Thursday, August 20, 2009

Burning down the house

Some songs rattle around in one's psyche far longer than expected. I may have admired a song, but not felt strongly about it for any number of reasons. Yet a decade or more later, it persists, haunting me in the grocery store, and each time I hear it I have to admit that it is compelling.

If a different artist recorded Shawn Colvin's biggest commercial success, "Sunny came home" - say, All About Eve or even Siouxsie & The Banshees - its gothic theme might come through more obviously. Even with a twangy, folksy, adult contemporary arrangement, the song is a coup; I finally gave it a close reading and found a remarkable portrait of the Mother archetype that doesn't show up very often in popular music, if at all.

Of course popular music trucks in archetypes all the time: the Lover, the Fool, the King, the Warrior, the Virgin (far too often...) even the Magician; they are easy to find because part of what makes a song successful, and therefore popular, is how it taps into these universal constructs that we may or may not consciously acknowledge. And I suppose there are plenty of songs that treat the brighter side of Mother: life-giving, nurturing, protective.

But "Sunny came home" is more concerned with the shadow of Mother: the woman who, in the words of Nietzsche, in order to be a creator must first be a destroyer. What the narrator characterizes initially as a few small repairs turns out to be burning the house down. There is nothing nihilistic about this act, however: even though we don't learn why, it is clear that the decision has been carefully considered, and it is executed just as carefully: put a sweater on the kids, wait for the day when the air is dry and a breeze will fan the flames. For whatever reason, this woman has determined that she must raze her old life to the ground if she is going to start a new one, for her and her children.

Shawn Colvin's achievement comes as much from what she leaves out as what she puts into the song. There is no mention of a man, husband, father; there is no named enemy. That would make the song so much easier, so much more accessible. It would turn it into a country song, really. By keeping the focus on the woman, the real impact is finding out what she is capable of doing, the lengths to which she is willing to go. (Knowing, for example, that she wrote this album following her divorce dilutes my experience of it - there are so many narratives that fit this framework; the ambiguity strengthens it.)

There is a great literary tradition of women who refuse to let the world around them forget about the shadowy side of the Mother archetype. Gore Vidal possibly put it most succinctly in Myra Breckenridge: "That is woman's role, to make the wound and then to heal it." It is an incredible stark thought, as stark as the Greek world in winter, when Demeter is mourning her daughter Persephone by letting everything wither and die, and preventing anything new from being born.

This is the reason why I admire "Sunny came home", even though it's somewhat remote from my musical center. I appreciate the darkness, the honesty, the subversion, particularly because it is handled so expertly that it became palatable to the general public. Good work, Ms. Colvin.

Shawn Colvin official website

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Elizabeth Gaskell

A sleepless bed is a haunted place.


Mary Barton, p. 270.

CURE - LULLABY


Disintegration feels like the centerpiece of Cure's career. After a decade of brilliant work, this album synergized it all, excepting maybe the most playful lighthearted moments. All their previous exploration of uncluttered structures and sumptuous textures coalesces, along with a more perfect balance between lyric and melody. The boys were old enough to show some maturity, but still young enough to dream. 'Fascination street', 'Love song' and 'Pictures of you' are incredible singles, and 'The same deep water as you' and 'Plainsong' are Cure at their meditative, cinematic best.

Robert Smith had repeatedly demonstrated his ability to tell a great story ('A forest', 'Just like heaven'), but when it came time for 'Lullaby', he seemed to find fresh reserves. It is a dark tale, even darker than the arrangement suggests, and it stands apart because of the unnerving tension it sets up among three distinct modalities: a sci-fi terror story, a molestation nightmare, and a homoerotic fantasy.

Without being too obvious about it, the arrangement is styled as a furtive sketch, with bass and guitar lines coming at us sideways. For the superb remix of 'Lullaby' that leads off the Mixed Up compilation, the rawness of the original is slicked over in favor of a synthier, sexier arrangement. This foregrounds the erotic side of the song more than the original, but it doesn't dispel the menace.

'On candystripe legs the spiderman comes / softly through the shadow of the evening sun / Stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead / Looking for a victim shivering in bed.' One thinks of the cautionary tales of Shockheaded Peter, or another of the great pieces from goth's late eighties renaissance - Siouxsie & The Banshees' 'Rawhead and Bloodybones'. This is definitely not the story of a Marvel Comics character in a red and blue bodysuit. The terror carries all the way through to the next morning, when the narrator wakes up in the shivering cold.

'Be still, be calm, be quiet now / my precious boy / Don't struggle like that / or I will only love you more.' These lyrics remind one of other songs of abuse like Smiths' 'Headmaster ritual', in which the narrator is grabbed and devoured by a predatory adult. The shivering cold of morning may actually be something to which the child looks forward, because it means the dangerous night is over.

Yet in the midst of these dark scenarios there is room for a barely repressed thrill, as the man quietly laughs and approaches the foot of the bed. 'I feel like I'm being eaten by a thousand million shivering furry holes' is wide open to interpretation (pun intended), and there is more than a hint of salaciousness in Smith's delivery of this line and others. The shivering cold of morning is also the shudder after the orgasm.

It's undoubtedly a disturbing story, all the more so because of its ambiguity than its specific details. And this multivalent quality elevates it above much of the rest of Smith's estimable songwriting. 'Lullaby' also holds a place in the odd sampler of unexpected homoeroticism in alternative music (see also: Nine Inch Nails' 'The only time' and Franz Ferdinand's 'Michael'.) It's remarkable how uncontroversial each of these songs have been, despite their queer shadings.

In the case of Robert Smith, he has always been at his best when he has incorporated a childlike point of view into his music, be it whimsy, wonder, or wishfulness. With "Lullaby", it is the irrational embrace of disturbing things which threaten but somehow don't overwhelm innocence. Despite everything that threatens him - monsters, molestors, sexual initiation - he remains a boy in pajamas, singing in his bed.

Cure official website