One argument I've made while working on this project is that some lyrics are poetry set to music. In his book Mystery Train, David Wojahn presents a collection of poems inspired by music and musicians. Many of the poems he includes here are not particularly musical or lyrical - finding these qualities takes some hard looking - but the musical inspiration is clearly seen in that all of the following poems are about musicians and their stories.
Depending on which musician/band Wojahn mentioned in a particular piece, I found myself reading the poem with their signature rhythm and voice in mind. I'm not sure if this was Wojahn's intention, but I couldn't help it with certain pieces. Take for example "Homage: Light from the Hall," the first poem in the "Mystery Train" series. In the first two lines Wojahn writes, "It is Soul Brother Number One, James Brown, / Chanting, 'It would be nothing, noth-iiiiinnnnnggg...'" (ll. 1-2) and I can hear Brown screeching the line as though he's on stage leaning into the microphone stand. Because the poem begins with the voice of James Brown the rest of the poem continues naturally in the same way, even though he doesn't remain the focus. The central focus of the poem is a time in musical history when soul music was reaching the masses, and Wojahn illustrates the scene of a kid with a transistor radio tucked under his pillow so he can listen late into the night (ll. 5-13).
Another song that caused me to read it in the singing voice of the musician mentioned is the eleventh in the series, "'Mystery Train': Janis Joplin Leaves Port Arthur for Points West, 1964." The poem captures Janis Joplin traveling on a train - some journey to some place new or a general need for change - and reads early on,
All night until the misty break of day.
Dark train,
dark train, sixteen coaches long.
Girl's looked out her window all night long,
Bad dreams:
couldn't sleep her thoughts away.
The wheels click, mournful, dream along (ll. 6-12).
There is obvious reference to "Train Kept A-Rollin'" which immediately set up the lyrical quality and rhythm of a train on tracks for me. But then the constant repetition of the word "long" and the rhymes that use it slow down the rhythm a bit, so it's not so much the sound of the train that continues throughout the song, but the impression of the landscape lilting by as it travels. Where Joplin's voice really came in was the lines,
A half-pint of Four Roses,
then she hums a Woody song,
"I Ain't Got No Home."
The whistle brays.
The Mystery Train is sixteen coaches long (ll. 22-26).
At the mention of Four Roses I can hear Joplin's dusty voice, and when "I Ain't Got No Home" is alluded to I see her eyes close and the notes come wailing from her chest in her signature bluesy growl. I think what Wojahn does is capture Joplin's spirit in the poem's story, so I can't help but hear her in it.
There is one poem in Wojahn's series that is completely unique from the rest in that he employs some musical sounds, specifically vocal techniques, in the composition. It is the thirty-first poem in the series and is called "Bo Diddley at Rick's Cafe Americain: Long Beach Island, New Jersey, 1985."
From the beginning of the poem Wojahn uses certain techniques to give the impression of prolonged notes, for example, "He walks forty thousand miles of barbed wire........... / He wears a cobra snake for a necktie...........etc." (ll. 1-2). The stretched ellipses are representative of the extended notes from George Thorogood's "47 Miles of Barbed Wire Fence" and Wojahn quotes the following two lines
I GOT A BRAN' NEW HOUSE ON THE RO........AD........SIDE
MADE OUT A' RATTLESNAKE HIDE..... (ll. 8-9),
as well. Wojahn "illustrates" them here in this way to give the impression of how they were actually sung.
Wojahn also inserts his own vocal fillers into the poem, which is more "musician" than "poet." He writes, "And plays to a crowd of twenty tonight, oo-wah" (l. 4). The "oo-wah" is a filler or small exclamation Bo Diddley (and many other musicians, blues and others) often injected into their songs but were generally not planned. By using methods used by the musician about whom he's writing, Wojahn is allowing his work to become more musical.
Finally, there is another poem in the series which coincides with my previous entry about legitimacy. The third poem in the group, called "W.C.W. Watching Presley's Second Appearance on 'The Ed Sullivan Show': Mercy Hospital, Newark, 1956" is somewhat comedic but makes a good point about what a legitimate poet actually is. Wojahn writes the poem in a trailing sonnet style, which harkens to William Carlos Williams' style of trickling his words down the page. Wojahn then humorously states in the first three lines, "The tube / like the sonnet, / is a fascist form." Odd considering the poem is written in sonnet form. But I digress.
In terms of the legitimacy argument, Wojahn refers to Elvis's "Don't Be Cruel" saying,
Kid, forget it.
You don't know
a fucking thing
about cruelty yet (ll. 40-43).
In other words, Wojahn, or in this case Williams, doesn't take Elvis seriously because he believes that if a musician/poet hasn't experienced something yet, then he/she can't possibly sing/write about it. Because of this, the speaker, whether it's Wojahn or Williams, can't fully connect with the lyrics - he doesn't believe the singer and can't connect with the emotion of the song.
What I learned from Wojahn's books is that poetry, lyrics and music really can inspire each other and propel each other forward. Though Wojahn's work has very few lyrical expressions, it is no doubt inspired by certain musicians and the stories their lyrics tell.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Voice as Instrument
The Low Anthem - Oh, My God, Charlie Darwin
Earlier in this endeavor I blogged about Bon Iver's For Emma Forever Ago and how singer Justin Vernon uses his voice so much like an instrument that many of the lyrics are indiscernible. Ben Knox, primary vocalist of the band The Low Anthem also uses his voice as an instrument, changing his expression from song to song, though never really distorting the lyrics to the degree of Vernon. On this record the vocals add another dimension of meaning to the existing poesy of the songs, and the variety of sounds Knox can produce vocally becomes even more impressive because it does add/alter so much to the printed lyrics.
"Charlie Darwin"
Set the sails I feel the winds a'stirring
Toward the bright horizon set the way
Cast your wreckless dreams upon our Mayflower
Haven from the world and her decay
And who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin
Fighting for a system built to fail
Spooning water from their broken vessels
As far as I can see there is no land
Oh my god, the waters all around us
Oh my god, it's all around
And who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin
The lords of war just profit from decay
And trade their children's promise for the jingle
The way we trade our hard earned time for pay
Oh my god, the waters cold and shapeless
Oh my god, it's all around
Oh my god, life is cold and formless
Oh my god, it's all around
The first song on the album fluctuates between the perspective of Charles Darwin during his own time, and the present day Everyman. Within the first four lines, Darwin expresses hope and possibility, but that soon gives way to hopelessness and despair.
We start out with an invitation to board "our Mayflower" which will lead us to a new beginning, maybe a "promised land" that is far "from the world and her decay," so essentially escaping the world. There is an optimistic anticipation here - the horizon is "bright" like dawn and the start of something new; and also giddy excitement about the journey - he welcomes the reckless dreamers onto the boat. Soon, though, this hope begins to fade as reality sets in.
The song makes reference to Darwinism as a "system built to fail." At its most basic level, the system did fail and still does in some respects because of religion. But there is more to it than that. What Darwin did was develop systems and theories that would help organize the world, but the inability of certain people/groups to put any real stock in these systems and theories becomes a metaphor for the breakdown of life as we know it - put another way: society. I think what Darwin hoped for was that we had more control - maybe we could evolve ourselves, or at least our society. But this initial hope in the song gives way to sadness, fear, and frustration - "as far as I can see there is no land," no new beginning, no refuge.
One major factor in the breakdown of society is war. Within the song it is only mentioned, almost in passing, with the lines "the lords of war just profit from decay / and trade their children's promise for the jingle." This is something we are all too familiar with even now - propaganda spewed by the media and politicians convinces us that battle is the answer, and politicians project that profit from war or the benefits of the possible "win" are more important than our children's future. Another factor is how we've convinced ourselves that the value of time is measured by how much we accomplished within a given period; as a society "we trade our hard earned time for pay." As a whole, we do not value life or living for its own value, and how can a society truly exist as one thing if the living beings that form the society don't value life? Life then becomes "cold and formless" as the song states, as in it becomes stagnant and unable to be formed/organized as Darwin once hoped.
In this song Knox's voice remains in falsetto evoking the physical setting of Darwin on the bow of his boat about to set sail, looking out over the vast ocean while the winds which bring him such anticipation whistle and howl. However, as the song (and situation) become more hopeless, the vocal expression takes on new meaning. The boat and crew (society) become lost at sea, and suddenly the wind is more hindrance than help. Now the long, drawn out syllables of the howling falsetto vocals express the hopelessness of the men, and metaphorically, the despair and collapse of society.
"Ticket Taker"
Tonight's the night when the waters rise
You're groping in the dark
The ticket takers count the men who can afford the arc
The ticket takers will not board
For the ticket takers are tied
For five and change an hour
They will count the passers by
They say the sky's the limit
But the sky's about to fall
Down come all them record books cradle and all
They say before he bit it
That the boxer felt no pain
But somewhere there's a gamblin' man
With a ticket in the rain
Mary Anne, I know I'm a long shot
But Mary Anne, what else have you got
I am a ticket taker, many tickets have I torn
And I will be your arc, we will float above the storm
Many years have passed in this river town
I've sailed through many traps
I keep a stock of weapons should society collapse
I keep a stock of ammo
One of oil and one of gold
I keep a place for Mary Anne
Soon she will come home
As with "Charlie Darwin," the third song on the record, "Ticket Taker" also has a vocal quality which adds a dimension to the song not necessarily present in the printed lyrics.
At the beginning of this song we learn that there are certain men who can afford to board this "arc," and others (those who take tickets) who can't. The men boarding are wealthy, the powerful businessmen of society, while the ticket takers are everyone else - the poor or even middle class. The wealthy are able to buy their own progress (like the wealthy affording "better" schools leading to "better" jobs), while the not so wealthy remain stuck because they can't afford any sort of progress. The next stanza, though, is no longer frustrated but more tongue-in-cheek at the beginning when it references the old adage "the higher you rise, the farther you fall." The "record books" mentioned make reference to those mysterious things business men do at work that make them so much money. But just like every other part of their success, the poor would like to think, those record books will also fall.
The second stanza then flows into an analogy of a boxer who dies, which makes no difference to him because it happened with no pain, but which loses the man who bet on him an unspecified amount of money. Both of these men are actually in equal in that neither gets paid unless the boxer wins. The wealthy men in the song are also like the boxer and gambler in that they gamble with money as a career. The poor man narrating the song finds some satisfaction in this because the wealthy men have so much more to lose.
It is not until the third stanza that we realize this song is actually a love song. The speaker sings to Mary Anne, and pleads for her love despite his inability to give her any sort of security. He's a "longshot" but he'll be her "arc," protecting her no matter what. He's saying "I don't have any money because I'm just a lowly ticket taker, but I'll care for you with whatever means I have."
Eventually years pass - Mary Anne still hasn't returned and the speaker remains alone. After all he's seen and experienced, he has collected weapons and ammo "should society collapse." The ticket taker has learned that in the end, the wealthy will not protect or care for the poor, all he can do is protect himself and those he loves. Even after all these years he still keeps a place for Mary Anne and is completely convinced "soon she will come home," though he still doesn't have much more than what he's squirreled away.
The vocals in this song have a completely different feel than "Charlie Darwin." Here Knox isn't really singing at all, more like he's speaking just above a whisper. The voice is also slightly distorted, and upon the last stanza it becomes clear that the speaker has been talking either to Mary Anne or her answering machine over the phone, and through the rest of the song he has been using every strategy and analogy he can muster to convince her to come home. In the final stanza, though he has become more desperate in his survival techniques, he remains convinced she will return.
"The Horizon is a Beltway"
The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross
The tops of buildings tremble like children lorn and lost
The stain runs deep it's deeper than the blood upon the cross.
The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross.
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Hear the whistle blowing put a tear into your eye
You hear the distant love song but widows know the lie
The horizon is a beltway, the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline is on fire
You come up from the lowlands to the city on the air
Where pilgrims and commissioners curate Christian fare
From Havisu to Brownsville feel the long unbroken stare
I wonder what it smells like in that city on the air
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Just the same blue love song made my grand dad cry
You'll hear the whistle blowing put a tear drop in your eye
The horizon is a beltway, and the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
You'll hear the distant love song, when the skyline is on fire
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline is on fire
This old house stood empty now for fifteen years or more
Willows falls half way to meet the weeds around the door
Time throws up her curtain and we know not who we are
The horizon is a beltway, the skyline is on fire
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Hear the whistle blowing put a tear drop in your eye
Jagged as the jaw bone once the flesh expires
The horizon is a beltway the skyline is on fire
The fourth song on the record, "The Horizon is a Beltway," is one of only a couple of songs on the album that read like songs on the page. Sung out, Knox's voice is gritty and voluminous, and because of the imperfection of voice and repetition, the song sounds more like a bar or shanty song. This repetition is also what makes the written lyrics read like a song on the page.
Compared to the other songs on the record, in particular the two previously mentioned songs, "The Horizon is a Beltway" is a more violent expression of unrest in response to a country and society experiencing extreme dissent because of a war somewhere beyond the horizon. The horizon we can't cross in the first stanza expresses a feeling of being stuck, not necessarily in location, but in current "norms" - there is no sense of coming change. The second line referring to trembling buildings like children refers to how war tears apart physical surroundings and families, having profound effects on children. "The stain" of war in this song also runs "deeper than the blood upon the cross" because it's happening now and effects things now; it is not some distant past that only exists as barely an afterthought.
When I first listened to the song I wasn't quite sure what Knox was trying to say, but what really read "war" to me when I spent more time on the song is the second stanza and then the fifth, which read nearly the same. The "distant love song" is from the people left at home when a soldier goes to war, and he hears that song on the battlefield "when the wind blows right." The whistle referred to is, as in times long ago, the train whistle which indicates that it's time for soldiers to board and be shipped off. When Knox sings "the widows know the lie," it is a vague way of saying that the women told their husbands are missing know they are actually widows because in all likelihood, their husbands are dead. Finally, "the skyline is on fire" ends the stanza; the image harkens to a distant war being waged somewhere beyond the horizon, which again, is why we can never cross it. When these lines repeat in the fifth stanza the third line is replaced with one that reads "Just the same blue love song made my grand dad cry," which refers to when the speaker's grandfather fought in a past war.
The song then ends with a similarly repetitive stanza as the previously mentioned stanzas, replacing the third line with "Jagged as the jawbone once the flesh expires." The simple meaning of "flesh expires" is that we all die and doesn't really matter how or when. The lyrics state that the train whistle is "jagged" because it's leading the men to war (death) where their flesh will expire. It is also jagged because it causes everyone pain who is affected by war. There is a duality here: an expression of pain, but also a nihilistic view of death.
The Low Anthem's Oh, My God, Charlie Darwin is an album which hides much of its meaning in metaphor and narrative, so it requires some picking apart. As with Bright Eyes' I'm Wide Awake It's Morning we meet characters trying to survive and come to terms with living in a country shaken by war, all of which is heightened by the different use of voice throughout the record.
"Charlie Darwin"
Set the sails I feel the winds a'stirring
Toward the bright horizon set the way
Cast your wreckless dreams upon our Mayflower
Haven from the world and her decay
And who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin
Fighting for a system built to fail
Spooning water from their broken vessels
As far as I can see there is no land
Oh my god, the waters all around us
Oh my god, it's all around
And who could heed the words of Charlie Darwin
The lords of war just profit from decay
And trade their children's promise for the jingle
The way we trade our hard earned time for pay
Oh my god, the waters cold and shapeless
Oh my god, it's all around
Oh my god, life is cold and formless
Oh my god, it's all around
The first song on the album fluctuates between the perspective of Charles Darwin during his own time, and the present day Everyman. Within the first four lines, Darwin expresses hope and possibility, but that soon gives way to hopelessness and despair.
We start out with an invitation to board "our Mayflower" which will lead us to a new beginning, maybe a "promised land" that is far "from the world and her decay," so essentially escaping the world. There is an optimistic anticipation here - the horizon is "bright" like dawn and the start of something new; and also giddy excitement about the journey - he welcomes the reckless dreamers onto the boat. Soon, though, this hope begins to fade as reality sets in.
The song makes reference to Darwinism as a "system built to fail." At its most basic level, the system did fail and still does in some respects because of religion. But there is more to it than that. What Darwin did was develop systems and theories that would help organize the world, but the inability of certain people/groups to put any real stock in these systems and theories becomes a metaphor for the breakdown of life as we know it - put another way: society. I think what Darwin hoped for was that we had more control - maybe we could evolve ourselves, or at least our society. But this initial hope in the song gives way to sadness, fear, and frustration - "as far as I can see there is no land," no new beginning, no refuge.
One major factor in the breakdown of society is war. Within the song it is only mentioned, almost in passing, with the lines "the lords of war just profit from decay / and trade their children's promise for the jingle." This is something we are all too familiar with even now - propaganda spewed by the media and politicians convinces us that battle is the answer, and politicians project that profit from war or the benefits of the possible "win" are more important than our children's future. Another factor is how we've convinced ourselves that the value of time is measured by how much we accomplished within a given period; as a society "we trade our hard earned time for pay." As a whole, we do not value life or living for its own value, and how can a society truly exist as one thing if the living beings that form the society don't value life? Life then becomes "cold and formless" as the song states, as in it becomes stagnant and unable to be formed/organized as Darwin once hoped.
In this song Knox's voice remains in falsetto evoking the physical setting of Darwin on the bow of his boat about to set sail, looking out over the vast ocean while the winds which bring him such anticipation whistle and howl. However, as the song (and situation) become more hopeless, the vocal expression takes on new meaning. The boat and crew (society) become lost at sea, and suddenly the wind is more hindrance than help. Now the long, drawn out syllables of the howling falsetto vocals express the hopelessness of the men, and metaphorically, the despair and collapse of society.
"Ticket Taker"
Tonight's the night when the waters rise
You're groping in the dark
The ticket takers count the men who can afford the arc
The ticket takers will not board
For the ticket takers are tied
For five and change an hour
They will count the passers by
They say the sky's the limit
But the sky's about to fall
Down come all them record books cradle and all
They say before he bit it
That the boxer felt no pain
But somewhere there's a gamblin' man
With a ticket in the rain
Mary Anne, I know I'm a long shot
But Mary Anne, what else have you got
I am a ticket taker, many tickets have I torn
And I will be your arc, we will float above the storm
Many years have passed in this river town
I've sailed through many traps
I keep a stock of weapons should society collapse
I keep a stock of ammo
One of oil and one of gold
I keep a place for Mary Anne
Soon she will come home
As with "Charlie Darwin," the third song on the record, "Ticket Taker" also has a vocal quality which adds a dimension to the song not necessarily present in the printed lyrics.
At the beginning of this song we learn that there are certain men who can afford to board this "arc," and others (those who take tickets) who can't. The men boarding are wealthy, the powerful businessmen of society, while the ticket takers are everyone else - the poor or even middle class. The wealthy are able to buy their own progress (like the wealthy affording "better" schools leading to "better" jobs), while the not so wealthy remain stuck because they can't afford any sort of progress. The next stanza, though, is no longer frustrated but more tongue-in-cheek at the beginning when it references the old adage "the higher you rise, the farther you fall." The "record books" mentioned make reference to those mysterious things business men do at work that make them so much money. But just like every other part of their success, the poor would like to think, those record books will also fall.
The second stanza then flows into an analogy of a boxer who dies, which makes no difference to him because it happened with no pain, but which loses the man who bet on him an unspecified amount of money. Both of these men are actually in equal in that neither gets paid unless the boxer wins. The wealthy men in the song are also like the boxer and gambler in that they gamble with money as a career. The poor man narrating the song finds some satisfaction in this because the wealthy men have so much more to lose.
It is not until the third stanza that we realize this song is actually a love song. The speaker sings to Mary Anne, and pleads for her love despite his inability to give her any sort of security. He's a "longshot" but he'll be her "arc," protecting her no matter what. He's saying "I don't have any money because I'm just a lowly ticket taker, but I'll care for you with whatever means I have."
Eventually years pass - Mary Anne still hasn't returned and the speaker remains alone. After all he's seen and experienced, he has collected weapons and ammo "should society collapse." The ticket taker has learned that in the end, the wealthy will not protect or care for the poor, all he can do is protect himself and those he loves. Even after all these years he still keeps a place for Mary Anne and is completely convinced "soon she will come home," though he still doesn't have much more than what he's squirreled away.
The vocals in this song have a completely different feel than "Charlie Darwin." Here Knox isn't really singing at all, more like he's speaking just above a whisper. The voice is also slightly distorted, and upon the last stanza it becomes clear that the speaker has been talking either to Mary Anne or her answering machine over the phone, and through the rest of the song he has been using every strategy and analogy he can muster to convince her to come home. In the final stanza, though he has become more desperate in his survival techniques, he remains convinced she will return.
"The Horizon is a Beltway"
The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross
The tops of buildings tremble like children lorn and lost
The stain runs deep it's deeper than the blood upon the cross.
The horizon is a beltway that we may never cross.
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Hear the whistle blowing put a tear into your eye
You hear the distant love song but widows know the lie
The horizon is a beltway, the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline is on fire
You come up from the lowlands to the city on the air
Where pilgrims and commissioners curate Christian fare
From Havisu to Brownsville feel the long unbroken stare
I wonder what it smells like in that city on the air
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Just the same blue love song made my grand dad cry
You'll hear the whistle blowing put a tear drop in your eye
The horizon is a beltway, and the skyline is on fire.
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
You'll hear the distant love song, when the skyline is on fire
The skyline is on fire, the skyline is on fire
The horizon is a beltway and the skyline is on fire
This old house stood empty now for fifteen years or more
Willows falls half way to meet the weeds around the door
Time throws up her curtain and we know not who we are
The horizon is a beltway, the skyline is on fire
You'll hear that distant love song when the wind blows right
Hear the whistle blowing put a tear drop in your eye
Jagged as the jaw bone once the flesh expires
The horizon is a beltway the skyline is on fire
The fourth song on the record, "The Horizon is a Beltway," is one of only a couple of songs on the album that read like songs on the page. Sung out, Knox's voice is gritty and voluminous, and because of the imperfection of voice and repetition, the song sounds more like a bar or shanty song. This repetition is also what makes the written lyrics read like a song on the page.
Compared to the other songs on the record, in particular the two previously mentioned songs, "The Horizon is a Beltway" is a more violent expression of unrest in response to a country and society experiencing extreme dissent because of a war somewhere beyond the horizon. The horizon we can't cross in the first stanza expresses a feeling of being stuck, not necessarily in location, but in current "norms" - there is no sense of coming change. The second line referring to trembling buildings like children refers to how war tears apart physical surroundings and families, having profound effects on children. "The stain" of war in this song also runs "deeper than the blood upon the cross" because it's happening now and effects things now; it is not some distant past that only exists as barely an afterthought.
When I first listened to the song I wasn't quite sure what Knox was trying to say, but what really read "war" to me when I spent more time on the song is the second stanza and then the fifth, which read nearly the same. The "distant love song" is from the people left at home when a soldier goes to war, and he hears that song on the battlefield "when the wind blows right." The whistle referred to is, as in times long ago, the train whistle which indicates that it's time for soldiers to board and be shipped off. When Knox sings "the widows know the lie," it is a vague way of saying that the women told their husbands are missing know they are actually widows because in all likelihood, their husbands are dead. Finally, "the skyline is on fire" ends the stanza; the image harkens to a distant war being waged somewhere beyond the horizon, which again, is why we can never cross it. When these lines repeat in the fifth stanza the third line is replaced with one that reads "Just the same blue love song made my grand dad cry," which refers to when the speaker's grandfather fought in a past war.
The song then ends with a similarly repetitive stanza as the previously mentioned stanzas, replacing the third line with "Jagged as the jawbone once the flesh expires." The simple meaning of "flesh expires" is that we all die and doesn't really matter how or when. The lyrics state that the train whistle is "jagged" because it's leading the men to war (death) where their flesh will expire. It is also jagged because it causes everyone pain who is affected by war. There is a duality here: an expression of pain, but also a nihilistic view of death.
The Low Anthem's Oh, My God, Charlie Darwin is an album which hides much of its meaning in metaphor and narrative, so it requires some picking apart. As with Bright Eyes' I'm Wide Awake It's Morning we meet characters trying to survive and come to terms with living in a country shaken by war, all of which is heightened by the different use of voice throughout the record.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake It's Morning
Conor Oberst's voice is pretty terrible. It shakes, it rattles, it goes flat quite frequently. But in that exquisitely imperfect voice lies some genius, which becomes even more obvious in his compositional and lyrical abilities. Oberst, the lyricist and lead vocalist of the ever-evolving cast of characters known as Bright Eyes, also has a way of crafting his work which makes each piece not only a song, but a poem. The entire album is basically individual works as part of a greater whole - each song becomes a part of a larger story and statement.
"At the Bottom of Everything"
So there was this woman and she was, uh, on an airplane and she's flying to meet her fiancé sailing high above the--the largest ocean on planet earth. And she was seated next to this man who, you know, she had tried to start conversations and only--really the only thing she heard him say was to order his bloody mary. And she's sitting there and she's reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country that she couldn't even pronounce the--the name of and she's feeling very bored and very despondent. And--and then, uh, suddenly there's this huge mechanical failure and one of the--the engines gave out and they started just falling -an- thirty thousand feet. And the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh My God, I'm Sorry," and apologizing. And she looks at the man and she--and she says, "Where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says, "We're going to a party, it--it's a birthday party. It's your birthday party, happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much." And then, uh, he starts humming this little tune and--and, uh, it kind of goes like this, it's kinda:
(1,2, 1, 2, 3, 4)
We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web. We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read. Into the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair we must stare, we must stare, we must stare.
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell, set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell. Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream we must sing, we must sing, we must sing.
(And it will go like this)
While my mother waters plants my father loads his gun. He says, Death will give us back to God, just like the setting set is returned to the lonesome ocean. And then they splashed into the deep blue sea. Oh, it was a wonderful splash.
We must blend into the choir, sing as static as the whole. we must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul. And in this endless race of property and privilege to be won, we must run, we must run, we must run.
We must hang up in the belfry where the bats and moonlight laugh. We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past. Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love, we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge.
(And then we'll get down there, way down to the bottom of everything and then we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it)
Oh my morning's coming back, the whole world's waking up. All the city buses swimming past. I'm happy just because. I found out I am really no one.
Track one of Bright Eyes' most popular record, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning, is called "At The Bottom Of Everything." The track begins with a long monologue (see above) about a woman on an airplane that is about to crash, and the man seated next to her tries to offer come comfort. What's interesting about the monologue is that it never appears in the album jacket, rather, the lyrics appear exactly as seen above after the count-in. There are also two phrases in bold which are included in the song, but not the printed lyrics.
If I've learned anything from all my years listening to Bright Eyes it is this: everything Conor Oberst does in every song he writes/composes has a definite purpose. In other words, if he includes a monologue that runs for a minute and 40 seconds at the beginning of a song, then there is a reason. In "At The Bottom Of Everything," Oberst as the narrator explains that this is the song the man on the plane sings to the woman to calm her down as the plane begins to plummet into the ocean. It is expressed in spoke word because it makes vague reference to the harsh realities that will be portrayed later in the album, therefor it needs to be set apart from this particular song so that it can be considered in relation to all of the other songs on the album. It is also a good backdrop for the muted guitar Oberst strums, which resembles a quickening heartbeat that continues to go faster as the plane makes its decent.
What's strange about these lyrics is that they're not very comforting at all. To summarize life as living by our social security numbers win meaningless things like property and privilege in an endless race would probably have an adverse affect on the listener. Therein lies the juxtaposition of the song - a sense of hopelessness leading to a dissatisfied end sung over a jaunty blue-grass rhythm that would, at face value, imply joy. However, the final lines of the song does give the impression that both characters have accepted their fate. When sung these lines are performed by two male voices, Oberst and Jim James of My Morning Jacket, but I've always interpreted the song as the voice of the female character in the song. I focus on the last two lines of the song - "I'm happy just because. I found out I'm really no one." - because here it seems the characters are set free by the meaninglessness of who they are and what little their lives mean within the greater world.
"Old Soul Song (For The New World Order)"
Grey light new day leaks through the window. An old soul song comes on the alarm clock radio. We walked for forty blocks to the middle of the place we heard that everything would be. And there were barricades to keep us off the street. But the crowd kept pushing forward 'til they swallowed the police.
They went wild...
We left before the dust had time to settle. And all the broken glass swept off the avenue. And all the way home held your camera like a bible, just wishing so bad that it held some kind of truth. And I stood nervous next to you in the dark room. You drop the paper in the water and it all begins to bloom.
They go wild...
Just when I get so lonesome I can't speak, I see some flowers on a hillside like a wall of new TVs.
They go wild...
"Old Soul Song (For The New World Order)" is the third song on the record and also includes two characters, though their genders are never specified. It is also the first song on the album in which we get a sense of the post-9/11 world in which the characters function, and how this world is affected by a war somewhere off in the distance. The setting is a dull gray morning; the two characters, one with a camera, witness an anti-war/anti-Bush protest. The song ends with the characters in a dark room while the photographer develops images of the battle between the protesters and the police. The beauty and poesy of this song lies in that almost none of this is said overtly in the lyrics (see above). Also, the song reads as a prose poem on the page, and its meaning is neither hindered nor helped by its portrayal as a song - it is just different and brilliantly so.
There is one major difference between the song on the page versus the song through the speakers. Notice that on the page the lines "They went wild..." and "They go wild..." (written twice)are only shown on the page once in succession. When the poem is sung, Oberst repeats "They went wild..." four times, "They go wild..." four times, and the second "They go wild..." seven times. Sung out, these lyrics are sung in a higher volume with more grittiness, allowing the voice to "go wild." Read on the page, these lines slightly lose this affect because they are seen singularly and are followed by elipses, which generally indicates, in poetry, a gentleness or trailing off, and also a more natural expression of how the mind functions in deep thought. It also tends to imply more insularity of thought. In "Old Soul Song..." neither version is necessarily better than the other, as with "At The Bottom Of Everything," however in this case the different portrayals of the song do take on new meaning and expression.
"Lua"
I know that it is freezing but I think we have to walk. I keep waving at the taxis they keep turning their lights off. But Julie knows a party at some actor's west side loft. Supplies are endless in the evening by the morning they'll be gone.
When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend. I get a coffee and a paper have my own conversations with the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection. The mask I polish in the evening by the morning looks like shit.
I know you have a heavy heart. I can feel it when we kiss. So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it. But me I'm not a gamble you can count on me to split. The love I sell you in the evening by the morning will be gone.
You're looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black. You just keep going to the bathroom always say you be right back. Well, it takes one to know one, kid. I think you got it bad. But what is so easy in the evening by the morning is such a drag.
I got a flask inside my pocket we can share it on the train. And if you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same. We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain. But what was normal in the evening by the morning seems insane.
And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did. It's not something I would recommend but it is one way to live because what is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is. It was so simple in the moonlight now it's so complicated. It was so simple in the moonlight... so simple in the moonlight... so simple in the moonlight...
On a personal level, "Lua" is one of those rare songs that changes my life every time I hear it. As a story, this song tells the tale if a single evening told from the perspective of the narrator (whom I've always assumed is male) struggling with his relationship with another female character. The boundaries of their relationship are very blurry - they use each other for differing purposes, and their perspectives are clouded by alcohol, a string of parties and endless nights, and her coke addiction. Makes for a pretty sordid story of two people in a mess.
One of the things I love about Conor Oberst's writing style is that none of his songs, particularly on this album, follow the "normal" song format, but are written as prose poems. "Lua" works better as a prose poem than many other songs on the album because even without the music it has a solid meter. Then, even with the music, Oberst sings in such a way that is closer to speech. Essentially this song becomes a spoken-word piece with musical backing.
What's interesting about this song is that as personal as it is with its first person perspective and varying conflicts (internal and external), it still fits with the larger theme of individuals living in a post-9/11 world and how that world has changed with the consciousness of war. While this is far from overt within this song, this theme does exist within the narrative. Here are two people representative of the hopelessness felt by numerous others at a time of unrest.
Looking at the last stanza and knowing Oberst's inspiration for the record as a whole, these last lines, "And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did. It's not something I would recommend but it is one way to live because what is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is," begin to hold new meaning. Yes, the male character is expressing his uncertainty and the feeling of being trapped in a volatile lifestyle he knows will be detrimental to himself and the female character, but there is more. When the war in Iraq started and continued into 2005 (when the album was released) we were all questioning what actually started the conflict - what was the real "trouble"? Did it even start with Iraq? Despite those questions, and despite knowing that the wrong decision was made, the feeling of anger still existed, people were just confused about who they were supposed to be angry at. And finally, the night we sent bombs into Iraq it made sense, but later, maybe the next day, maybe the next year, it didn't seem so right or simple anymore.
"Road to Joy"
The sun came up with no conclusions. Flowers sleeping in their beds. The city cemetery's humming. I'm wide awake it's morning.
I have my drugs I have my woman. They keep away my loneliness. My parents they are their religion, but sleep in separate houses.
I read that body count out of the paper. And now it's written all over my face. No one ever plans to sleep out in the gutter. Sometimes that's just the most comfortable place.
So no I'm drinking, breathing, writing, singing. Every day I'm on the clock. My mind races with all my longings. but can't keep up with what I've got.
So I hope I don't sound too ungrateful, what history gave modern man. A telephone to talk to strangers, a machine gun, and a camera lens.
So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing. It's best to join the side that's going to win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're going to make them goddamn certain how it's going to end.
I could have been a famous singer, if I had someone else's voice. But failure's always sounded better, let's fuck it up boys. Make some noise.
The final track on the record is "Road to Joy," which is a seemingly energetic and joyful track, but actually becomes a quite violent war cry as the song progresses. The music does follow the same tune as "Ode to Joy" however the lyrics have a very different meaning. Oberst actually expresses feelings of discontent from to wars: Iraq and Vietnam. The Vietnam war showed the country just how impossible it was for some var vets to return to "normal" life, just as we're seeing today with injured vets and PTSD. Oberst writes, "I read the body count out of the paper... No one ever plans to sleep out in the gutter. Sometimes that's just the most comfortable place," which refers to how readily available this information was during the Vietnam war and also today, with the nightly news constantly reminding us that we are at war and people are dying. Also he alludes to homeless veterans, and those who may actually be more comfortable on the streets because they can't function within their families any more or don't have enough money coming from veterans' benefits.
In the most obvious expression of anger towards the war, Oberst screams in the second-to-last stanza, "So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing. It's best to join the side that's gonna win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're gonna make 'em goddam certain how it's gonna end. Oh yeah we will. Oh yeah we will!" His battle cry becomes a satire for the attitude of certain trigger-happy politicians.
To me, Conor Oberst's songs are so obviously poems. Through his expressive style of singing - the screams, whispers, shaking, and mumbling - and his ability to present songs in poetic form, it is easy to see how what he does with Bright Eyes is unnameable. With this album he presents not only personal stories, but the story of a country in a state of unrest, and he does so with such few words that his pieces must be considered both songs and poems.
"At the Bottom of Everything"
So there was this woman and she was, uh, on an airplane and she's flying to meet her fiancé sailing high above the--the largest ocean on planet earth. And she was seated next to this man who, you know, she had tried to start conversations and only--really the only thing she heard him say was to order his bloody mary. And she's sitting there and she's reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country that she couldn't even pronounce the--the name of and she's feeling very bored and very despondent. And--and then, uh, suddenly there's this huge mechanical failure and one of the--the engines gave out and they started just falling -an- thirty thousand feet. And the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh My God, I'm Sorry," and apologizing. And she looks at the man and she--and she says, "Where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says, "We're going to a party, it--it's a birthday party. It's your birthday party, happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, very much." And then, uh, he starts humming this little tune and--and, uh, it kind of goes like this, it's kinda:
(1,2, 1, 2, 3, 4)
We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web. We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read. Into the face of every criminal strapped firmly to a chair we must stare, we must stare, we must stare.
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell, set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell. Into the ear of every anarchist that sleeps but doesn't dream we must sing, we must sing, we must sing.
(And it will go like this)
While my mother waters plants my father loads his gun. He says, Death will give us back to God, just like the setting set is returned to the lonesome ocean. And then they splashed into the deep blue sea. Oh, it was a wonderful splash.
We must blend into the choir, sing as static as the whole. we must memorize nine numbers and deny we have a soul. And in this endless race of property and privilege to be won, we must run, we must run, we must run.
We must hang up in the belfry where the bats and moonlight laugh. We must stare into a crystal ball and only see the past. Into the caverns of tomorrow with just our flashlights and our love, we must plunge, we must plunge, we must plunge.
(And then we'll get down there, way down to the bottom of everything and then we'll see it, we'll see it, we'll see it)
Oh my morning's coming back, the whole world's waking up. All the city buses swimming past. I'm happy just because. I found out I am really no one.
Track one of Bright Eyes' most popular record, I'm Wide Awake It's Morning, is called "At The Bottom Of Everything." The track begins with a long monologue (see above) about a woman on an airplane that is about to crash, and the man seated next to her tries to offer come comfort. What's interesting about the monologue is that it never appears in the album jacket, rather, the lyrics appear exactly as seen above after the count-in. There are also two phrases in bold which are included in the song, but not the printed lyrics.
If I've learned anything from all my years listening to Bright Eyes it is this: everything Conor Oberst does in every song he writes/composes has a definite purpose. In other words, if he includes a monologue that runs for a minute and 40 seconds at the beginning of a song, then there is a reason. In "At The Bottom Of Everything," Oberst as the narrator explains that this is the song the man on the plane sings to the woman to calm her down as the plane begins to plummet into the ocean. It is expressed in spoke word because it makes vague reference to the harsh realities that will be portrayed later in the album, therefor it needs to be set apart from this particular song so that it can be considered in relation to all of the other songs on the album. It is also a good backdrop for the muted guitar Oberst strums, which resembles a quickening heartbeat that continues to go faster as the plane makes its decent.
What's strange about these lyrics is that they're not very comforting at all. To summarize life as living by our social security numbers win meaningless things like property and privilege in an endless race would probably have an adverse affect on the listener. Therein lies the juxtaposition of the song - a sense of hopelessness leading to a dissatisfied end sung over a jaunty blue-grass rhythm that would, at face value, imply joy. However, the final lines of the song does give the impression that both characters have accepted their fate. When sung these lines are performed by two male voices, Oberst and Jim James of My Morning Jacket, but I've always interpreted the song as the voice of the female character in the song. I focus on the last two lines of the song - "I'm happy just because. I found out I'm really no one." - because here it seems the characters are set free by the meaninglessness of who they are and what little their lives mean within the greater world.
"Old Soul Song (For The New World Order)"
They went wild...
We left before the dust had time to settle. And all the broken glass swept off the avenue. And all the way home held your camera like a bible, just wishing so bad that it held some kind of truth. And I stood nervous next to you in the dark room. You drop the paper in the water and it all begins to bloom.
They go wild...
Just when I get so lonesome I can't speak, I see some flowers on a hillside like a wall of new TVs.
They go wild...
"Old Soul Song (For The New World Order)" is the third song on the record and also includes two characters, though their genders are never specified. It is also the first song on the album in which we get a sense of the post-9/11 world in which the characters function, and how this world is affected by a war somewhere off in the distance. The setting is a dull gray morning; the two characters, one with a camera, witness an anti-war/anti-Bush protest. The song ends with the characters in a dark room while the photographer develops images of the battle between the protesters and the police. The beauty and poesy of this song lies in that almost none of this is said overtly in the lyrics (see above). Also, the song reads as a prose poem on the page, and its meaning is neither hindered nor helped by its portrayal as a song - it is just different and brilliantly so.
There is one major difference between the song on the page versus the song through the speakers. Notice that on the page the lines "They went wild..." and "They go wild..." (written twice)are only shown on the page once in succession. When the poem is sung, Oberst repeats "They went wild..." four times, "They go wild..." four times, and the second "They go wild..." seven times. Sung out, these lyrics are sung in a higher volume with more grittiness, allowing the voice to "go wild." Read on the page, these lines slightly lose this affect because they are seen singularly and are followed by elipses, which generally indicates, in poetry, a gentleness or trailing off, and also a more natural expression of how the mind functions in deep thought. It also tends to imply more insularity of thought. In "Old Soul Song..." neither version is necessarily better than the other, as with "At The Bottom Of Everything," however in this case the different portrayals of the song do take on new meaning and expression.
"Lua"
I know that it is freezing but I think we have to walk. I keep waving at the taxis they keep turning their lights off. But Julie knows a party at some actor's west side loft. Supplies are endless in the evening by the morning they'll be gone.
When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend. I get a coffee and a paper have my own conversations with the sidewalk and the pigeons and my window reflection. The mask I polish in the evening by the morning looks like shit.
I know you have a heavy heart. I can feel it when we kiss. So many men stronger than me have thrown their backs out trying to lift it. But me I'm not a gamble you can count on me to split. The love I sell you in the evening by the morning will be gone.
You're looking skinny like a model with your eyes all painted black. You just keep going to the bathroom always say you be right back. Well, it takes one to know one, kid. I think you got it bad. But what is so easy in the evening by the morning is such a drag.
I got a flask inside my pocket we can share it on the train. And if you promise to stay conscious I will try and do the same. We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain. But what was normal in the evening by the morning seems insane.
And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did. It's not something I would recommend but it is one way to live because what is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is. It was so simple in the moonlight now it's so complicated. It was so simple in the moonlight... so simple in the moonlight... so simple in the moonlight...
On a personal level, "Lua" is one of those rare songs that changes my life every time I hear it. As a story, this song tells the tale if a single evening told from the perspective of the narrator (whom I've always assumed is male) struggling with his relationship with another female character. The boundaries of their relationship are very blurry - they use each other for differing purposes, and their perspectives are clouded by alcohol, a string of parties and endless nights, and her coke addiction. Makes for a pretty sordid story of two people in a mess.
One of the things I love about Conor Oberst's writing style is that none of his songs, particularly on this album, follow the "normal" song format, but are written as prose poems. "Lua" works better as a prose poem than many other songs on the album because even without the music it has a solid meter. Then, even with the music, Oberst sings in such a way that is closer to speech. Essentially this song becomes a spoken-word piece with musical backing.
What's interesting about this song is that as personal as it is with its first person perspective and varying conflicts (internal and external), it still fits with the larger theme of individuals living in a post-9/11 world and how that world has changed with the consciousness of war. While this is far from overt within this song, this theme does exist within the narrative. Here are two people representative of the hopelessness felt by numerous others at a time of unrest.
Looking at the last stanza and knowing Oberst's inspiration for the record as a whole, these last lines, "And I'm not sure what the trouble was that started all of this. The reasons all have run away but the feeling never did. It's not something I would recommend but it is one way to live because what is simple in the moonlight by the morning never is," begin to hold new meaning. Yes, the male character is expressing his uncertainty and the feeling of being trapped in a volatile lifestyle he knows will be detrimental to himself and the female character, but there is more. When the war in Iraq started and continued into 2005 (when the album was released) we were all questioning what actually started the conflict - what was the real "trouble"? Did it even start with Iraq? Despite those questions, and despite knowing that the wrong decision was made, the feeling of anger still existed, people were just confused about who they were supposed to be angry at. And finally, the night we sent bombs into Iraq it made sense, but later, maybe the next day, maybe the next year, it didn't seem so right or simple anymore.
"Road to Joy"
The sun came up with no conclusions. Flowers sleeping in their beds. The city cemetery's humming. I'm wide awake it's morning.
I have my drugs I have my woman. They keep away my loneliness. My parents they are their religion, but sleep in separate houses.
I read that body count out of the paper. And now it's written all over my face. No one ever plans to sleep out in the gutter. Sometimes that's just the most comfortable place.
So no I'm drinking, breathing, writing, singing. Every day I'm on the clock. My mind races with all my longings. but can't keep up with what I've got.
So I hope I don't sound too ungrateful, what history gave modern man. A telephone to talk to strangers, a machine gun, and a camera lens.
So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing. It's best to join the side that's going to win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're going to make them goddamn certain how it's going to end.
I could have been a famous singer, if I had someone else's voice. But failure's always sounded better, let's fuck it up boys. Make some noise.
The final track on the record is "Road to Joy," which is a seemingly energetic and joyful track, but actually becomes a quite violent war cry as the song progresses. The music does follow the same tune as "Ode to Joy" however the lyrics have a very different meaning. Oberst actually expresses feelings of discontent from to wars: Iraq and Vietnam. The Vietnam war showed the country just how impossible it was for some var vets to return to "normal" life, just as we're seeing today with injured vets and PTSD. Oberst writes, "I read the body count out of the paper... No one ever plans to sleep out in the gutter. Sometimes that's just the most comfortable place," which refers to how readily available this information was during the Vietnam war and also today, with the nightly news constantly reminding us that we are at war and people are dying. Also he alludes to homeless veterans, and those who may actually be more comfortable on the streets because they can't function within their families any more or don't have enough money coming from veterans' benefits.
In the most obvious expression of anger towards the war, Oberst screams in the second-to-last stanza, "So when you're asked to fight a war that's over nothing. It's best to join the side that's gonna win. And no one's sure how all of this got started. But we're gonna make 'em goddam certain how it's gonna end. Oh yeah we will. Oh yeah we will!" His battle cry becomes a satire for the attitude of certain trigger-happy politicians.
To me, Conor Oberst's songs are so obviously poems. Through his expressive style of singing - the screams, whispers, shaking, and mumbling - and his ability to present songs in poetic form, it is easy to see how what he does with Bright Eyes is unnameable. With this album he presents not only personal stories, but the story of a country in a state of unrest, and he does so with such few words that his pieces must be considered both songs and poems.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Something that isn't poetry:
I've been spending a lot of time talking about what makes a song a poem, but I haven't yet explained what makes a song not a poem. Searching the internet for all things Bob Dylan for my previous post, I got a bunch of search hits called "Bob Dylan v. Rebecca Black." I had a physical reaction to this, just shy of actually vomiting. If you're not familiar with the musical gem that is Rebecca Black's "Friday," here it is:
See? To even utter her name in the same sentence as Bob Dylan's is blasphemy. Just to be clear, the video my search engine kept urging me to watch was nothing competitive at all, which was a bit disappointing... Bob Dylan throwing down with Rebecca Black... the satisfaction of one good punch... Anyway. So here it is:
The second version of the song really doesn't have anything to do with whether or not the song is actually poetic, but it did get me thinking - if Bob Dylan is quite obviously a poet, what makes Rebecca Black not a poet? What makes "Friday" not a poem? Well, for starters, the lyrics.
(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Here's the thing, the song has a (forgive me) classic meaning: carpe diem. Still doesn't make it a poem. If this song is put up against what is probably the most famous carpe diem poem in history, Robert Herrick's "To the Virgins, to make much of Time," it simply doesn't hold up. Compare the lyrics to the poem:
Essentially the song and the poem both mean the same thing: take advantage of life while you're young, seize the day, go after every opportunity to enjoy life before it's too late. But still, they're very different. A closer look at Black's lyrics reveal that there is actually nothing more to reveal; in it's basic form all the song is saying, "Let's have a good time on Friday," without metaphor or figurative language. What makes this not a poem is that the words don't transcend the music, nor do they hold any hidden meaning - everything is just laid out there, nice and obvious. Also, there's the issue of her actual choice of words - how can one "kick it" in the front seat and sit in the back seat at the same time? This shows a total lack of craft that she can't keep the logistics of her song straight. She's young, I get it, but what concerns me more than anything is every high school student knows Rebecca Black and her un-poetic drivel, but if asked who wrote the line "Gather ye rosebuds while ya may," many of them would not be able to tell me.
By contrast, what makes Herrick's poem a poem? It requires thought, and interpretation for one thing. And there is a tone of urgency which can only be expressed through his word choice - "The age is best which is the first, / When youth and blood are warmer; / But being spent, the worse, and worst / Times still succeed the former" - when I read these lines I notice that I even begin to pick up the pace as the poem goes on.
So, Dylan/Herrick v. Black? Even putting the names together hurts. "Friday" just is not in the least poetic.
(Yeah, Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ah-Ark)
Oo-ooh-ooh, hoo yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah-ah-ah
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning
Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs
Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal
Seein' everything, the time is goin'
Tickin' on and on, everybody's rushin'
Gotta get down to the bus stop
Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Gettin' down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Partyin', partyin' (Yeah)
Fun, fun, fun, fun
Lookin' forward to the weekend
7:45, we're drivin' on the highway
Cruisin' so fast, I want time to fly
Fun, fun, think about fun
You know what it is I got this, you got this
My friend is by my right, ay I got this, you got this
Now you know it
Kickin' in the front seat
Sittin' in the back seat
Gotta make my mind up
Which seat can I take?
It's Friday, Friday
Gotta get down on Friday
Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend
Friday, Friday
Here's the thing, the song has a (forgive me) classic meaning: carpe diem. Still doesn't make it a poem. If this song is put up against what is probably the most famous carpe diem poem in history, Robert Herrick's "To the Virgins, to make much of Time," it simply doesn't hold up. Compare the lyrics to the poem:
| GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, | |
| Old Time is still a-flying: | |
| And this same flower that smiles to-day | |
| To-morrow will be dying. | |
| The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, | 5 |
| The higher he 's a-getting, | |
| The sooner will his race be run, | |
| And nearer he 's to setting. | |
| That age is best which is the first, | |
| When youth and blood are warmer; | 10 |
| But being spent, the worse, and worst | |
| Times still succeed the former. | |
| Then be not coy, but use your time, | |
| And while ye may, go marry: | |
| For having lost but once your prime, | 15 |
| You may for ever tarry. |
Essentially the song and the poem both mean the same thing: take advantage of life while you're young, seize the day, go after every opportunity to enjoy life before it's too late. But still, they're very different. A closer look at Black's lyrics reveal that there is actually nothing more to reveal; in it's basic form all the song is saying, "Let's have a good time on Friday," without metaphor or figurative language. What makes this not a poem is that the words don't transcend the music, nor do they hold any hidden meaning - everything is just laid out there, nice and obvious. Also, there's the issue of her actual choice of words - how can one "kick it" in the front seat and sit in the back seat at the same time? This shows a total lack of craft that she can't keep the logistics of her song straight. She's young, I get it, but what concerns me more than anything is every high school student knows Rebecca Black and her un-poetic drivel, but if asked who wrote the line "Gather ye rosebuds while ya may," many of them would not be able to tell me.
By contrast, what makes Herrick's poem a poem? It requires thought, and interpretation for one thing. And there is a tone of urgency which can only be expressed through his word choice - "The age is best which is the first, / When youth and blood are warmer; / But being spent, the worse, and worst / Times still succeed the former" - when I read these lines I notice that I even begin to pick up the pace as the poem goes on.
So, Dylan/Herrick v. Black? Even putting the names together hurts. "Friday" just is not in the least poetic.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Bob Dylan
Walk into any bookstore or conduct an internet search looking for "Bob Dylan" and you're likely to find at least a dozen books written about Dylan's lyrics. I sort of don't even need to make the argument that he's a poet - he's been regarded as such for decades so it's basically a fact. In my last post I talked about Pichaske's point that in order for a rock lyric to be true poetry, to be true literature, the words need to express some greater human truth whether it's emotional, societal, or both. On his record The Times They Are A-Changin', Dylan personalizes the sociopolitcal climate of the time - including the religious climate - through stories about himself or other individuals.
One of the many books published on Dylan's lyrics Jokerman: Reading the Lyrics of Bob Dylan by Aidan Day. Day explains that his "study" focuses on "the semantic properties of the words of the lyrics"; however, he is not claiming "priority for the printed text over the performance, nor to undervalue the profound expressive possibilities of Dylan's voice." And furthermore he states, "A Dylan lyric on the page is one text of that lyric while a performance of it constitutes another. Nor is there necessarily one dominant performed version" (5). In other words, according to Day, no performance or presentation is the same and each must be considered separately of all others.
All that said, I completely agree with Day when he states that "[Dylan's] words alone stand as significant texts" (5), and one of the reasons for this is because of their emotionally charged sociopolitical statements, and The Times They Are A-Changin' is riddled with these.
The Times They Are A-Changin'
This initial reaction to the album's title track, and its principle interpretation has been that it was an anthem of change for the 1960s. But in a 1964 interview with Cameron Crowe, Dylan said, "I wanted to write a big song, with short concise verses that piled up on each other in a hypnotic way. The Civil Rights Movement and the folk music movement were pretty close for a while and allied together at that time." A year later he continued to explain in yet another interview saying, "I didn't mean 'The Times They Are A-Changin'' as a statement... It's a feeling." Despite the tone of command in the song - "Come writers and critics" or "Come senators, congressmen" etc. - Dylan was not seeking to cause change, but to lyrically express and record the change he could already feel and see happening.
Later in the record Dylan's songs become more focused and he uses them to tell stories and create illustrations of the reasons we need to keep supporting the change already beginning. "The Ballad of Hollis Brown" is Dylan's exercise in empathy, and is written in response to the national poverty rate in the late 1950s, early 1960s (about 19%) through the lens of Hollis Brown and his life. The song itself harkens back to the murder ballads of the 19th century, and here Hollis Brown, after losing his crops and his horse and dealing with his inability to feed his children, commits a murder suicide ending the lives of his wife and five children, then turning the gun on himself ("There's seven people dead / On a South Dakota farm"). Eventually in response to the poverty level, and incidentally not long after the release of Dylan's record, then president Lindon B. Johnson would announce The War of Poverty during his State of the Union address on January 8, 1964. Though the popularity of the War on Poverty would eventually wane, it seemed the government was beginning to take heed in trying to prevent the type of scenario which Dylan's ballad presented.
With God on Our Side
"With God on Our Side" strays from empathizing with those living below the poverty line and turns its focus to the fear of impending war. The song begins, "Oh my name it is nothin' / My age it means less" voicing the sentiment of many soldiers who enlisted to serve their country and may have lied about their ages to do so. The speaker goes on to express a fear of the Russian threat, which is most definitely a reference to the Bay of Pigs, singing, "I've learned to hate Russians / All through my whole life / If another war starts /It's them we must fight / to hate them and fear them / To run and to hide / And accept it all bravely / With God on my side." In many of Dylan's songs he sings about this sense of the "impending end of individual life. And the time that is so short is above all short for the master [and] the speaker's own identity. Time and again it is a conviction of his own depravity which traumatizes the speaker of these lyrics" (99-100), which is also seen here when he sings "So now as I'm leavin' / I'm weary as hell / the confusion I'm feelin' / Ain't no tongue can tell." Dylan ends the song in the same stanza but not before he makes the statement that whoever is fighting a war, whoever is on either side, will justify their actions by thinking that whoever their god is will be in support of their side of the fight. Where the song takes a turn is in that final stanza when Dylan says the final lines: "If God's on our side / He'll stop the next war." And there is his main social statement: for those of you who are so religious, if God was really on anyone's side, we wouldn't have war at all.
There is a lot more I have to write on Bob Dylan - let's face it, in the conversation of Song v. Poem, Dylan might be the only artist that matters. But more on that later.
One of the many books published on Dylan's lyrics Jokerman: Reading the Lyrics of Bob Dylan by Aidan Day. Day explains that his "study" focuses on "the semantic properties of the words of the lyrics"; however, he is not claiming "priority for the printed text over the performance, nor to undervalue the profound expressive possibilities of Dylan's voice." And furthermore he states, "A Dylan lyric on the page is one text of that lyric while a performance of it constitutes another. Nor is there necessarily one dominant performed version" (5). In other words, according to Day, no performance or presentation is the same and each must be considered separately of all others.
All that said, I completely agree with Day when he states that "[Dylan's] words alone stand as significant texts" (5), and one of the reasons for this is because of their emotionally charged sociopolitical statements, and The Times They Are A-Changin' is riddled with these.
The Times They Are A-Changin'
This initial reaction to the album's title track, and its principle interpretation has been that it was an anthem of change for the 1960s. But in a 1964 interview with Cameron Crowe, Dylan said, "I wanted to write a big song, with short concise verses that piled up on each other in a hypnotic way. The Civil Rights Movement and the folk music movement were pretty close for a while and allied together at that time." A year later he continued to explain in yet another interview saying, "I didn't mean 'The Times They Are A-Changin'' as a statement... It's a feeling." Despite the tone of command in the song - "Come writers and critics" or "Come senators, congressmen" etc. - Dylan was not seeking to cause change, but to lyrically express and record the change he could already feel and see happening.
The Ballad of Hollis Brown
Later in the record Dylan's songs become more focused and he uses them to tell stories and create illustrations of the reasons we need to keep supporting the change already beginning. "The Ballad of Hollis Brown" is Dylan's exercise in empathy, and is written in response to the national poverty rate in the late 1950s, early 1960s (about 19%) through the lens of Hollis Brown and his life. The song itself harkens back to the murder ballads of the 19th century, and here Hollis Brown, after losing his crops and his horse and dealing with his inability to feed his children, commits a murder suicide ending the lives of his wife and five children, then turning the gun on himself ("There's seven people dead / On a South Dakota farm"). Eventually in response to the poverty level, and incidentally not long after the release of Dylan's record, then president Lindon B. Johnson would announce The War of Poverty during his State of the Union address on January 8, 1964. Though the popularity of the War on Poverty would eventually wane, it seemed the government was beginning to take heed in trying to prevent the type of scenario which Dylan's ballad presented.
With God on Our Side
"With God on Our Side" strays from empathizing with those living below the poverty line and turns its focus to the fear of impending war. The song begins, "Oh my name it is nothin' / My age it means less" voicing the sentiment of many soldiers who enlisted to serve their country and may have lied about their ages to do so. The speaker goes on to express a fear of the Russian threat, which is most definitely a reference to the Bay of Pigs, singing, "I've learned to hate Russians / All through my whole life / If another war starts /It's them we must fight / to hate them and fear them / To run and to hide / And accept it all bravely / With God on my side." In many of Dylan's songs he sings about this sense of the "impending end of individual life. And the time that is so short is above all short for the master [and] the speaker's own identity. Time and again it is a conviction of his own depravity which traumatizes the speaker of these lyrics" (99-100), which is also seen here when he sings "So now as I'm leavin' / I'm weary as hell / the confusion I'm feelin' / Ain't no tongue can tell." Dylan ends the song in the same stanza but not before he makes the statement that whoever is fighting a war, whoever is on either side, will justify their actions by thinking that whoever their god is will be in support of their side of the fight. Where the song takes a turn is in that final stanza when Dylan says the final lines: "If God's on our side / He'll stop the next war." And there is his main social statement: for those of you who are so religious, if God was really on anyone's side, we wouldn't have war at all.
There is a lot more I have to write on Bob Dylan - let's face it, in the conversation of Song v. Poem, Dylan might be the only artist that matters. But more on that later.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
In terms of legitimacy...
In his book The Poetry of Rock: The Golden Years, David Pichaske spends quite a bit of time on what makes a rock lyric "legitimate." Sometimes he deems a song "legitimate" based on how well or poorly the music/lyrics/arrangement work together. Other times his argument is based on the quality of the lyric itself, which is especially subject to Pichaske's own opinion. In order to agree or disagree with Pichaske, you kind of need to know what legitimacy means.
"Legitimate" is defined as "conforming to recognized principles or accepted rules and standards." But this definition creates a whole other set of questions:
Pichaske opens his book with a brief history of rock in which he purports that "rock lyrics may survive surprisingly well even when stripped of their music" and "rock lyrics may be closer to the true poetic mainstream than other forms of twentieth century, prove on close examination to be neurotic, grotesque, abnormal... maybe, just maybe we are justified in applying a literary analysis to rock, and that we have some right to expect rock to measure up literarily. The cry 'But they're songs, not poems' is really not a valid excuse (5). Basically he's saying that one of the arguments for rock lyrics' legitimacy is the popularity of mainstream music - because it's popular, probably more so than printed poetry (think of the poetry section at a bookstore versus the size of a record store) music is more legitimate than poetry.
Another argument Pichaske makes for the legitimacy of rock lyrics does deal with issues of form. As previously stated, legitimacy deals with conforming to standards and forms, and although the importance of these forms is somewhat arguable, it's no secret that both both songs and poems follow them and perhaps even the same forms at time. To Pichaske, form is one thing that makes rock lyrics legitimate because "words seek form; form has to be reckoned with by [an] artist. One mark of sixties' rock's greatest was its refusal to take form for granted, its willingness to experiment in musical and poetic form" (7). Notice, though, he specifically says that there needs to be a willingness to experiment with form - perhaps the lyrics never refrain refrain or they break rhyme scheme, or the sonnet doesn't have the exact number of syllables it should per line.
Pichaske also compares certain types of music in order to explain which are legitimate and why. According to Pichaske legitimacy also has to deal with the messages behind the lyrics. He compares two types of folk saying, "Protest folk was more legitimate than hootenany folk because it integrated itself more with the social and history movement" (27). If the message behind or the meaning of a song's lyrics has something to do with society (politics or culture) then the song may be deemed legitimate, which is also what Pichaske argues in the case of poetry.
Finally, in his brief history, Pichaske takes a dig at critics writing, "And for their part, the music profs have been reluctant to grant [rock music] status as art as the lit. crit. boys have been reluctant to grant it status as poetry" (4). He then goes on to say that 'A good rock singer-composer-arranger knows not only how to write words and music that mean, but how to make them work with or against each other. That, my friends, is art!" (6). So according to Pichaske, the literary critics and music professors must consider lyrics in the same vein as poetry (even that which is canonized) because these lyrics are art, and in many cases that art is at least elevated as poetic art.
Pichaske goes on to discuss individual artists in terms of whether they are true poets and how. His opinions of these artists will be discussed in later posts when I discuss some of their records. For now, I agree with Pichaske that song lyrics must be able to stand alone and encompass a certain degree of craft in order to be considered the same as poetic art. Whether some of these artists I will discuss meet those "requirements" remains to be seen upon the analysis of their lyrics.
"Legitimate" is defined as "conforming to recognized principles or accepted rules and standards." But this definition creates a whole other set of questions:
- What are the rules and standards a song lyric must conform to?
- Who created these rules and who implements them?
Pichaske opens his book with a brief history of rock in which he purports that "rock lyrics may survive surprisingly well even when stripped of their music" and "rock lyrics may be closer to the true poetic mainstream than other forms of twentieth century, prove on close examination to be neurotic, grotesque, abnormal... maybe, just maybe we are justified in applying a literary analysis to rock, and that we have some right to expect rock to measure up literarily. The cry 'But they're songs, not poems' is really not a valid excuse (5). Basically he's saying that one of the arguments for rock lyrics' legitimacy is the popularity of mainstream music - because it's popular, probably more so than printed poetry (think of the poetry section at a bookstore versus the size of a record store) music is more legitimate than poetry.
Another argument Pichaske makes for the legitimacy of rock lyrics does deal with issues of form. As previously stated, legitimacy deals with conforming to standards and forms, and although the importance of these forms is somewhat arguable, it's no secret that both both songs and poems follow them and perhaps even the same forms at time. To Pichaske, form is one thing that makes rock lyrics legitimate because "words seek form; form has to be reckoned with by [an] artist. One mark of sixties' rock's greatest was its refusal to take form for granted, its willingness to experiment in musical and poetic form" (7). Notice, though, he specifically says that there needs to be a willingness to experiment with form - perhaps the lyrics never refrain refrain or they break rhyme scheme, or the sonnet doesn't have the exact number of syllables it should per line.
Pichaske also compares certain types of music in order to explain which are legitimate and why. According to Pichaske legitimacy also has to deal with the messages behind the lyrics. He compares two types of folk saying, "Protest folk was more legitimate than hootenany folk because it integrated itself more with the social and history movement" (27). If the message behind or the meaning of a song's lyrics has something to do with society (politics or culture) then the song may be deemed legitimate, which is also what Pichaske argues in the case of poetry.
Finally, in his brief history, Pichaske takes a dig at critics writing, "And for their part, the music profs have been reluctant to grant [rock music] status as art as the lit. crit. boys have been reluctant to grant it status as poetry" (4). He then goes on to say that 'A good rock singer-composer-arranger knows not only how to write words and music that mean, but how to make them work with or against each other. That, my friends, is art!" (6). So according to Pichaske, the literary critics and music professors must consider lyrics in the same vein as poetry (even that which is canonized) because these lyrics are art, and in many cases that art is at least elevated as poetic art.
Pichaske goes on to discuss individual artists in terms of whether they are true poets and how. His opinions of these artists will be discussed in later posts when I discuss some of their records. For now, I agree with Pichaske that song lyrics must be able to stand alone and encompass a certain degree of craft in order to be considered the same as poetic art. Whether some of these artists I will discuss meet those "requirements" remains to be seen upon the analysis of their lyrics.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Sometimes Songs and Poems are One in the Same (Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago)
Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago is a record that blurs the
line between what is a song, and what is a poem. The thing about Justin
Vernon's (who performs under the moniker "Bon Iver") lyrics is because he sings in such a high
falsetto, using his voice as though it was an instrument, it's usually
difficult to understand the words, so having the printed lyrics is necessary.
That being said, the music and lyrics always seem to work for each other -
never against - when combined, but they are each so well crafted with so many
variations in sound and meaning that they are beautiful (and credible)
separately.
On this record, Vernon's songs trade off between being
repetitive and not; he doesn't repeat lines just to make a song
"catchy," but does it only when absolutely necessary and when it
makes sense to the meaning of the song. I've set up the following post so that
the songs and lyrics are both available for the songs I chose to focus on.
FLUME
I am my mother's only one
it's enough.
I wear my garment so it shows
now you know.
only love is all maroon
gluey feathers on a flume
sky is womb and she's the moon
I am my mother on the wall, with us all.
I move in water, shore to shore;
nothing's more.
only love is all maroon
lapping lakes like leery loons
leaving rope burns--
reddish ruse
only love is all maroon
gluey feathers on a flume
sky is womb and she's the moon
"Flume" is one of the only songs on the record in
which the lyrics and vocals actually help the music showing that, in this case,
both music and lyrics cannot stand alone. Here, the music itself is so raw and
sparse that it needs the extra instrumentation of the vocals. In other words,
the lyrics are strong enough to stand alone, but not the music. Why is that?
It's not just the weakness of the music, it's what the words are doing.
"Flume" is setting the story for the rest of the record, which is
essentially about a man reopening his heart to love after a devastating
heartbreak; and it characterizes the speaker as someone who wears his emotions
outright ("I wear my garment so it shows" (l. 3)). He is also utterly
secluded with only his surroundings and daily tasks as his company, which is
evident in the seventh stanza:
only love is all maroon
lapping lakes like leery loons
leaving rope burns--
reddish ruse (ll. 11-14).
Here are the sounds of loons calling and rope burns from
laboring - obviously these words are important to set the story, which can't be
exposed by the music alone.
Although understanding what Vernon is singing is a good
reason to have the lyrics in print, he also breaks lines in ways that don't
follow the normal layout for lyrics: four line verse, four line chorus, four
line verse, etc. Like any poet would do, he breaks lines where it makes sense,
emphasizing certain lines while dropping the others into the background, and
because of this, his lyrics can't be truly appreciated unless read.
SKINNY LOVE
come on skinny love just last the year
pour a little salt we were never here
my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer
I tell my love to wreck it all
cut out all the ropes and let me fall
my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
right in the moment this order's tall
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
in the morning I'll be with you
but it will be a different "kind"
I'll be holding all the tickets
and you'll be owning all the fines
come on skinny love what happened here
suckle on the hope in light brassiere
my, my, my, my, my, my, my, my
sullen load is full; so slow on the split
I told you to be patient
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
now all your love is wasted?
then who the hell was I?
now I'm breaking at the britches
and at the end of all your lines
who will love you?
who will fight?
who will fall far behind?
The main reason I chose Bon Iver's record to follow the post
I wrote on repetition is many of Vernon's lyrics repeat lines or include
refrains. As mentioned in that post, often when repeated lyrics are printed on
the page, they seem silly, not prolific. But with Vernon's lyrics, they are
actually prolific.
"Skinny Love" is one of those songs that really
shows how vital all its working parts are to each other, but also how well they
can work separately. However, there are certain portions of this song where the
lyrics might not be able to work alone, but that depends on how they're read.
Take the third line of the first stanza: "my, my, my, my, my, my, my,
my." It can be read in two ways: either it's a nonsense line used as an
interlude to break the tension of the line that follows, or it can be
heard/read as "Oh, my..." like the speaker is recognizing how
difficult it is to make this plea to an old love he wishes would stay at least
through the year.
There is also the repetition of the chorus in beginning
successive lines with "I told you..." Here the desperation expressed
in the repetition is not only limited to hearing it out loud. On the page this
still means "I told you and you did/didn't do it anyway" and we still
no the speaker is really trying to understand, but can't. Out loud and sung,
perhaps the only real difference in this repetition is the meaning is even more
apparent when Vernon sings the lines as though they are being thrust from his
throat through tears. For me, that's the most vital portion of the song, and if
it works without music, then the whole song can stand as a poem.
THE WOLVES (ACT I & II)
someday my pain, someday my pain
will mark you.
harness your blame, harness your blame
and walk through.
with the wild wolves around you
in the morning, I'll call you
send it farther on
solace my game, solace my game
it stars you
swing wide your crane, swing wide your crane
and run me through
and the story's all over you
in the morning I'll call you
can't you find a clue when your eyes are all painted
Sinatra blue
what might have been lost--
don't bother me.
The way the lyrics are expressed on the page changes a bit in the final two songs I'm presenting here, one of which is "The Wolves (Act I and II)." It is actually necessary for this song to be presented on the page and sung with musical backing - it needs both versions. Hearing the song with musical backing is important because in the beginning, even before the first verse, Vernon maintains prolonged waves of notes in his haunting falsetto with nothing but the light tapping of a guitar in the background. This tapping creates a tension which is only exacerbated when Vernon finally begins singing the first verse. The song goes on with the speaker struggling with the memories of his past heartache and whether he should remain alone or trust someone new.
Finally, the song culminates with "what might have been lost -- don't bother me" (ll. 16-17), which is repeated numerous times over accompanied by a cacophony of crashing cymbals and guitar riffs until the song fades out, but is stated only once on the page. While the line can take on a small difference in meaning portrayed both ways, it becomes no less powerful. When read, the line expresses that the speaker is really OK with whatever opportunity to love again might be missed - he's convinced and unwavering. But when sung over and over again, the speaker is trying to convince himself that he's OK with the missed opportunity, and with the thrashing music behind the vocals, it's as though he's repeating the line through sobs.
Though both portrayals of these last two lines are equally valid and powerful, I understand why they weren't repeated on the page as many times as they are sung. Repetition works best in a poem when used sparingly, and repeating this line 12 times on the page would make it trite and less powerful. Plus, it would lose the intensity of the overlapping and difference in key and intonation that the recorded version has. Though the meaning of the line is tweaked slightly depending on the presentation, it is no less emotionally evocative either way.
FOR EMMA
narrator:
(so apropros:
saw death on a sunny snow)
him:
"for every life..."
her:
"forgo the parable."
him:
"seek the light."
her:
"...my knees are cold."
(running home, running home,
running home, running home...)
her:
"go find another lover;
to bring a... to string along!"
"with all your lies, you're still very loveable."
"I toured the light; so many foreign roads for Emma,
forever ago."
I chose to discuss "For Emma" not because it's the record's namesake, nor because it really aids in my discussion of repetition, but because it is written completely differently than any other song on the record. Here, Vernon uses the elements of prose writing and poetic dialogue to compose a song, but drops these elements in the recorded version.
The lyrics are written in the form of a dialogue amongst a narrator, "him" and "her." "Emma" is mentioned, but she doesn't seem to be the "her" of which Vernon speaks. Here is what happens in the song: "he" is still hung up on "Emma" but "she" doesn't want to compete with "his" former lover anymore. So the female character decides to leave until he finally admits to the feelings he still harbors for his past love and decides to let "Emma" go. None of this, however, is obvious upon hearing the song without seeing the printed lyrics. Both versions of the story work, but for different reasons; the performed version is somewhat nonsensical because the speaker is not evident, and neither are the characters, while the written version gives us more information but allows the reader to become immersed in a more concrete story. Either way, the song's/poem's beauty or meaning is never really compromised.
With Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago, it's easy to see how a song can also work as a poem. Sometimes these lyrics can stand on their own and lose next to nothing, other times, that can't. Nevertheless, I consider this album special (for lack of a better word) because of how many songs are legitimate poems.
send it farther on
solace my game, solace my game
it stars you
swing wide your crane, swing wide your crane
and run me through
and the story's all over you
in the morning I'll call you
can't you find a clue when your eyes are all painted
Sinatra blue
what might have been lost--
don't bother me.
Finally, the song culminates with "what might have been lost -- don't bother me" (ll. 16-17), which is repeated numerous times over accompanied by a cacophony of crashing cymbals and guitar riffs until the song fades out, but is stated only once on the page. While the line can take on a small difference in meaning portrayed both ways, it becomes no less powerful. When read, the line expresses that the speaker is really OK with whatever opportunity to love again might be missed - he's convinced and unwavering. But when sung over and over again, the speaker is trying to convince himself that he's OK with the missed opportunity, and with the thrashing music behind the vocals, it's as though he's repeating the line through sobs.
Though both portrayals of these last two lines are equally valid and powerful, I understand why they weren't repeated on the page as many times as they are sung. Repetition works best in a poem when used sparingly, and repeating this line 12 times on the page would make it trite and less powerful. Plus, it would lose the intensity of the overlapping and difference in key and intonation that the recorded version has. Though the meaning of the line is tweaked slightly depending on the presentation, it is no less emotionally evocative either way.
FOR EMMA
narrator:
(so apropros:
saw death on a sunny snow)
him:
"for every life..."
her:
"forgo the parable."
him:
"seek the light."
her:
"...my knees are cold."
(running home, running home,
running home, running home...)
her:
"go find another lover;
to bring a... to string along!"
"with all your lies, you're still very loveable."
"I toured the light; so many foreign roads for Emma,
forever ago."
The lyrics are written in the form of a dialogue amongst a narrator, "him" and "her." "Emma" is mentioned, but she doesn't seem to be the "her" of which Vernon speaks. Here is what happens in the song: "he" is still hung up on "Emma" but "she" doesn't want to compete with "his" former lover anymore. So the female character decides to leave until he finally admits to the feelings he still harbors for his past love and decides to let "Emma" go. None of this, however, is obvious upon hearing the song without seeing the printed lyrics. Both versions of the story work, but for different reasons; the performed version is somewhat nonsensical because the speaker is not evident, and neither are the characters, while the written version gives us more information but allows the reader to become immersed in a more concrete story. Either way, the song's/poem's beauty or meaning is never really compromised.
With Bon Iver's For Emma, Forever Ago, it's easy to see how a song can also work as a poem. Sometimes these lyrics can stand on their own and lose next to nothing, other times, that can't. Nevertheless, I consider this album special (for lack of a better word) because of how many songs are legitimate poems.
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