Arguably her second greatest album (after ‘Ray of Light‘), ‘‘Like A Prayer‘ was released exactly thirty years ago on this date in 1989. I would rank it second based on its first two singles alone, but the remaining tracks are equally brilliant (give or take an eccentric Prince contribution and the often-problematic final track of a Madonna album).
In March of 1989, I was thirteen years old.
Tricky time of life, thirteen.
In some cultures that’s considered the point of life when your soul solidifies into what it’s going to be for life. For me, it was roughly the time of adult cognizance, the point at which I can start remembering most of what happens in a day rather than have it obscured by the murky half-remembrances of childhood (and the murky non-remembrances of the past decade, when memory stopped being made).
It was my last year at Wilbur H. Lynch Middle School ~ that quick two-year experience between elementary and high school ~ and as the winter neared its completion that year, we were all a little antsy. And bored. Raised on NBC’s daytime line-up, I hungered for drama and intrigue, for something more exciting than Social Studies or band. In the hallway outside the auditorium of the school, an expansive marble staircase wound its way up to the second floor. In mottled shades of gray, the marble was a glimpse of something beautiful in the midst of so much mediocrity. So too was Madonna’s new album in the pop landscape in 1989.
‘Like A Prayer’ shocked many, surprised some, and scared the hell out of me once the whispered beginnings and backward choir of ‘Act of Contrition’ kicked in. So entrenched in the Catholic dogma was I that one spring evening I found myself in the backyard holding a heavy stone over my head, about to smash it down on the cassette version of ‘Like A Prayer’ in an act of divine loyalty. It still wasn’t enough to keep ‘Like A Prayer’ from instantly searing itself into my memory bank. But I digress…
On those mornings, after I was dressed and about to depart for school, I’d sneak a peek at whatever was on MTV in my parents room. Dad had been at the hospital working for an hour already, while mom was downstairs waiting for my brother. Over their bed hung a large, graphic crucifix. The crown of thorns was slightly dusty. Cobwebs draped the arms of Jesus. His sorrowful expression, eyes closed in death or impending death, gave no hint or knowledge of any future resurrection. The blood pouring forth from his nailed hands must have made knowledge like that incredibly useless.
The dark early morning and the drawn shades meant that only the television was lighting the room. Flames of burning crosses lit up the crucifix and surrounding walls as Madonna danced to ‘Like A Prayer’ and I shuddered at whether this crossed the borderline into something blasphemous or sinful. Would God punish me for this? Would he punish my family? Guilt, loyalty, reverence and impudence crossed my mind and took up battle with one another. Religion clashed with nature clashed with spirituality clashed with gleeful demonic possession. A statue of a black saint bled ruby blood from his eyes while Madonna’s own palms were suddenly inflicted with stigmata ostensibly from a dropped knife. All the while, the music raged and the choir sang and the whole thing was so rapturous I thought I might die right there on the bed.
My mother’s voice breaks the reverie. My brother rushes by in the hall and thunders down the stairs. As the day goes by, I walk the hallways of school and think of Madonna’s song. Hearing it play in my mind, I envision the marble and the columns and the grandiosity of the school architecture rising to majestic heights and magnificence as if they were transforming into an iconic church. Echoes of children bounced off the stone, rose into the air, and collided with other voices. Angelic innocence smothered by devilish treachery. We were all just animals struggling to survive.
At such a young age ~ and yes, once upon a long time ago the age of thirteen was incredibly young and relatively innocent ~ I was not yet interested in girls. Little did I understand or even realize then, beyond a stirring I did my best to keep quiet and still, that I would never be interested in girls. Something like ‘Love Song’ was lost on entirely on me, as the stuff of crushes and infatuations would not come into play for several years. Of more immediate concern was the idea of parental abandonment and strife as portrayed in ‘Oh Father‘ and ‘Promise To Try‘ ~ on the cusp of adolescence, my issues with my parents were about to become as understandably strained as those of any young gay guy being raised in a strict, Catholic, half-Filipino household. I simply didn’t know it then, and was not ready to confront anyone or anything. Madonna sang for me, whether I realized it or not, and we began building an irrevocable bond that no one would ever fully understand.
Other songs sounded good, even if I didn’t have a clue about the pain that was being conveyed. I was happily light years away from understanding anything about ‘Til Death Do Us Part‘ ~ but the warning was implicit, not that there was any magic trick to avoiding falling in love. If there was, I’m sure I wouldn’t follow it. Most thirteen-year-olds won’t be bothered with such warnings, unless it’s to explicitly defy them. I wasn’t that difficult, yet, and so I listened from the safe vantage point of a bystander, enthralled and transfixed by the woman whose music always brought such exuberant joy and happiness. To that end, ‘Like A Prayer’ was distinctly different from the confections of ‘True Blue’ and ‘Like A Virgin‘ (even if there was ‘Cherish’).
Mostly this album was the start of a somber time. There was maybe one more year of carefree youth before things started to really change, before we took the irretrievable steps beyond childhood, when ‘Keep it Together‘ became the real prayer. The lament of ‘Pray for Spanish Eyes‘ and the lost enchantment of ‘Dear Jessie‘ hinted at darker days to come. The marble halls of my middle school days were already receding into memory, dissolving like some smoky sleight of hand, mere wisps of fragmented sounds and scents, faded evocations of a time that had no end and no beginning…
The ‘Like A Prayer’ album would be with me for the rest of my life, evolving and meaning different things to me as the years passed. I would come to understand all the songs that I could only feel the surface of back then, and the songs that I thought I knew so well would eventually reveal layers of meaning and a resonance that would continually inform my journey. (‘Express Yourself’ indeed.)
That’s the mark of a great music album.
It’s also the mark of a great musician.
Madonna proved herself with ‘Like A Prayer’ – and that was no mystery.
We no longer stood alone.
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