who has ever searched for purpose in love, or who has been left unloved or unwanted and tried to fill that emptiness with something else, this is the song that should matter most.

The entire album is a movement of meditation. It can be as light and airy as an ambient breeze, or as heavy and rich as a centuries-old tapestry of woven filaments of valuable metals. It opens up to you when you are ready to receive it, changing and evolving with the years, minding your shifting consciousness, touching you in new ways upon every listen. Many of us have that one artist we love more than all others – the one who speaks to you in ways that no one else ever could – whether it’s Bach or Beethoven, the Beatles or Bon Jovi, Billie Holiday or Britney Spears – for me, that artist has always been Madonna, and ‘Ray of Light’ was the record that confirmed it.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #88 ~ ‘Ray of Light’ ~ Spring 1998

{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.}

Copley Square, Boston, MA ~ On a beautiful Spring night, the very start of the season, he glides in front of Trinity Church. A flowing black coat billows behind him, and it makes him look like a night creature soaring forth from some Frozen video. The throbbing bass pumps through the headphones on his ears, and he cannot hear the drone of blades upon pavement. He flies in front of the statue of Phillips Brooks, taking sharp turns among the rockier cobblestone, then gaining speed as the space opens up before the square. Whizzing by some late-night straggler, he cuts a wide curve, approaching midnight and the expansive green that leads to the library. In the night sky, clouds hover between earth and stars, and the mottled glow of the moon peeks through the wispy blanket. A gentle wind from the West lifts him, and he is flying…

Zephyr in the sky at night I wonder
 

 

Do my tears of mourning sink beneath the sun?
 

 

She’s got herself a universe gone quickly,
 

 

For the call of thunder threatens everyone.

Standing in the midnight release line at Tower Records on Newbury Street a few minutes before the calendar marked March 3, 1998, I listen as her voice fills the space. From the opening of ‘Drowned World: Substitute for Love‘ to the undulating guitar currents of ‘Swim’, this is the premiere of Madonna’s new album, ‘Ray of Light’ ~ her first since the vocal calisthenics of ‘Evita’, and a bit of a proper pop comeback. (‘Bedtime Stories’ had gone some way toward mending the implosion of ‘Erotica‘ and the ‘Sex‘ years, as did her turn in ‘Evita’, but it was ‘Ray of Light’ that would bring her back to the pinnacle of critical and commercial success to which she was rightfully accustomed.)

Along with a growing group of Madonna fans running around the perimeter of the store, I am giddily awaiting to get my hands on her first original studio album in four years. Advance word was that this record was brilliant, and as I listened to her crystal-clear tone, it felt like she had just returned home, to the place where we’ve always wanted her to be: in the music.

And I feel like I just got home
And I feel…
And I feel like I just got home
And I feel…

At that point, working in retail and living in Boston, I was still not sure of where my own home might be. It certainly felt like Boston, but it also felt like Amsterdam, or Rochester, or wherever I found my suitcase and my friends. Sometimes I felt most at home in a strange land, an unremarkable hotel room, an airport gate, or a pair of empty train seats. At other moments I felt home was in the arms of a stranger, a nameless body and a handsome face, a nightly delight of transitory in-between states, both the people and my mind. The ‘Ray of Light’ album informed this period of my life, becoming the soundtrack to one of the most soul-evolving transitions in my life.

Up until that album, I’d made a mess of things in every romantic endeavor I attempted, falling for guys who weren’t interested in me, or acting a fool with those who were. Romance was a scene of repetitive trauma, where the same obsessive mistakes and ill-fitting acts went on, without resolution or improvement, where I poured my heart again and again into situations that today I would balk at, or at the very least laugh. Back then it all seemed so serious, and I was too young to be such an earnest individual. When the opening guitar chords of ‘Ray of Light’ rang out over the speakers at Tower Records, I felt my heart on the verge of bursting ~ for regret, for hunger, for happiness and for hope. It was the moment of an audible shift in perspective. There, in that song, was an instant of sheer joy, as the bass pounded and the beat kicked in, rendering and revealing the moment as both the miniscule role we play in the bigger picture, as well as a representation of the immensity of our place in it. Suddenly it all clicked, and those years of hurt and frustration were left in the dust. I could cry over the sorrows of the past, dwell on the shame and embarrassment, and wallow in the pain of everything I could not control, but the only person who was harmed in all of that was me. In the words of another wise woman, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”

 
 
Faster than the speeding light she’s flying

 

Trying to remember where it all began.

 

She’s got herself a little piece of heaven

 

Waiting for the time when Earth shall be as one.

 

It was a turning point in the way I saw life. The enjoyment of the present moment could now be seen as a flower in full bloom ~ tomorrow it might fade and fall apart, but that was no excuse not to enjoy today ~ in fact, all the more reason to make the most of it. Romance, once the heavy stuff of dusty Victorian novels, the impossible-not-to-be-dashed hopes of ill-fated suitors, was rechristened into something lighter, far more fun, and thrilling in a giddy way. Men ~ those strange, wondrous, enchanting figures that drifted so dreamily across my mind ~ lost a bit of their hold over my sway. And the moment you stop the search, the moment you really and truly come into your own, when you realize that you don’t need anyone to be all right, is the moment you become tantalizing to others. No one liked a cry baby, and no one wanted a wimp. All those years of moping around and going on about losing out on love were seen at last as a foolish waste ~ the indulgent sort of pain that those in true peril instantly dismiss.

It didn’t happen over the course of this one song ~ though it played a helpful part. It played out over the Spring and Summer of that year ~ and the next time I entertained a relationship would end up being one of the great loves of my life. For now, though, for the summer of ‘Ray of Light’, I was light-hearted and happy and fulfilled by some light play, some unexpected cuddling, and some sexy, sultry nights. It was an awakening.

 

 
 
And I feel like I just got home
And I feel…
And I feel like I just got home
And I feel…
Quicker than a ray of light…
Quicker than a ray of light…
Quicker than a ray of light…

Far more than romance, it also affected my friendships, and, more importantly, my ability to make friends. All my life I’d been almost painfully shy, even as I pretended otherwise. My barriers were always up, emotional weapons ever at the ready, for self-preservation and protection more than anything else, but the end result was the same ~ impenetrable coldness. The inaccessibility of the unloved, and the self-defeating/self-fulfilling whirlpool of swallowed feelings, of a perpetually downward spiral… well, at its most basic, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. I didn’t want to be less-than-perfect. And perfection is both icy and wearying. It’s hard to love a perfectionist, and even harder to know what, if anything, about a perfectionist is real ~ because perfect people simply don’t exist. Once I stopped pretending, once I revealed my foibles and stumbles, admitted my ignorance, and loosened up on the hair product, I was much better company.

On a Spring night a few days after ‘Ray of Light’ was released, I had my friend Simon over for drinks. He was a straight guy ~ one of the few who worked at Structure at the time ~ and we shared a cocktail or two before heading out into the night. I asked if he wanted to come along while I tried out a pair of rollerblades (proof that I truly no longer minded making a fool of myself in front of people). I donned a ridiculously dramatic black coat that fluttered behind me in the breeze. I went slowly at first, as he was on foot, circling around as we chatted about work and other nonsense. This, then, was what others did ~ they talked with co-workers, they shared silliness, they slowed and accelerated to keep up with friends. We neared Copley Square, where Simon would get on the T, and I’d get to go as fast as I could in the open expanse of the space in front of Trinity Church. I turned my headphones up, and as the high-pitched scream near the end of the song sounded, I joined Madonna in falsetto-bitch madness, screaming at the top of my lungs. I couldn’t hear myself with the headphones on, but I saw Simon turn around, look at me like I was crazy, then bust out laughing.

Zephyr in the sky at night I wonder
Do my tears of mourning sink beneath the sun?
She’s got herself a universe gone quickly,
For the call of thunder threatens everyone.

I returned to my parents’ home in upstate New York for some of that summer, and Madonna was on the Oprah Winfrey show, where she performed ‘Ray of Light’ live for the first time. She looked radiant, relaxed, and gleeful. There had been tornado warnings that week, and thunderstorms stalked the area (there was even a Storm Watch warning that got recorded during the show, somewhere on that long-lost VHS tape), but at the end of the tumultuousness came the sun. That season of ‘Ray of Light’ found me having fun in Rochester, and Albany, and even Amsterdam. I bounced around to several places, taking Madonna’s cue for a more relaxed and less severe stance on life. I wore the remnants of some old beads I’d had from the ‘Like A Prayer’ days, lined my arms with ratty hemp bracelets, flirting with the ease of faded denim and hippy accents like a re-born flower child. And I found a glimpse of love here and there, not allowing myself to get bogged down with it, not allowing myself to stay anywhere for too long, but just enough to sustain the heart. In that way, I learned not to settle, even if not settling had its price too.

A few weeks later, I found myself walking along the tracks of a train terminal, coming or going from Boston, with this song running through my head. Luggage weighed down both my hands, but the sun shone brilliantly amid the departing and arriving trains, and my heart was light as the day. Perhaps this was my home ~ this perpetual state of journeying, this place of transitory transit ~ and perhaps home wasn’t a place, but a frame of mind. If that proved to be true, then maybe we’ve always been home all along, we just didn’t know it. It may not erase the terrors of the past ~ and that Wizard-of-Oz-like journey will never be completely forgotten ~ but it makes the way of the future a little easier to bear.

And I feel…
Quicker than a ray of light
Then gone for
Someone else will be there
Through the endless years
She’s got herself a universe
She’s got herself a universe
She’s got herself a universe

As a song, ‘Ray of Light’ was a momentous milestone in Madonna’s creative trajectory. It was an instant classic, and a high-point on her greatest studio album to date. While live performances have occasionally been spotty (a wretched VMA’s that year, and a dismal high note at a Live Aid event), she’s performed it admirably on a number of tours ~ perhaps too many, as its overexposure by the time ‘Sticky and Sweet’ came around almost made it feel like filler. I still think her straightforward reading of it (without playing guitar) on the Drowned World Tour was my favorite.

The video is a hyper-kinetic sped-up view of a day in the world, the first of a relatively long line to be directed by Jonas Akerlund. For some reason, this effort always felt a bit hollow, especially for the title track of such an epic album. Madonna is almost a supporting player in the tapestry of life that moves at break-neck pace across the screen, but it works in showing that she’s just a bit player in the universe too, so I guess I’m just being selfish in wanting to see more of her.

And I feel
And I feel
And I feel like I just got home
And I feel…

As for me, ‘Ray of Light’ will always be remembered as the song of the summer in which I learned to let the past go, and to love and laugh and live in the moment. It will always be one of Madonna’s greatest lessons ~ finding the simple joy in music ~ and whenever I find myself bogged down by dismal dwelling or onerous worries of future events, I think of this song, it takes me away, and together we soar.

Quicker than a ray of light she’s flying…
Quicker than a ray of light I’m flying…
Song #88: ‘Ray of Light’ ~Spring 1998
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