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{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.}

Never know how much I love you…
Never know how much I care…

Ahh, Fever. Like ao many pop references, I only know Peggy Lee’s ‘Fever’ thanks to Madonna, and after hearing the original (and countless other covers), I really have no preference. Madonna’s version came out as the B-side to ‘Bad Girl’ in the first half of 1993, and at a time when the ’Sex/Erotica’ backlash was at its worst. As such, an ‘Us’ magazine story recounted the tale of a gym whose patrons only got into the groove when they played the instrumental version of Madonna’s ‘Fever’ – a joke in and of itself.

While I remember the song when ‘Erotica’ first came out in the Fall of 1992, and then a brief resurgence when she performed it on ‘Saturday Night Live’ and the Arsenio Hall Show in early 1993, my main memories came in the early Spring of that year, when the CD Maxi-Single of ‘Bad Girl’ was on perpetual play, and much of it occupied by the ‘Fever’ remixes.

Catchy as hell, with vocals as dry as my favorite martini, this was not a landmark moment in Madonna’s career, but I do view it favorably, and as covers go she could have done a lot worse (bye bye Miss American Pie indeed). Still, it was mostly filler for the otherwise-brilliant ‘Erotica’ album – and totally unnecessary at that.

Of more import was the video, which went uncharacteristically ignored ~ a pitiful shame, as it stands as a stylist’s dream-stash of images. Jittery, hot, and soaked in flaming color, it set the stage for the brilliant cool-down of ‘Rain’.

What a lovely way to burn.

Song #68 – ‘Fever’ – Late Winter/Early Spring 1993

{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 feel it
It’s coming…

It turns out I’ve already written about the next iPod selection for the Madonna Timeline, ‘Rain’, but it was before the official Timeline came into existence, so I’m putting the original up here now. It was written a couple of years ago, but it’s a memory that’s true, a memory that has lasted, and a memory that still matters.

Rain – feel it on my fingertips, hear it on my windowpane,
Your love’s coming down like rain.
Wash away my sorrow, take away my pain,
Your love’s coming down like rain.

Sixteen years ago I did not have my driver’s license. I was old enough to drive, I just hadn’t gotten around to making it officially legal, mostly because I didn’t care. Still, I loved sneaking out at night when my parents had gone to bed, putting the car in reverse, and starting it as the wheels eased out of the driveway.

When your lips are burning mine
And you take the time to tell me how you feel
When you listen to my words
And I know you’ve heard, I know it’s real
Rain is what this thunder brings
For the first time I can hear my heart sing
Call me a fool but I know I’m not
I’m gonna stand out here on the mountain top

That Fall was difficult for me on a number of levels. It’s not worth going into depth about it – it was simply a lonely time, and the onslaught of dreary gray weather did nothing to abate my melancholy. As a cold rain began to come down, I drove out of the small city and onto the back roads of upstate New York.

Rain – feel it on my fingertips, hear it on my windowpane,
Your love’s coming down like rain.
Wash away my sorrow, take away my pain,
Your love’s coming down like rain.

The rain was tearing the leaves from the trees – dark brown ones from the lofty reaches of grand oaks were driven down by the wind. The car sped along the messy road. Back in my bedroom, a plastic bag, a large rubber band, and a bottle of sleeping pills awaited my return. A page of the suicide manual ‘Final Exit’ was marked, its instructions strangely void of emotion, no guidance on what to feel.

When you looked into my eyes and you said good-bye,
Could you see my tears?
When I turned the other way, did you hear me say,
I’d wait for all the dark clouds bursting in a perfect sky
You promised me when you said good-bye
That you’d return when the storm was done
And now I’ll wait for the light, I’ll wait for the sun…

The road turned, twisting itself along a line of trees. Rain pelted the windshield, a curtain of falling leaves parted for the car, and my sweaty palms and wet eyes glazed the glass between us. On the radio they were playing an as-yet-unreleased Madonna album, ‘Erotica’ (back when radio did that sort of thing). I would never get to hear it in its entirety, not if everything went according to plan. It was the one drawback to ending it that night. I could bitterly rejoice at skipping all my math homework due the next day, and defiantly put off cleaning my room – add it to the mess I was leaving – but I would not be able to hear the rest of Madonna’s music, not if I left tonight.

Rain – feel it on my fingertips, hear it on my windowpane,
Your love’s coming down like rain.
Wash away my sorrow, take away my pain,
Your love’s coming down like rain.

It was a simple ballad with a simple chord progression and a simple resounding theme of yearning, and if Madonna was having a rough go of it then how could anyone, much less myself, be expected to do any better?

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say, never go away…

So I decided to wait, at least until the album came out and I could get a proper listen, promising myself that I could always come back to where my head was at and do it right then.

Waiting is the hardest thing
(It’s strange I feel like I’ve known you before)
I tell myself that if I believe in you
(And I want to understand you)
In the dream of you
(More and more)
With all my heart and all my soul
(When I’m with you)
That by sheer force of will
(I feel like a magical child)
I will raise you from the ground
(Everything strange)
And without a sound you’ll appear
(Everything wild)
And surrender to me, to love

There would be other attempts at self-annihilation, and there will always be that part of me that sometimes wishes to go away, but for that moment, that night, the simple promise of a Madonna song was enough to bring me to another day. It was the night a Madonna song saved my life.

I feel it,
It’s coming,
Your love’s coming down like…
Rain.

Song #66 – ‘Rain’ – Fall 1992/Summer 1993

{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’t help falling in love
I fall deeper and deeper the further I go
Kisses sent from heaven above
They get sweeter and sweeter
The more that I know.

It was a cold winter night, and the big Victorian house was drafty at best. Downstairs, the wind swept by stained glass, while the wrap-around front porch offered little protection. Despite this, the dark home offered warmth and refuge, the velvet red wall-paper in some rich damask pattern winding through the first few grand rooms. This was Suzie’s house, where she grew up, and where my family spent all of our holidays. It was the repository of memories old and happy, sad and pronounced, silly and momentous. On the night at hand – sometime in late 1992 or early 1993 – Madonna had just released ‘Deeper and Deeper’ from the infamous Erotica album, and we were convening for a Friday or Saturday night of nothing. No more than seventeen years old, we had no idea what the outside world held in store, nor how protected we were in that old Victorian.

When you know the notes to sing,
You can sing most anything,
That’s what my Mama told me.
Round and round and round you go
Where you find love you’ll always know
I let my father mold me.

Deeply-stained wood framed everything, and the staircase wound round and round, higher and higher, or deeper and deeper. A small group of us wandered the dim corridors, peering into darkened rooms, seeking out the refuge of light in the kitchen, or the hidden recesses of secret passageways. Empty bedrooms, cold tiled bathrooms, and the call of darker secrets in the attic high and beyond lent the evening a slant of mystery. The flickering light of a few candles fluttered on the velvet walls, while shadows grew and receded.

Daddy couldn’t be all wrong
And my Mama made me learn this song
That’s why I can’t help falling in love
I fall deeper and deeper the further I go
Kisses sent from heaven above
They get sweeter and sweeter
The more that I know.

A bit of music played, someone did a little dance, and I sat on the couch and watched it all unfold, the only boy among all the girls, accepted as one of them, my gayness already entrance to the world of women. I leaned back and let my eyes close. A copy of the Sex book sat on the floor, and someone rifled idly through it. Ripples of laughter echoed from the kitchen down the hallway. Surrounded by ladies-in-the-making, I felt completely at home. No matter what else happened – and much did – I would always feel that comfort with them.

All is fair in love she said
Think with your heart not with your head
That’s what my Mama told me
All the little things you do
Will end up coming back to you
I let my father mold me…

How I loved those girls, and how loved they made me feel. When you took away the sexual tension between two people of the opposite sex (as being gay tends to do), it’s much easier to get along and become great friends. I wasn’t there yet though, and so we danced upon the rollicking sea of teenage hormones and the taste of freedom on the tips of our tongues.

Daddy couldn’t be all wrong
And my Mama made me learn this song
That’s why I can’t help falling in love
I fall deeper and deeper the further I go
Kisses sent from heaven above
They get sweeter and sweeter
The more that I know.

They would grow into women before my eyes. One would fuck me, one would hold me, one would laugh at me, one would make me laugh, and one would love me for life. Through it all, the woman to whom I compared all women sang her siren song.

Someone said that romance was dead
And I believed it instead of remembering
What my Mama told me, Let my father mold me
Then you tried to hold me
You remind me what they said
This feeling inside, I can’t explain
But my love is alive
And I’m never gonna hide it again.

The most fun song on the Erotica album whirled its dancing beat, and on the television upstairs the video played in an amber-lit room. On-screen, the candles and the incense glowed, the whole sexy Madonna mystique was in full effect, with echoes of Dietrich in her blonde-afro wig, and waves of Andy Warhol rolled through the disco party scene. There were drugs and danger, and the master re-arranger, and then, finally, for the first time, Madonna quotes herself, and the then-rather-recent past of ‘Vogue’:

You’ve got to let your body move to the music,
You’ve got to just let your body go with the flow.

The music took up again, spinning wildly into dizzy abandon, and with it a little pocket of our youth was turned inside out, emptied and torn, ripped ragged in the wind of that last winter of our high school years. We loved each other then, as best as we could. We tumbled together down the final rocky stretch of childhood, holding onto one another, grasping and pushing and pulling, hoping to make the night run on forever…

Falling in love
Falling in love
I can’t keep from falling in love with you
There’s nothing better that I’d like to do.

Song #61 – ‘Deeper & Deeper’ – Fall/Winter 1992/93

{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.}

The iPod has gone back to the early 90’s, when Madonna released the darkly-shaded ‘Erotica’ album. It was the perfect fit for an icy winter, and the somewhat icy heart I had at the time. I wasn’t always the best boyfriend. Oh, I tried, but in my younger years I was much more selfish (if you can imagine), much less concerned with any sort of altruistic love, and extremely exacting that I would be the one in charge. It is with a bit of embarrassment and shame that I admit one of my ex-girlfriends claimed that ‘Words’ was the perfect embodiment of the man I was when I was with her.

You think you’re so smart
You try to manipulate me
You try to humiliate with your words
You think you’re so chic
You write me beautiful letters
You think you’re so much better than me.

Now, I’ve honestly never thought of myself as better than anyone else (better-dressed perhaps, never wholly better), but that was the only line that didn’t ring true. There was manipulation, humiliation, and I could write a killer letter. Balk if you will, but I also don’t consider myself the most attractive guy, so I developed other talents, starting with my way with words. If my face and body didn’t entice (and more often than not they didn’t), or my fancy outfits failed to impress (as if!), I could still capture a heart with a clever turn of phrase. A little bit of laughter went a long way, and women were somehow better at men at seeing through to the heart of a person, to the kindness and goodness of a soul even when the rest of the package paled in comparison. That didn’t bode well for the life of a gay man, but back then I was still forging my way with the ladies.

But your actions speak louder than words
And they’re only words, unless they’re true
Your actions speak louder than promises
You’re inclined to make, and inclined to break.

Words, they cut like a knife,
Cut into my life, I don’t want to hear your words
They always attack, please take them all back
If they’re yours, I don’t want anymore.

It carried over to the men I dated as well, and when you’re the one who finally gets hurt, you sometimes make up your mind to be the one who’s on the inflicting end from that point on. To be in control of your emotions, to act as if you could care less – these were the desired states of existence.

You think you’re so shrewd
You try to bring me low
You try to gain control with your words.
But your actions speak louder than words
And they’re only words, unless they’re true
Your actions speak louder than promises
You’re inclined to make, and inclined to break.

Words, they cut like a knife,
Cut into my life, I don’t want to hear your words
They always attack, please take them all back
If they’re yours, I don’t want anymore.

While it’s a standard slice of 90’s dance-pop, ‘Words’ is a pretty strong song, unfortunately under-rated like much of the ‘Erotica’ album. Dark and gritty, with the residual heat of love-gone-awry, Madonna’s delivery reeks of disdain and regret, both with the object of her derision and herself. There is anger here, backed by strength and simultaneously under-laid by vulnerability – a rather nifty accomplishment for a piece of pop filler. Not to mention the fact that the bridge is just pure heaven:

Friends they tried to warn me about you
He has good manners, he’s so romantic
But he’ll only make you blue
How can I explain to them?
How will they know?
I’m in love with your words, your words…

Looking back on that time, on the almost-man I was becoming, I see my folly, and my cruelty. I hear the words and cries of those few women I’ve ever dated, and I know the ways I’ve hurt them. I would inflict similar pain and heartache upon some of the men in my life. Hurt is hurt, regardless of sex and gender, and I did deserve a come-uppance.

You think you’re so sly
I caught you at your game
You will not bring me shame with your words

There aren’t many blog posts where I openly admit to my failings. I have thousands of “friends” on FaceBook and Twitter to regularly take the piss out of me; this is the sole space of the Internet where I can craft and create the image of the man I would most like to be. Yet there is room for honesty, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, we have to own up to our mistakes if we are to learn from them. If they never happened, we wouldn’t improve or evolve, and I am hell-bent on both. Even so, it’s tough thinking back to the jerk I could be, and even tougher when it was Madonna’s words being used against me.

But your actions speak louder than words
And they’re only words, unless they’re true
Your actions speak louder than promises
You’re inclined to make, and inclined to break.

Words, they cut like a knife,
Cut into my life, I don’t want to hear your words
They always attack, please take them all back
If they’re yours, I don’t want anymore.

The bottom line: guys can be dicks. And, technically speaking, I’m still just another guy. To hear Madonna aiming such accurate accusations at the man who has done her wrong had its own influence on me, even if it wasn’t until years later. God knows I’ve certainly had my dick moments. Some days, I still do.

Too much blinding light
Your touch, I’ve grown tired of your words…
A linguistic form that can meaningfully be spoken in isolation
Conversation, expression, a promise, a sigh, in short, a lie
A message from heaven, a signal from hell
I give you my word, I’ll never tell.
Language that is used in anger
Personal feelings signaling danger
A brief remark, an utterance, information
Don’t mince words, don’t be evasive
Speak your mind, be persuasive
A courage, a commitment, communication
Words.

Song #56 – ‘Words’ – Winter 1992-1993