{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
This particular story must begin not with a Madonna song but a selection from ‘Swan Lake’ by Tchaikovsky. It rises slowly from a mist, just above some tremulous body of midnight water sparkling beneath a mysterious moon, in the darkness of winter on the edge of glassy-eyed solitude. There is beauty here, and there is danger ~ the razor-thin line between love and betrayal. In so many ways, one wouldn’t exist without the possibility or reality of the other. When men dance with men, there is a whole new set of rules and mores. Rarely does the dance end without injury; sometimes it only ends with death.
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE, BUT I’M NOT CONCERNED
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL DREAM, BUT A DREAM IS EARNED
I CAN DRESS LIKE A BOY, I CAN DRESS LIKE A GIRL
KEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL WORDS, ‘CAUSE I’M NOT CONCERNED
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS SUCH A SHAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S OBSESSED WITH FAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S IN SO MUCH PAIN
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
UP IN FLAMES
We are in New York City for a production of ‘Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake’, the pseudo-ballet that turns the classic tale into a coming of age homosexual love story of sorts, while touching on all sorts of emotional mayhem and compelling visuals along the way, including a cadre of shirtless male swans that are feral, ferocious, exquisite and enchanting. I’d taken Andy to see it many years ago, and tonight I was gifting it to Suzie, along with the same pre-theatre dinner stop at the Russian Tea Room – for Tchaikovsky, of course.
The evening is threatening rain, which is actually rather benign for a January night. Even so, I brought the wrong coat for rain. After our dinner, and mocktails at The Plaza, we have an hour or so before the show, so we duck into a teahouse called Radiance. Warm wooden surroundings echo the heat of the teapots. We consider a turmeric blend but opt for something called Serenity with chamomile and lavender. When Serenity is an option, one should always choose Serenity. There, in the midst of a dark gray night, and before the curtain rises on ‘Swan Lake’, we nestle into a secret nook hidden in a non-descript stretch of street across from the theater. It is a jewel-box of a teahouse that perfectly cradles us within its curving carved wood. My necklace of black feathers, a last-minute find while waiting for Suzie to arrive, and just the thing for an evening of dramatic swans, is mostly concealed by an ornate silk scarf scented with Tom Ford’s ‘Oud Fleur’.
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL PLAN (HMM), BUT I’M NOT CONCERNED (OH YEAH)
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL GAME (HMM) THAT I NEVER LEARNED
PEOPLE TELL ME TO SHUT MY MOUTH (SHUT YOUR MOUTH)
THAT I MIGHT GET BURNED
KEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL LIES (HMM) ‘CAUSE I’M NOT CONCERNED
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS SUCH A SHAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S OBSESSED WITH FAME
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD’S IN SO MUCH PAIN
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
‘CAUSE YOUR WORLD IS
A twist on the typical take of this balletic tale, this version always brings out new sensations and emotions depending on where one is in their life. The first time I saw it I was touched by the familial relations and the way image and outward appearance of a family unit was more important than what went on behind closed doors. It was a brilliant rendering of that space where what people saw of your back as you sat down in the front pew of church with your family mattered more than what was in a little boy’s heart, where appearance counted for more than substance, because what happened behind the walls of your childhood house could better be hidden and explained or unexplained away all that much easier. Distant parental figures unskilled at unconditional love, particularly for a child who didn’t behave or desire the way most other children did.
That first time I was also moved with the way the show illustrated the first flush of romantic love, that feeling of being both wanted and protected, loved and desired, cared for and completed. When the protagonist arrives at the edge of a lake and finds the beauty of the swans, it was a transcendent experience for anyone who has spent any amount of time hiding and then discovering who they were. For a gay man of a certain age, it was powerful stuff.
For this evening’s performance, those moments touched me again, but I was most moved by what happens when it appears there may be a happily ever after, when man and swan dance together while the world of swans and humans looks on, and then attacks, because at some point every couple comes under attack. Most of the time the attacks come from the inside – occasionally they come from an outside source, and only the lucky ones get out without an element of destruction. The final scenes were heartbreaking, as the very essence of love and companionship was torn violently asunder, and the envy and vindictiveness of others intrudes, ripping any remnants of innocence apart. The swan troop swoops in and attacks the one swan who saved the young man, because not everyone can be happy in the happiness of others. They killed him, but they could not kill love. The young man dies too, but not his love. For its time, it existed – like a little fire, providing warmth and haven from a cruel, frigid world – and it lasted for as long as it lasted. In such a sense, love can be both finite and forever.
The curtain fell. The show was over. We exited the theater.
Another ballet was about to begin… a Dark Ballet.
Beauty.
Darkness.
Dance.
Sacrifice.
Storm.
All of it fits within the realm of Art, that all-encompassing way that humans have developed of dealing with the world as we know it. How to interpret and shape a vision, how to reflect upon and expound upon the particular time at hand, how to express a way out when one needs to escape. Art, in its most desperate state, is survival.
It was at the Metropolitan Museum of Art during the Met Gala when Madonna premiered a snippet of this song during her magnificent performance, paving the way for the dark beauty that would be her ‘Madame X’ album. It was theatrical, and the ‘Dark Ballet’ bit incorporated classical piano riffs and some balletic dancing recalling Madonna’s own storied beginnings as a dancer, where she was supposedly christened ‘Madame X’ by none other than Martha Graham.
I WILL NOT DENOUNCE THE THINGS THAT I HAVE SAID
I WILL NOT RENOUNCE MY FAITH IN MY SWEET LORD
HE HAS CHOSEN ME TO FIGHT AGAINST THE ENGLISH
I AM NOT AFRAID AT ALL TO DIE ‘CAUSE I BELIEVE YOU
GOD IS ON MY SIDE AND I’LL BE FINE
I AM NOT AFRAID ‘CAUSE I HAVE FAITH IN HIM
YOU CAN CUT MY HAIR AND THROW ME IN A JAIL CELL
SAY THAT I’M A WITCH AND BURN ME AT THE STAKE
IT’S ALL A BIG MISTAKE
DON’T YOU KNOW TO DOUBT HIM IS A SIN?
I WON’T GIVE IN
By far one of Madonna’s most experimental works, this song joins a largely-unrecognized canon of astounding aural adventures (see also ‘Gang Bang‘, ‘Mer Girl‘, ‘Act of Contrition‘ and ‘Secret Garden‘ – not all of which work, but none of which are dull or boring). It’s also a reminder of the darker fare of her later work output after 2001 or so, such as ‘Beautiful Killer‘, ‘American Life‘, ‘Killers Who Are Partying‘, ‘Revolver‘ or’Messiah‘.
Tchaikovsky is sampled here in a nod to the genius and insanity of ‘A Clockwork Orange’, and it’s brilliant and mad and utterly exhilarating. Her voice digitally distorted beyond recognition, and past the point where words can even be understood outside of the printed lyrics here, she warps the human sound into a computerized entity at once remote and commanding. There is a chill to the proceedings, in spite of the bouncy ballet music, and the juxtaposition is one of the most thrilling moments on the entire ‘Madame X’ opus. Three decades into her career, to find Madonna still experimenting and daring us to hear new things is quite a remarkable feat, one that should not go unnoticed in this era of play-it-safe stars and ultra-careful celebrities. The chance to get canceled for one kooky mis-step looms terrifyingly on the landscape of any burgeoning starlet; that Madonna dances boldly on in the presence of such landmines is testament to what I’ve always admired about her.
She ends the magnificent journey with a spoken warning as Tchaikovsky spins giddily on behind her:
THEY ARE SO NAIVE
THEY THINK WE ARE NOT AWARE OF THEIR CRIMES
WE KNOW, BUT WE ARE JUST NOT READY TO ACT
THE STORM ISN’T IN THE AIR, IT’S INSIDE OF US
I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT LOVE AND LONELINESS
BUT IT’S GETTING LATE NOW
CAN’T YOU HEAR OUTSIDE OF YOUR SUPREME HOODIE,
THE WIND THAT’S BEGINNING TO HOWL?
The electronic classical interim fades as the simple piano melody and its dour minor key returns. There is one last line, sung plainly, as much a wish as a sneer. It contains all the hope and poison of the world, and the unspoken notion that if everything was always beautiful, we might never recognize beauty. How sad, when you think too much about it, when you really dig into the philosophy of the idea. How glorious too, that we have the opportunity to live in this world right now. To live in the world at any time, really. We are afforded such scant joy in the grand scheme of the universe.
IT’S A BEAUTIFUL LIFE.
SONG #160: ‘Dark Ballet’ – Spring 2019
