Category Archives: Music

The Madonna Timeline: Song #122 ~ ‘Autotune Baby’ – Late winter 2015

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

Madonna’s B-sides and Bonus Tracks have only gotten better over the years (see ‘I Fucked Up‘, ‘Super Pop’ and ‘Beautiful Killer.’) This Madonna timeline selection – ‘Autotune Baby’ – is one of the best, wrapped in an annoying baby gimmick that almost – almost – ruins the whole beautiful affair. But I guess babies tend to do that, so we will make do. It’s a bonus track from the excellent ‘Rebel Heart’ album, and got lost in that release’s mad shuffle.

I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT YOU ALL THE TIME CAUSE YOU’RE NOT MINE

I’M NOT IN LOVE BUT I’M IN LIKE, SO FAR IT’S WORKING FINE. 

BUT WHEN I NEED YOU THEN I’M DESPERATE,  I’M A LITTLE CHILD

JUST LIKE AN ANIMAL, DOWN ON MY KNEES AND BEGGING…

She’s employed the baby thing once in the past – in an unobtrusive bit of recorded laughter reportedly by Pat Leonard’s daughter in ‘Dear Jessie‘. That one was forgivable given the whimsical childhood fantasy of the song. This time around, an annoying child’s cry is used, distorted, and turned into a jarring musical recurrence.

YEAH, ALL WRAPPED UP, I WANNA BE YOUR LITTLE BABY NOW

PUT MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER, YOU CAN ROCK ME, ROCK ME NOW

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT YOU CAN HEAR ME CRYING LOUD

PUT MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER AND ROCK ME.

On repeated listens, however, it becomes an integral part of the song. Not that it isn’t for a moment anything less than grossly agitating, but there’s a useful purpose for it. That bothersome grating on the ears actually makes the chorus, when it arrives, that much sweeter. And what a gorgeous chorus it is – probably one of her best in a long time. Such a shame it had to be bound with the baby.

OPEN THE DOOR, UNLOCK ME

WE’VE GOT TONIGHT, SO ROCK ME NOW.

Lyrically it’s a casual relationship gone obsessive, a sweet love song surrounded by emotionally sadomasochistic tension. The push and pull of power and weakness, of domination and subjugation, of love and hate – it finds fruitful musical resolution in the chorus. (Again, this could have been one of the great ones were it not for that damn baby.)

I’M IN MY BED AND I’M OBSESSED AND LYING WIDE AWAKE

I NEED SOMEONE LIKE YOU TO COME AND PUT ME IN MY PLACE

CAUSE IN THE DAY I CAN’T BE TAMED, BOY YOU DON’T WANNA KNOW

BUT IN THE NIGHT MY HANDS ARE TIED, YOU TELL ME WHERE TO GO.

It’s a fuck you/fuck me lullaby, filled with barbed sweetness and poisoned candy. We all want to be so strong in the light of day. We wrap ourselves in armor and pretend that we don’t need anyone, that we are not dependent or needy creatures. Nobody wants to be the weak one.

YEAH, ALL WRAPPED UP, I WANNA BE YOUR LITTLE BABY NOW

PUT MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER, YOU CAN ROCK ME, ROCK ME NOW

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT YOU CAN HEAR ME CRYING LOUD

PUT MY HEAD ON YOUR SHOULDER AND ROCK ME.

Once the night falls, however, most of us just want to be held. Rocked gently to sleep. Comforted and wrapped in loving arms. We aren’t supposed to admit it, but there it is. From the moment we enter this cold world, we just want to be loved.

OPEN THE DOOR, UNLOCK ME

WE’VE GOT TONIGHT SO ROCK ME

OPEN THE DOOR, UNLOCK ME

WE’VE GOT TONIGHT SO ROCK ME NOW.

{I just can’t get over the damn autotune baby. I tried, but I can’t.}

ROCK ME NOW… ROCK ME NOW.

SONG #122: ‘Autotune Baby’ ~ Late Winter 2015

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #121 – ‘Survival’ ~ Fall 1994

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

“No need to listen for the fall. This is the world’s end.” ~ Rudyard Kipling

We were nearing the end of 1994, and I was about to have one of the worst illnesses of my life thus far: a raging case of mono that would land me in the Brandeis University infirmary. The nurses there were wretched… but I’m getting ahead of myself. We will be there soon enough. First, a bit of background and a brief lead-up.

Madonna had just released ‘Bedtime Stories’ – her first major artistic output in the aftermath of the tumultuous ‘Erotica’ and ‘Sex’ fall-out. The only particularly notable (and nefarious) thing she had done after ‘The Girlie Show’ tour was the infamous David Letterman interview where she said ‘fuck’ a whole bunch of times. It was mostly awkward because of the interviewer’s weaknesses, though Madonna was hardly at her best at the time. (There was also the sheer brilliance of the soundtrack single ‘I’ll Remember’ but for some reason nobody seems to follow the title’s sentiment.) ‘Bedtime Stories’ was a lovely little reminder of what had always mattered most in Madonna’s career, even when she herself didn’t feel it: the music.

I’d traveled into Boston for the midnight release at Tower Records. The vibe was exciting enough, but nothing like former and future frenzies (‘Erotica‘ and ‘Ray of Light‘ for instance). This was a mellow record, and its reception was warm but muted, not unlike the music itself. Madonna had scaled back the shock factor, and turned down the sizzle, resulting in a softer and quieter release. Still, lead single ‘Secret’ was a slow-burning bona-fide smash, and it paved the way for a pleasant return to form.

It was a cold November evening, and I would not make the last commuter rail back to campus, so I’d had to take the T to the last Green Line stop at Riverside, nearest to Brandeis, and hop into a cab the rest of the way. It didn’t matter much – the new album kept glorious aural company, and the first track ‘Survival’ was a soft-focus R&B shuffler that sounded as sweet as its message was strong, with lyrics that were self-empowering and referential from a woman who rarely looked back or owned her failings.

I’LL NEVER BE AN ANGEL,

I’LL NEVER BE A SAINT IT’S TRUE

I’M TOO BUSY SURVIVING,

WHETHER IT’S HEAVEN OR HELL

I’M GONNA BE LIVING TO TELL

SO HERE’S MY STORY,

NO RISK, NO GLORY

Sometimes November feels colder than the depths of deepest winter. By February or March the body is mostly hardened to the chill, but the first few seriously cold snaps are a jolt no matter how many winters you’ve weathered. This was one of those nights, and in spite of how tightly I pulled my coat around me, the chill was already inside.

Having just been unceremoniously dumped by the first man who ever kissed me, my heart felt a little battered. It made sense that my body would soon follow suit, and as I stood there in the sad yellow lamp of a single street lamp, alone and waiting for a taxi cab to take me back to a dark and empty dorm room, I allowed myself a quick moment of self-pity. I shuddered. At the cold, and at the emptiness. The voice of Madonna was my sole companion.

A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL

A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL…

A few days later, a sore throat came upon me – hard and swift and debilitating. Despite all appearances to the contrary I’m actually not a baby when it comes to sickness – it takes a lot to fell me. I went to class and swallowed through the pain, but by Saturday it was difficult to simply get saliva down. I went to the infirmary for some guidance, and was promptly dismissed by a rude nurse. Returning to my dorm, I laid in bed for the rest of the day, alternately reading and sipping at water, even as it felt like shards of glass tumbling down my throat. By evening, unable to stand the pain, I called my parents. On the verge of tears, I listened to an endless string of rings; there was no answer.

I’LL NEVER BE AN ANGEL,

I’LL NEVER BE A SAINT IT’S TRUE

I’M TOO BUSY SURVIVING,

WHETHER IT’S HEAVEN OR HELL

I’M GONNA BE LIVING TO TELL

SO HERE’S MY STORY,

NO RISK, NO GLORY

A few hours later, I tried again. My brother answered and said they were at a party. After hanging up, I did cry a little. Not for the loneliness, but for the pain. It was literally becoming impossible to swallow. Somehow, I did not panic. I pulled a coat on and hurried down the Usen Castle stairs, then outside into the cold night and down more stairs to the infirmary again. I insistently told the nurse on duty that something was wrong and that I wasn’t being a baby. I couldn’t swallow because it hurt too much. She sighed, gave me some Tylenol with codeine, and told me to lie down on a cot in one of the rooms there. Out of fearful exhaustion, and under the cloud of codeine, I fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke in more pain, and a somewhat hazy state, in which I saw my parents standing up beside the cot looking concerned. I blinked to be sure it was real, but they remained. At that moment I got scared and realized I was sicker than I’d thought. Somehow they’d found out where I was and driven the three hours to be there.

It’s good to have a doctor and nurse advocate for you when surrounded by cruel and inept nurses (and those staffing the infirmary during my stay were horrid). Thanks to my parents, who advised the doctor to up the pain meds because I wasn’t someone who complained without good reason, I was put on some horse pills that knocked me out for the next three days while the mono worked its way into submission.

Those were The Lost Days. Into and out of consciousness I went, trying valiantly to finish ‘Kim’ by Rudyard Kipling for a literature class I was in, and getting confused between the fever-ravaged antics of the pages and my own cloudy predicament. Vaguely, I recognized fellow dorm denizens making their volunteer rounds, proffering paper cups of water and little bowls of unappetizing soup. I could barely swallow, and my stomach was entirely uninterested in filling itself up. For most of the day, I slept. My waking moments were mainly in darkness, beneath a solitary lamp over the bed, where I tried to keep reading and not fall behind in my classes. It was an indication of how sick I was that I did not stress over that. Usually I’d have freaked out royally from missing an entire week of classes, particularly as we neared finals for the first semester.

Instead, I gave up.

After love (or the dismal thing I mistook for love) departed, I gave up on it. It’s laughable when I think of how soon and how easily I gave in, but at the time all I knew was that it hurt. The loneliness I had always felt was not going away, and I reconciled myself to that. After a chilly fall of sadness, my body followed suit, giving up in its own way and landing me in the infirmary.

SO, HERE’S MY QUESTION:
DOES YOUR CRITICISM HAVE YOU CAUGHT UP
IN WHAT YOU CANOT SEE?
WELL IF YOU GIVE ME RESPECT,
THEN YOU’LL KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT.

I didn’t quite know who I was yet (some days I still don’t). I only knew that I was a very young guy, just nineteen years old, and I was barely beginning to feel rocked by the world. In the recent aftermath of a heart that didn’t know what it was to be broken, and in the blissful ignorance that likely helped me not to feel such pain, merely surviving was a Herculean effort in itself. I couldn’t, at the time, see the larger picture, the troughs and swells of the oceanic journey that, with time and distance, evened out into a placid pool of calm. The dark, ominous bottoming out was all I could feel.

Yet it was at the darkest moment that Madonna sang this song to me.

As the feverish state broke, and I came back to awareness, I was strong enough to climb the stairs back to my dorm room. It was a sunny, slightly brisk day. My friend Kate was arriving on the commuter rail to pick me up. We would go into Boston, where her parents and mine were in town for the weekend. All glory to God for providing my Dad’s conference and his accompanying room at the Ritz Carlton (then at its original location overlooking the Boston Public Garden) on that weekend. I made the most of it, recuperating in a gorgeous room overlooking Newbury Street. Indulging in a room service breakfast of French toast, I began making up for lost food in fine fashion, and aside from a few strolls through Back Bay stayed largely by the hotel.

By Sunday, I was feeling much better. The sun was out again, though the wind was cold. Fortified by some family time, and all that French toast, I returned to Brandeis. In another week it would be Thanksgiving. Life went on. Already, my mono madness felt like the stuff of dreams – a hazy patch of medicated stupor through which I stumbled. Some nights I still wake up in a panic recalling that period, worried that I didn’t complete all the work I needed to pass those courses.

A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL

A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL…

I wonder at how I did manage to survive that year all alone, as I was just awakening to the fact that I was gay, that it wasn’t a phase, that the one that I was searching for would be a man. I wonder at how I managed to make it through the early-to-mid-nineties when being gay was intertwined with the AIDS crisis, and so much misunderstanding and prejudice. I also wonder at my naivete, and whether that helped or hindered me. Probably a little, or a lot, of both. Being ignorant of what one is supposed to feel, and of what we are truly capable of surviving, enables a sort of blind strength. The kind of courage that sees you through those times that might otherwise have ended up very differently.

I’LL NEVER BE AN ANGEL,

I’LL NEVER BE A SAINT IT’S TRUE

I’M TOO BUSY SURVIVING,

WHETHER IT’S HEAVEN OR HELL

I’M GONNA BE LIVING TO TELL

SO HERE’S MY STORY,

NO RISK, NO GLORY…

In the liner notes to the ‘Bedtime Stories’ album, Madonna thanked her then-assistant Caresse Henry for “keeping me from doing something I might regret later”. There was always something ominous about that chilling note of gratitude, a crack in the armor of the woman who was so seemingly invincible. The rocky road after ‘Sex’ and ‘Erotica’ may have been darker than any of us realized, even for a person who thrived on a love-hate relationship with the world at-large. I read those words and wondered what Madonna meant. Maybe there was something deeper in this Survival. Maybe the opening salvo of the album was a triumphant victory that spit in the face of chart positions and Billboard glory, and started Madonna on the path where mainstream success and acclaim mattered less than artistic expression and creative fulfillment. She would straddle both for the next two decades, so it needn’t have concerned her.

Ms. Henry, in an upsetting side-note, would end up committing suicide herself. Not everyone is meant for survival, even if you’ve personally managed one of the world’s preeminent survivors.

“This is a brief life, but in its brevity it offers us some splendid moments, some meaningful adventures.” – Rudyard Kipling


A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL

A LITTLE UP & DOWN & ALL AROUND
IT’S ALL ABOUT SURVIVAL.

SONG #121: ‘Survival’ ~ Fall 1994

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Almost Bedtime

The Madonna Timeline returns in a few short hours with a cut from her 1994 album ‘Bedtime Stories’ – and it’s a bit of a doozy. Not for any surprises or earth-shattering revelations, but more for a specific memory frozen in time, one that exists quietly, softly echoing when the nights first start to go cold. It’s more of a fall timeline entry, but the random shuffle that constitutes the selection process is a fickle taskmaster. Before we get to that, however, let’s revisit two of the other songs that have appeared here from the ‘Bedtime Stories’ album.

It began with lead-single ‘Secret’ – a return to form while blazing a soulful new direction – and no one does that hat trick better than Madonna.

Second single ‘Take A Bow’ was the album’s biggest hit – and Madonna’s longest-running #1 Billboard single to date. She recently performed it for the first time on any tour while on the Asian leg of the Rebel Heart Tour.

Next up is a non-single that marked the defiance and sweetness that characterized the fall of 1994. Dry, brittle, brown leaves lined the streets of Boston. The first deep chill of the season had set in. There would be no more warmth until the next spring.

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Happy Hump Day Song

Let me just own something from the very start: I’m a pop lover through and through. Despite early concerts of Guns ‘N Roses and Metallica (shout out to my high-school bestie Ann!) and even earlier folk inspiration like Peter, Paul & Mary, my heart belongs to light and frilly pop, and I’ve never apologized for it or pretended otherwise. From the very first time I heard ‘Material Girl‘ by my main muse, pop music has held me rapt, inspiring me as much as any other art form. There’s just something about a simple pop song that cuts to the very core of the human experience, and as universal as many of them are, they can also be intensely personal and individual. The best ones straddle both worlds.

Today, I’m presenting an old one, at least by pop culture timeframes, which move at a lightning pace. This is ‘Dear Future Husband’ by Meghan Trainor (who just won a Grammy, BTW). You’re going to judge it, I know you are, but that’s ok. Just press play and see what happens. If it doesn’t lift you up in some small way, we should probably not be friends. I need to be the cynical one in all my relationships.

For a lot of pop songs, I tend to go deep and remember those darker and sadder experiences that they bring to mind. On this happy hump day it’s nothing but light-hearted happiness. So take a couple minutes to look around you on this Wednesday morning, and if the coast is clear feel free to bop along. Some days the only thing to do is dance.

AFTER EVERY FIGHT JUST APOLOGIZE
AND MAYBE THEN I’LL LET YOU TRY & ROCK MY BODY RIGHT
EVEN IF I WAS WRONG (YOU KNOW I’M NEVER WRONG!)
WHY DISAGREE? WHY, WHY DISAGREE?

YOU GOTTA KNOW HOW TO TREAT ME LIKE A LADY
EVEN WHEN I’M ACTING CRAZY
TELL ME EVERYTHING’S ALL RIGHT.

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A Valentine Folk-You Mix ~ Side Two

Our folksy Valentine’s Day mix continues and concludes in this song-filled post. The acoustic guitars are being strummed and the piano keys are delicately being tickled as the voices of love birds sweetly coo their romantic yearnings. Or do they?

Perhaps no other musician conjures such a sense of longing and passion as Cassandra Wilson in her rendition of ‘Love Is Blindness.’ Songs like this gut the heart, splitting it apart in desolation and desperation.  When love is unrequited it sometimes feels more real. That’s the dangerous foolishness of the whole affair: the silly ways we want, the dumb ways we desire.

 

LOVE IS DROWNING IN A DEEP WELL

ALL THE SECRETS AND NO ONE TO TELL

TAKE THE MONEY, HONEY, LOVE IS BLINDNESS

LOVE IS BLINDNESS

I DON’T WANT TO SEE, WON’T YOU WRAP THE NIGHT AROUND ME?

It turns out that love is tricky terrain, especially in the winter. Especially around Valentine’s Day. So many expectations, so many disappointments, so many traps set up by the fools at Hallmark, the gods of love, and the rest of us raising our middle fingers to Venus and Cupid, dodging crippling arrows or painting a bull’s-eye across our chests, and wishing and hoping and praying…

 

BOY ON THE BIKE, WHAT ARE YOU LIKE AS YOU CYCLE AROUND THE TOWN?

YOU’RE GOING UP, YOU’RE GOING DOWN, YOU’RE GOING NOWHERE

IT’S NOT AS IF THEY’RE PAYING YOU, IT’S NOT AS IF IT’S FUN

AT LEAST NOT ANYMORE...

During a brutal winter in Chicago, in the last days of a relationship that we both tried valiantly to save at various, if opposite, points I listened to ‘Bitterly’ by Me’Shell NdegeOcello. It probably wasn’t the healthiest thing I could have heard, but I knew it had to be done. I had to hurt before I could heal. I had to cry before I could laugh. I had to feel the pain before I could hope for any bit of happiness.

As the wind whipped down the long lonely streets of the city, off the lake and carrying with it tiny shards of ice, I let it seep into my coat and tug at my hair. I didn’t want it to happen, but I felt it was. The arrival of bitterness, and not the slightest sense of sweet to offset any of it.

 

MY APOLOGIES FALL ON YOUR DEAF EARS, YOU CURSE MY NAME BITTERLY

AND NOW YOUR EYES, THEY LOOK AT ME BITTERLY

I STAND ASHAMED AMIDST MY FOOLISH PRIDE

‘CAUSE FOR US THERE’LL BE NO MORE.

AND NOW MY EYES LOOK AT YOU BITTERLY.

We did our best, and we failed. Yet I don’t regret any of those early loves. They almost make me smile, and the people in those memories still warm my heart a bit. I will never feel bad for loving someone, and certainly not for being loved, no matter if it didn’t last. ‘The Boy Done Wrong Again’ and ‘Requiescat’ – two sides of a heart, or maybe a head. Where does love begin and end?

  

 

We are going to skip the next two songs originally on this downtrodden mix because they are going a bit too deep for my liking, and if we don’t right this sinking shop soon, Valentine’s Day will be lost forever. (For the record, they were ‘X-Static Process‘ and ‘The Drugs Don’t Work‘ – which was once reckoned to be the saddest song ever written. Besides, I’ve already written about both. No need to rehash the wounds.)

Rather, let’s close with a couple of quiet rays of hope in the doldrums of all this cynical Valentine-bashing bullshit. First up, an ambivalent but somehow hopeful take on a relationship in ‘Ring on the Sill’ by the Cowboy Junkies:

HE PUTS HER RING ON HER FINGER, SHE BRUSHES BACK HIS HAIR.

HE TAKES A SIP FROM HIS GLASS, SHE INHALES THE COLD FALL AIR

AND THEY’RE THINKING OF THE LONG ROAD AHEAD,

AND THE STRENGTH THAT THEY WILL NEED JUST TO REACH THE END…

AND THERE IN THE SILENCE THEY SEARCH FOR THE BALANCE

BETWEEN THIS FEAR THAT THEY FEEL AND A LOVE THAT HAS GRACED THEIR LIVES.

And last, to close out this day on a gentle note, an echo of our opening song from Side One by Duncan Sheik: the full version of ‘The Wilderness.’ It’s what happens when you take love and heartache and pain and fear and passion and adoration and forgiveness, and turn it all into art.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

AND ALL WE HOLD

IS ONLY IN THE PAST.

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A Valentine Folk-You Mix ~ Side One

Last year I posted a Valentine’s Mix for all you lovely lovers out there who so faithfully visit here even on days of love. It was an admittedly cheesy, over-the-top affair, with power ballads from the 80’s and no dearth of shameless hooks and pop iconography. Side One featured Chicago, Survivor, and Journey, while Side Two had the likes of Debbie Gibson, Tommy Page, and… wait for it… Journey again.

This year I’m posting a mix I made many winters ago, one that I only now noticed contained a number of love songs. Not the dewy-eyed bubble-gum notion of love, but something deeper. Simpler too, and all the more powerful for it. Nothing here will strike your ear-drums with the aural bombast and pomposity of those pop power ballads, but perhaps you’ll connect on a sweeter level.

We begin with ‘The Wilderness: Prelude’ by Duncan Sheik. A simple, plaintive rumination on the heart, and words of love. The power of a single ‘yes’, which someone once claimed to be the happiest word in the English language.

THE WORD IS TOLD NOW, THE WORD IS SAID

THE WORD IS OLD NOW, AND THE STONE IS BREAD

THE HEART IS BONE NOW, THE HEART IS FLESH

THE HEART IS KNOWN NOW, AND THE NO IS YES.

I will forego posting the second song on the original mix, as it’s already been written about here: ‘Time In A Bottle.’ Instead, let’s fast-forward to ‘Annie’s Song’ by John Denver. Believe it or not, I was raised on such folk songs. My Mom spun Peter, Paul & Mary, Judy Collins, and John Denver on our record player, and we listened and sang along. It was a lesson in sweet melodies and soothing harmonies, underlined by a sentiment of love.

 

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES, LIKE A NIGHT IN THE FOREST

LIKE THE MOUNTAINS IN SPRINGTIME, LIKE A WALK IN THE RAIN

LIKE A STORM IN THE DESERT, LIKE A SLEEPY BLUE OCEAN

YOU FILL UP MY SENSES, COME FILL ME AGAIN.

On that original winter love mix, I also included ‘Dust in the Wind’ – but I’m not feeling it today. Folk it. The same will be said and done for ‘Gay Messiah’ by Rufus Wainwright. I adore the guy, but the dirge-like gay Jesus song is better left on the circumcision-room floor. Moving on…

Let’s return to our Duncan Sheik folk thread with ‘Mr. Chess’ – an acoustic guitar rhapsody on dreams and queens and kings and pawns – the parade of the Court of Life, marching across all our nights.

NOW I BESEECH YOU MR. CHESS,

TO LET ME SLEEP, TO LET ME REST

TO LET ME DREAM, TO LET ME SING WITHOUT A CARE

AND I WILL DREAM YOU THINGS SO FAIR

On this frigid Valentine’s Day weekend, our first side ends on the quiet note of the Cowboy Junkies, and their warm cup of ‘Cold Tea Blues.’ It’s a simple song, with only the strumming of a guitar and a few deftly placed piano notes, and the airy voice of Margo Timmins. I was first introduced to the Cowboy Junkies at a dinner that took place at the end of a high school winter. We were planning a trip to Europe, to pick up Suzie that summer, and on the stereo ‘Black-Eyed Man’ played in the background. While that album played a part in the following spring and summer, ‘Cold Tea Blues’ – off their ‘Pale Sun Crescent Moon’ album – would inform a future winter.

IF I POUR YOUR CUP, THAT IS FRIENDSHIP

IF I ADD YOUR MILK, THAT IS MANNERS

IF I STOP THERE, CLAIMING IGNORANCE OF TASTE 

THAT IS TEA.

BUT IF I MEASURE THE SUGAR TO SATISFY YOUR EXPECTANT TONGUE,

THEN THAT IS LOVE…

BUT IF I MEASURE THE SUGAR TO SATISFY YOUR EXPECTANT TONGUE,

THEN THAT IS LOVE…

SITTING UNTOUCHED, AND GROWING COLD.

 

{A Valentine Folk-You Mix will continue… stay tuned.}

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #120 ~ ‘Holy Water’ – Fall 2015

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

 

I CAN GIVE YOU EVERYTHING THAT YOU WANT

(BITCH GET OFF MY POLE! BITCH GET OFF MY POLE!)

YOU CAN’T BUY THIS AT NO LUXURY STORE

(BITCH GET OFF MY POLE! BITCH GET OFF MY POLE!)

One of the unexpected highlights of The Rebel Heart Tour has been Madonna’s performance of ‘Holy Water’ (yes, a proper tour review is still forthcoming). Previously, the song was a Prince-like throwaway from the otherwise iconic ‘Rebel Heart’ album, but as with most of her live performances, Madonna elevates the song into something much richer and more exciting than its original incarnation.

Cheeky and borderline-blasphemous, it’s classic Madonna, and the lyrics suggest a naughty simile comparing holy water with pussy juice. (Yeah, I said it, no need to wet it.) As I mentioned, I was not initially impressed with the track, but bring in some pole-dancing nuns and a phantasmagoric last-supper scene brought to life, along with that sneaky ‘Vogue’ mash moment, and suddenly I’m on board.

THERE’S A PLACE YOU GOTTA GO BEFORE I LET YOU TAKE IT ALL

IT’S LIKE A DRUG, IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL

BABY YOU SHOULD GET DOWN LOW AND TASTE MY PRECIOUS ALCOHOL

YOU LOOK SO THIRSTY I THINK YOU NEED IT…

KISS IT BETTER, KISS IT BETTER, DON’T IT TASTE LIKE HOLY WATER?

MAKE IT WETTER, MAKE IT WETTER, DON’T IT TASTE LIKE HOLY WATER?

KISS IT BETTER, MAKE IT WETTER, DON’T IT TASTE LIKE HOLY WATER?

KISS IT BETTER, KISS IT BETTER…

It’s got a sinfully sinister bassline that worms its way into your ear, as well as lots of aural sex hiccups that burst like little orgasms along the trail to sexual salvation. Nobody melds sex and religion as masterfully as Madonna, and even if it’s been done before, it’s still a hoot and a half.

THERE’S SOMETHING YOU GOTTA HIT, IT’S SACRED AND IMMACULATE

I CAN LET YOU IN HEAVEN’S DOOR

I PROMISE YOU IT’S NOT A SIN, FIND SALVATION DEEP WITHIN

WE CAN DO IT HERE ON THE FLOOR…

SONG #120: ‘Holy Water’ – Fall 2015

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Night & Day, Winter-Style

It’s a song that features prominently in ‘Grey Gardens‘ but before that it was, and remains, a Cole Porter standard. Such a classic is in vogue for all seasons – as effervescent in summer as it is cozy and comforting in the winter. This is ‘Night and Day’ – illustrated by two photos from the vantage point of the Boston condo.

LIKE THE BEAT BEAT BEAT OF THE TOM-TOM WHEN THE JUNGLE SHADOWS FALL

LIKE THE TICK TICK TOCK OF THE STATELY CLOCK AS IT STANDS AGAINST THE WALL

LIKE THE DRIP DRIP DRIP OF THE RAINDROPS WHEN THE SUMMER SHOWER IS THROUGH

SO A VOICE WITHIN ME KEEPS REPEATING YOU, YOU, YOU

Aside from the ‘Grey Gardens’ soft spot I have, I also love this song for the brilliant multi-level meanings in the lyrics. The line between night and day is a tricky one – what a difference a day makes, indeed. Things somehow feel safer when the sun comes up, and at that time I think back on the darkness and sometimes I shudder.

NIGHT AND DAY, YOU ARE THE ONE, ONLY YOU BENEATH THE MOON OR UNDER THE SUN

WHETHER NEAR TO ME, OR FAR, IT’S NO MATTER DARLING WHERE YOU ARE, I THINK OF YOU

For many reasons, I feel safe in the condo, night and day, winter and summer, year after year. This song plays on the stereo in the morning or the evening, as a pot of tea starts whistling on the stove. A candle glows in front of the window. A book waits on the sofa, next to a soft blanket, and the world can be kept at bay for the duration of a night.

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY, WHY IS IT SO THAT THIS LONGING FOR YOU FOLLOWS WHEREVER I GO

IN THE ROARING TRAFFIC’S BOOM, IN THE SILENCE OF MY LONELY ROOM I THINK OF YOU

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY, UNDER THE HIDE OF ME

THERE’S AN OH SUCH A HUNGRY YEARNING BURNING INSIDE OF ME, AND THIS TORMENT WON’T BE THROUGH

UNTIL YOU LET ME SPEND MY LIFE MAKING LOVE TO YOU

DAY AND NIGHT, NIGHT AND DAY.

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #119 ~ ‘Wash All Over Me’ – Winter/Spring 2015

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

There’s a sea anemone exhibit at the New England Aquarium in which the sea anemones are delicately lit, their tentacles waving gently in the current, while tiny bubbles float daintily to the surface. It’s tucked into a dim corner and the surroundings and the anemones themselves are so tranquil they are like sweetly-singing sirens, beckoning the unwary into their peaceable kingdom.

Yet if you watch long enough, lulled into a sense of stillness and calm, you will be harshly shocked by a sudden splash of a wave that bursts into the tank in a deluge of bubbles and tumultuous churning. It’s a rather effective mimicking of the ocean shoreline. The first time it happened I jumped back. Just a little kid, I had been peering intently at the magnificently-arrayed tentacles, my vision narrowly focused on this anemone world, so when that wave crashed into the tank, it was an unexpected explosion. Yet after my surprise, after the jolt of displaced water and air, things settled down again. The anemones remained in their places – only their pretty tentacles had waved wildly in the current. Anemones know how to anchor themselves, attaching to rocks and holding on with a tenacious grip that defies the most powerfully turbulent wave. I think of them when I hear this song.

IN A WORLD THAT’S CHANGING, I’M A STRANGER, IN A STRANGE LAND

THERE’S A CONTRADICTION AND I’M STUCK HERE IN-BETWEEN.

LIFE IS A LIKE A DESERT, AN OASIS TO CONFUSE ME

SO I WALK THIS RAZOR’S EDGE, WILL I STAND OR WILL I FALL?

TURN A BLIND EYE, TRY TO PRETEND THAT NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS

TORN BETWEEN THE IMPULSE TO STAY OR RUNNING AWAY FROM ALL THIS MADNESS

This Rebel Heart cut – the final song on some versions of the album – was originally conceived as a racing dance-stomper, but that demo was transfigured into this power ballad, complete with dirge-like marching drums, signaling the end of something.

Madonna has often hinted at the end, in all its myriad forms. ‘Live to Tell‘, ‘Spanish Eyes’, ‘Something to Remember’, ‘Mer Girl’, ‘Lament’, ‘Gone’, ‘Falling Free‘ and perhaps most daringly in ‘Take A Bow‘ (at a critical period in her career – when the post-Sex/Erotica backlash had public opinion dwelling on whether or not her career was finally over) Madonna has never shied away from questioning her own mortality, or the notion of an ending in abstraction (including the oft-predicted and ever-wrong end of her career). She has attributed some of this obsession to the death of her mother, which left her with an ending, but no real notion of how to begin again. Instead, she filled that hole with a race to live the fullest and most daring life she could, not wasting a moment, as if the ticking of the clock and her own impending end were things she could outrun. Thus far, she’s succeeded, but that hasn’t stopped her from occasionally confronting it in her work.

WHO AM I TO DECIDE WHAT SHOULD BE DONE?

IF THIS IS THE END THEN LET IT COME,

LET IT COME, LET IT RAIN, RAIN ALL OVER ME

LIKE THE TIDE, LET IT FLOW, LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

For Madonna, things have always had to get a little crazy from time to time. She yearns for that tumultuous wave to come crashing down on her every so often, knowing that a jolt that shakes you to your core is the best way to rebuild. Like those beautiful and seemingly-delicate sea anemones, she relishes the rough and tumble push and pull of life’s current. Those anemones may look like exotic flowers blooming beneath the ocean’s surface, but they know how to hang on, and they carry a stinging poison in those pretty tentacles.

ALL OF MY ILLUSIONS COULD BE SHATTERED IN A SECOND

YOU COULD THREAD A NEEDLE WITH A TEARDROP FROM MY EYE

IT’S A CRUEL INJUSTICE TO BE WITNESS TO THE THINGS I SEE

LOOKING FOR THE ANSWER WHEN IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME

FROM THE TOWER OF BABYLON WHERE NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS

GONNA WATCH THE SUN GOING DOWN, I’M NOT GONNA RUN FROM ALL THIS SADNESS

Outside the New England Aquarium, the wind whips around Boston Harbor with a viciousness only the ocean can unleash. Standing at the water’s edge, the city behind me, I recall other times when standing here was all I could muster. In the aftermath of heartache, in the despondent longing and hopeless wish for a pair of arms around me, I would go to the harbor to feel the sting of salt water. Outside the aquarium there was no glass wall keeping the waves from reaching us. There was nothing to stop the wind from pricking any exposed skin with that mineral-spiked water.

WHO AM I TO DECIDE WHAT SHOULD BE DONE?

IF THIS IS THE END THEN LET IT COME,

LET IT COME, LET IT RAIN, RAIN ALL OVER ME

LIKE THE TIDE, LET IT FLOW, LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

On certain nights, after trying to be as pretty and tenacious and dangerous as those sea anemones, I’d stand there feeling nothing but weakness. I thought the cold and the water and the winter would knock me down. I thought I’d never move beyond that demarcation, where water and land and sky met, where the shame of the past mingled with the possibility of the future. Yet I didn’t fall down. I stumbled a bit, and I’d stumble again, but I somehow kept going. The wind and the water rushed over me, but I was still there. A little bedraggled, a little beaten down, but still alive.

LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME, OVER ME…

LET IT WASH ALL OVER ME.

SONG #119: ‘Wash All Over Me’ – Winter/Spring 2015

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Saturday Dose of Cool

Watch it. Just watch it. And listen.

I love what music can do for the soul.

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The Winter of Evita

“One shouldn’t ask oneself how a person flies or why, but simply start flying.” ~ Tomas Eloy Martinez, ‘Santa Evita’

It was a frigid evening in Rochester, New York in the earliest days of 1997, made more brutal by the fact that I had just come from a spell of 80 degree days in St. Croix. The sky was dark, even with all the snow on the ground. No more snow would come tonight – it was too cold. Strange, the way that works, and the way we understood it. I pulled the ridiculous faux leopard fur coat tighter around me, its satin lining sliding against my fuchsia satin shirt. Along with my dark tan from the few days of sun that now felt so far away, I made quite an absurd visage. A heavy black cross topped with a silver Christ figure dangled from my neck on a black silk cord. Taken together, this was my get-up for the Rochester stop of The Royal Rainbow Tour 1997, and I was heading to the movie theater with friends to see ‘Evita.’

The lead-up to the new Madonna movie – the pre-comeback to ‘Ray of Light‘ – had been incredible, and I was visiting all my friends and making sure they watched the movie. (Super-fandom in full effect.) This time around the stop was Rochester, city of several watershed moments over the years, and that night we were making another one. Madonna was wowing audiences and critics alike with her star-powered turn as Eva Peron in the cinematic version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s classic musical. She’d fought hard for the role, and her performance proved that she deserved it.
 

 
With each red-carpet event, she appeared in Eva-inspired fanciful dresses. Demure yet glamorous, elegant yet over-the-top, classic and timeless. Madonna had just had her first child – a daughter named Lourdes – and her focus was also on that joyous event. I had nowhere near as important events going on in my life: a fake tour, a shambles of a romantic history, and a rudderless idea of any career. Looking back, however, I don’t think I’d been happier. I couldn’t see that then, even as I tried.
 
The bright, bouncing beats of ‘Buenos Aires‘ and its wondrously escapist theme lent the world endless possibilities. I criss-crossed the country, from New England to California to Florida and back – and then the world – jetting from Puerto Rico to Canada, London to the Philippines, Ireland to Hong Kong, and ended up right where I began. Whether I admitted it to myself or not, I was on the hunt for love. For the one person who would make it all ok, who would put me back together and reclaim the person I’d once set out to destroy.
 
Yet every one-night-stand or doomed affair took its toll, in ways apparent and hidden. ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall‘ seemed to be the way a life lived on the road might be. I sent postcards to friends, quoting the song in a vaguely-veiled cry for help: “Call in three months’ time and I’ll be fine, I know. Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow…” Surely there was more.
 
I practiced my powers of seduction, such as they were. Obsessed with being someone that somebody could love, I honed heartless nonchalance, casual apathy, and a killer wardrobe. I wanted to walk into any room and be the one that all eyes traveled to, whether or not they wanted me. The art of being fascinating. It was something that proved elusive to me whenever it mattered, whenever I most wanted to impress someone. More than anything, I wanted that person to know ‘I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You.’
 
In between my travels, I stayed up late into the night, reading ‘Santa Evita’ by Tomas Eloy MartÃinez, which followed the tracks of Eva Peron’s preserved body as it made its storied journey amid mystery and intrigue. Macabre stuff, and it haunted me into the early morning darkness. I was as lost as her embalmed body, traveling under the cloak of anonymity, grasping for something, but what… I did not know. I still don’t.
 
 
Madonna seemed closer to finding her way to it, whatever it was. When she sang ‘Don’t Cry For Me Argentina‘ the world bowed down to the balcony of the Casa Rosada, and we were all, for that one electrifying moment, Argentina. If we couldn’t help but cry, it was because she so moved us. Through it all, we only wanted to be ‘High Flying, Adored.’
 
I made my way in the only fashion I knew: shake it, fake it, and try not to break it. Soaring above the world and removing myself from the confines of reality and the constrictions of common sense, I crafted a persona  that would carry me over the rain-soaked dreariness of a love-barren land, catapulting me into the light-filled realm that rose ‘Rainbow High‘ and outshone any blood-letting past.
 
In the end, it was fantasy, like so much of my life. When I danced the ‘Waltz for Eva and Che‘ I did so by myself. I moved alone, and no one saw my fancy footwork. Such a wonderful waltz brought me around the world, but in the end I wound up exactly where I was at the beginning. My heart had been broken, or so I thought, and everything I did at that moment was done to impress the ones who got away. There was always more than one, always more men unmoved by anything I could muster. I didn’t know how to make my favorite song come true: ‘You Must Love Me.
 
On that wintry night in Rochester, as I sat in the movie theater flanked by friends on each side, I watched the life of Eva Peron – and the life of Madonna – play out on the screen, so much bigger and grander and better than I could ever hope to be. At that instant, it was enough to simply brush such greatness. It made one feel less alone.
My biggest fear in life is to be forgotten. ~ Evita Peron

 

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015

 {Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

THIS WILL BE A REVOLUTION OF INQUIRING FURTHER

OF NOT WORRYING ABOUT WINNING OTHER PEOPLE’S APPROVAL

OF NOT WISHING YOU WERE SOMEONE ELSE BUT PERFECTLY CONTENT TO BE WHO YOU ARE:

SOMEONE UNIQUE, AND RARE, AND FEARLESS.

I WANT TO START A REVOLUTION OF LOVE

A grand orchestral introduction and a parade of shirtless minotaur-men ushered in the Madonna of 2015, as she took to the Grammy stage to kick off the ‘Rebel Heart’ era. Most pop stars have only one or two ‘eras’ for which they are known. Madonna has had many: ‘Like A Virgin‘, ‘True Blue‘, ‘Like A Prayer‘, ‘Blonde Ambition‘, ‘Erotica/Sex‘, ‘Evita‘, ‘Ray of Light‘, ‘Music‘, and ‘Confessions on a Dancefloor’. Her ‘Rebel Heart‘ era may be the most interesting and compelling, at least for long-time fans, as it is the first in which she has not enjoyed major mainstream success. And yet it may be her most artistically powerful and critically lauded.

In early 2015, after the gut-wrenching leak of much of the ‘Rebel Heart’ album, she set out to do a proper intro to her new work with the first single ‘Living For Love’. With an updated 90’s house feel and some gospel backing, it was first-rate Madonna – an ‘I Will Survive’ for the current generation – rousing, empowering, and gloriously uplifting.

FIRST YOU LOVE ME AND I LET YOU IN,

MADE ME FEEL LIKE I WAS BORN AGAIN

YOU EMPOWERED ME, YOU MADE ME STRONG

BUILT ME UP AND I COULD DO NO WRONG.

 

I LET DOWN MY GUARD, I FELL INTO YOUR ARMS

FORGOT WHO I WAS, I DIDN’T HEAR THE ALARMS

NOW I’M DOWN ON MY KNEES, ALONE IN THE DARK

I WAS BLIND TO YOUR GAME, YOU FIRED A SHOT IN MY HEART.

This was a Madonna draped in the richest red, her passion and heart on full unabashed display, but shot through with a prickly world-wariness that read less as bitter and more as wise. The anticipation and excitement for new Madonna music was always grander than it was for others, and this lead single was a throwback and a step forward. Like a phoenix, she would be called upon to rise a few times, and even though she’d always succeeded, nervousness greeted the arrival of any new work. It was as if I had some vested stake in the reception and success of one of her projects, as if somehow my existence depended in part on the existence of Madonna, as if a failure for her would somehow be a failure for me. That’s a little crazy, but that’s true fandom, and I’ll never apologize for it.

Thanks in no small part to its early leak, the song and video for ‘Living For Love’ failed to catch fire on the charts (with the notable exception of the Billboard Dance charts, where she would land a history-shattering #1, breaking her own record). In a landscape where melody and meaning are losing out to shock and salaciousness, the OG shock mistress barely made a dent. As for the video, I find it may be too deeply beautiful and symbolic to find a place in the current pop world. Yet it appears that Madonna is far beyond that, and has been for some time. For die-hard fans such as myself, the charts no longer as much, if anything at all. The lack of airplay and Billboard numbers has not diminished my love for Madonna’s music; if anything, I listen to it more intently and defiantly.

TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN

NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE

AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON

 

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

As for my own little maelstrom of a life, at the time of this song’s release – right around the holidays – I had my own bit of family business to move beyond, so this song doubled as more than just a break-up rebound anthem. It was a clarion for anyone who’d been hurt or wronged, a way of working out the pain in a piece of pop music, the kind of therapy that Madonna has been giving me for years. The best kind.

I COULD GET CAUGHT UP IN BITTERNESS

BUT I’M NOT DWELLING ON THIS CRAZY MESS

I FOUND FREEDOM IN THE UGLY TRUTH

I DESERVE THE BEST AND IT’S NOT YOU

 

YOU’VE BROKEN MY HEART, BUT YOU CAN’T BREAK ME DOWN

NOT FALLING APART, ONCE WAS LOST NOW I’M FOUND

PICKED UP MY CROWN, PUT IT BACK ON MY HEAD

I CAN FORGIVE, BUT I WILL NEVER FORGET

The best revenge is happiness. The best way to finding peace is to put your faith in love. Not in being loved, but in loving even when it’s not returned. It’s a waste, and, worse, a source of anger, to continue to wish for people to be fair and righteous, to love you as you have loved them. It’s a certain guarantee of heartbreak to rely upon others to provide such a safe haven.

Yet in spite of this, I will love, without condition or expectation, and I will put my faith in that.

TOOK ME TO HEAVEN, LET ME FALL DOWN

NOW THAT IT’S OVER I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIFTED ME UP AND WATCHED ME STUMBLE

AFTER THE HEARTACHE I’M GONNA CARRY ON

Â

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

As I watched Madonna at the Grammy Awards last winter, premiering her new song for most of the world, I felt a little better, the way Madonna always made me feel a little better. At one point she spun in a circle, tossed her hair forward and back, then led her dancers in sweetly-choreographed abandon, much the same way she bounced around to ‘Like A Virgin’ three decades ago.

The spark was still there. The girl was still inspiring. Best of all, I still needed her.

LIVING FOR LOVE,

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GIVING UP

I’M GONNA CARRY ON

LIVING FOR LOVE

I’M LIVING FOR LOVE

NOT GONNA STOP

LOVE’S GONNA LIFT ME UP

SONG #118 – ‘Living For Love’ ~ Winter 2015

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The Madonna Timeline: Song #117 ~ ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ – Now, 2015

{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}

YOU’RE GONNA LOVE THIS

YOU CAN’T TOUCH THIS

CAUSE I’M A BAD BITCH!

Here is the colorful set of stairs she playfully climbed.

Here is the red water fountain from which she sipped.

Here is the bar where she dumped a drink down a cute male model’s throat.

This is the Standard High Line, where Madonna filmed her latest video – ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ – the last single from the amazing ‘Rebel Heart’ album. For some of us die-hard Madonna fans, every place she inhabited – no matter how fleetingly – is sacrosanct ground. We worship such locations as though they were little shrines to Our Lady of Perpetual Reincarnation. (The only reason we ever went to the Gaiety was to be in an actual place that Madonna had also been in. I swear.)

When I found myself ensconced at the Standard, I made a point of seeking out some of the spots where she filmed the video, and I felt the same thrill as I did when passing into that seedy theater where some of ‘Sex’ was shot. Decades later, I am riding up in the elevator to the top of the hotel. Psychedelic and surreal videos play on the walls, while foreboding orchestral music taunts from the blackness above.

Here she may have risen, I think with a giddy burst of excitement.

The floors of the Standard, accessible only by those with a proper key card, silently and invisibly zoom past. Pop scenes continue to unfurl on the video screen – Julie Andrews in ‘The Sound of Music’ juxtaposed with an abundance of bare-breasted ladies – as I reach the upper floors. The doors open to a brilliant white hallway. Everything is brighter this high in the sky.

WE HIT THE ELEVATOR RIGHT UP TO THE ROOFTOP

THE BASS IS PUMPING, MAKES ME WANNA SCREW THE TOP OFF

YEAH WE’LL BE DRINKING AND NOBODY’S GONNA STOP US

AND WE’LL BE KISSING ANYBODY THAT’S AROUND US.

Like the greatest Madonna songs, ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ is, more than anything else, inspirational. It makes me feel like I can do anything. Act like a forty-year-old fool. Be brave. Take all my clothes off in front of an entire city. It’s the same feeling Madonna inspired when I was a frightened little boy, dancing in a neighbor’s basement and forcing myself to be seen and heard, the same feeling I had when I traveled to Russia at the height of summer, and the same feeling I had when I drove through an early spring night blasting her ‘MDNA’ album. It’s something that no other artist has yet to inspire in me, this sense of courage to be completely myself in the face of a world that wants us only to conform. Madonna does that for me, and no matter what anyone else might say or think of the woman, it’s something that has literally saved my life. Best of all, it’s something that can never be taken away.

I JUST WANNA HAVE FUN TONIGHT!

PULL ME UNDER THE FLASHING LIGHT!

LET ME BLOW UP THIS HOUSE TONIGHT!

I walk around the hallway where some of the video was shot. Bending over to take a sip of water from the red fountain, I pause while my friend Chris takes a picture. Outside the gym area, a circular window looks out onto water. In the center of it, far in the distance, stands the Statue of Liberty – the same one that made a cameo in Madonna’s’Papa Don’t Preach’ video. At this point in her career, it is almost impossible to avoid self-references, and there’s a certain sadness in that. A sorrow in the way that it must feel constricting. Memories can be chains that bind, and the past can be a lugubrious albatross that lurks behind every turn, showing up just when you think you’d gone far enough beyond what you wanted to escape. I look out the window and wonder if Madonna looked out the same one, longing for something.

WE GO HARD OR WE GO HOME

WE GON’ DO THIS ALL NIGHT LONG

WE GET FREAKY IF YOU WANT

NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH…

WE GO HARD OR WE GO HOME

WE GON’ DO THIS ALL NIGHT LONG

WE GET FREAKY IF YOU WANT

BITCH I’M MADONNA.

Brazen, blistering and bodacious, ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ manages to be classic and new Madonna at once. The sound is of the moment; the attitude is one she’s had from the beginning. A rallying anthem for fun and good times (much like ‘Turn Up the Radio’) it’s a desperate plea for throwing caution to the wind, and for proving that we can still go hard all night long and meet the break of dawn. In the city of New York, it’s the perfect music of the night.

WE’RE JUMPING IN THE POOL AND SWIMMING WITH OUR CLOTHES ON

I POURED A BEER INTO MY SHOE AND GOT MY FREAK ON

THE NEIGHBOR’S PISSED AND SAYS HE’S GONNA CALL THE FIVE-O

IF THEY SHOW UP THEN WE ARE GONNA GIVE A GOOD SHOW

I JUST WANNA GO OUT TONIGHT!

PULL ME UNDER THE FLASHING LIGHT!

LET ME BLOW UP THIS HOUSE TONIGHT!

Many of us have had such nights in the city, when the phone is telling you it’s 4 AM and you don’t believe it, so you end up crawling to some diner because you still don’t want it to end. It’s that romantic possibility of a few more minutes of the moment, when anything still might happen, or when you know it won’t but you like the company and feeling so much you can’t face closing your eyes to it. A night that’s so good that the arrival of morning is not met with relief or rejoicing, but almost sadness.

WE GO HARD OR WE GO HOME

WE GONNA DO THIS ALL NIGHT LONG

WE GET FREAKY IF YOU WANT

NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH…

BITCH I’M MADONNA.

Whenever I feel down or apprehensive about something, when the world is waiting to strike through the heart with its cold indifference, I put on a song like this. It builds me up from within, giving me an internal armor that lets me be the man everyone thinks I am – the guy who doesn’t care, who can charge through life confident and collected, put-together and perfectly secure in who he is.

It doesn’t matter that it’s not exactly true. Confidence can be built from the ground up. On the roof-deck of the Standard, looking out over what might as well be the whole world, I feel invincible – and for that one moment, I am.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

YOU CAN’T MESS WITH THIS LUCKY STAR.

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

SONG #117: ‘Bitch I’m Madonna’ ~ Now, 2015

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Steve Grand and His Big Xmas Balls

Available only on Bandcamp, this is Steve Grand’s take on Mariah Carey’s ubiquitous ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You.’ (More of that tune later this week, whether you like it or not.) He slows it down in a piano ballad style, and gives us this cute and romantic holiday themed video. Made in literally a matter of days, if this is what Mr. Grand can produce under time and budget constraints, I can’t wait to see what he’ll accomplish in the years to come. 

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In the Words of Cher

I like Cher. I don’t love her. Not in the all-encompassing life-long way I love Madonna, but in a friendly thanks-for-being-a-gay-icon-all-these-years and thanks for more good music than most of us realize she’s put out. Case in point is one of her latest, a wistful well-wish for a former paramour, the kind of love that sets someone else free, and in doing so sets yourself free. There’s no greater soul-service than genuinely wishing someone else happiness and love. Most of the times I’ve done so, I’m rather ashamed to say, have been fraught with ulterior motives. It’s so hard to be purely good, to do things with absolutely no self-preserving agenda somewhere in the background. Think of any good thing you’ve done and tell me there weren’t auxiliary benefits or joy for yourself as well. It’s pretty impossible. Yet I believe that’s the sign of grace and goodness.

I’m still working on it…

I hope I find it.

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