We first caught a glimpse of it as it began its ascent. We were returning from dinner, and to the left it hung behind the houses and buildings along the way, slipping behind a bank of clouds by the time we returned home. A little while later it appeared again, and I grabbed the camera and the tripod and went out into the front yard.
It was cold, but not unbearably so. Wrapped in scarves, bundled up to the ears, I stood on the porch looking up into the sky. There, behind the bare branches and emerging from the clouds, came the moon. Rising slowly above the horizon, it lit up the night. I snapped a few photos, but the moon stayed obscured behind the branches. I went back inside and waited for it to fly a bit higher.
Half an hour later, I went back outside. There she was, clear of the trees, and teased by clouds on either side of her. She looked magnificent, resplendent in her super-closeness. I stared up at her and focused on her face. It seemed as if the moon was pulsating, beaming light in waves, or my eyes were adjusting and readjusting to it – I could not tell which, but beneath the wavering light everything fell away.
I wanted to make a wish, I wanted to ask a question, but all that came to my mouth, almost inaudibly, was “Moon…†More of a whimper, the whisper of a plea, and then it was gone. Still I stared at the glowing orb above, soon to be shrouded in clouds, and my doubts and worries did not go away. Yet there, in the moonlight, in that moment, it was all right.
{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 took a pretty picture and you smashed it into bits,
Sank me into blackness, and you sealed it with a kiss.
If only I could let you go, why do I need you so?
Neatly dove-tailing with the latest news that William Orbit has scored the soundtrack for her next directorial effort, workingly titled W., ‘Amazing’ is one of the last collaborations Madonna shared with Mr. Orbit. From 2000’s Music, it was one of the only two cuts they produced together for that album.
While the worst of his work with her is treacly and uninspired (‘Time Stood Still’ and ‘Runaway Lover’ for example), the best of it shimmers and soars (‘Frozen’, ‘Ray of Light’ – hell, the entire Ray of Light album).
It’s amazing what a boy can do,
I cannot stop myself.
Wish I didn’t want you like I do
Want you and no one else…
A movie score could be the perfect bit of alchemy to set his ambient sonic moodscapes to flight, doing for W. what Trent Reznor did for The Social Network. Of course, this is all guesswork and speculation at this point – Madonna has been characteristically quiet during her creative mode. (Though I wish she would get back into the studio and make some new music.)
You took a poison arrow and you aimed it at my heart,
It’s heavy and it’s bitter and it’s tearing me apart.
If only I could set you free,
You worked your way inside of me.
‘Amazing’ is one of the brighter, poppier moments of the Music album, but like most Madonna songs it has an ambivalence that runs throughout it. She was about to marry Guy Ritchie at the time, but based on this song (and the eventual outcome of the marriage) things were not completely smooth-sailing. No one captures that push-and-pull better than Madonna.
My husband Andy has been a big proponent of smudging since I met him. He’s probably the more spiritual of the two of us (I grew up in the land of the religious/superstitious). However, over the years we have each integrated practices of the other into our lives, and the art of smudging is something I attempted this past Friday.
It is, from what I’ve read and what he’s said, a Native American practice used to purify places and objects by removing negative energy and spirits. I imagine there are similarities in the incense used in other religious ceremonies. Personally, Andy and I have been in an end-of-winter funk, so anything that might drive bad feelings and energy away is fine by me.
Andy’s smudge wand of choice is made of white sage (Salvia apiana). A dried bunch of leaves and stems are tied tightly together, the end of which is lit and then blown out. The idea is that the smoke produced will drive any evil spirits or bad energy from the area – in this case, our home.
I started by opening all the doors of the house. (There has to be somewhere for the negative energy to escape.) The icy winter chill had just begun to dissipate, the snow outside was melting, and birds chirped in the backyard. Once the doors were propped open, I started in the attic. Lighting the end of the sage smudge in the darkened unused end of our attic was a moment of reflection in itself. Once lit, the aroma filled the space. It was part herbal cigarette, part incense, and part holiday turkey dinner. All in all not a bad fragrance – it was the scent of the hearth, the scent of centuries.
I carried the burning bundle of sage in a sea shell, to catch the ash, but it smoldered slowly, and was not in the least bit messy. The plumes of heavy smoke I envisioned clouding my vision and nose were mere wisps of fragrant air, wafting in my wake and purifying the surroundings.
Moving methodically throughout the house, careful to turn off lights and shut doors behind me, I envisioned the path being cleared before me. The stale spirits of negative feelings, the residual winter blahs, and the wilted memories of sadness were being swept up and driven out by the smoking smudge. It was an act of symbolism, an act honoring winter, but politely letting her know it’s time to go. It was also an act of rebirth and renewal.
While I’m not about to run out and become a shaman, there is something to be said for the spiritual practice of smudging, especially when it’s about to be spring. It’s about letting go, and moving forward. Whether or not there are evil spirits rushing forth from our house and screaming from the smoke of sage, is debatable, but the peace of mind it brings, the idea of a new start – those are very real, and very reassuring.
{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 picked 1985’s ‘Angel’ for the next timeline song – I was ten when it came out. I don’t remember much about when I was ten, except for a handful of Madonna songs. Like most of the ‘Like A Virgin’ cuts, this reminds me of driving in the car with my Mom and my brother – it was his cassette tape, and it was on perpetual play.
Why am I standing on a cloud, every time you’re around?
And the sadness disappears, every time you are near…
You must be an angel, I can see it in your eyes,
Full of wonder and surprise,
And just now I realize…
It is a quintessentially-80’s trifle, all synths and breathy echoes, and Madonna’s delicious laughter. Easy on the ears and the mind, but the perfect microcosmic emoting of the wonder and joy of infatuation.
Walking down a crowded avenue
All the faces seem like nothing next to you
And I can’t hear the traffic rushing by,
Just the pounding of the heart and that’s why…
No one captures the exuberance, and, I would argue, the innocence, of the beginnings of love better than Madonna. Especially at this stage of her career, when all was still shiny and new – she had the perfect grasp of a pop song – centered around romance, founded on a wish and a prayer, and wedded to a catchy melody and driving beat.
Now I believe that dreams come true,
Cause you came when I wished for you.
This just can’t be coincidence,
The only way that this makes sense is that,
Ooh, you’re an angel…
{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.}
Sooner or later you’re gonna be mine,
Sooner or later you’re gonna be fine,
Baby it’s time that you faced it
I always get my man.
It is the ultimate call of the siren. A prediction, a demand, a hope ~ all in the subtle jazz shadings of a Sondheim song. ‘Sooner or Later’ is the next iPod selection, seductively vamping along from its opening coos to its climaxing almost-growls, and Madonna delivers a sparkling aural gem. Restrained, yet powerful, her slightly-girlish vocals belie a steely strength. That confidence, that determination, that unfailing belief in her own prowess and power of attraction ~ that was something I never had. Certainly not in 1990.
To be honest, the hunt for a man was the last thing on my fourteen-year-old mind. I was too consumed with the drama of my friends, trying to fit in to my first year of high school. The one thing the song did lend me was a belief in oneself ~ and if Madonna could will her want into being simply by using a few declarative come-ons, surely I could put one of Mr. Rosmarino’s math proofs on the chalkboard and talk my way through it.
I didn’t have a goal at the time ~ it was enough just to make it through an average school day ~ but songs like this, and most of them by Madonna, gave me a bit of purpose. It marked the beginning of a drive and ambition to not be ignored.
Sooner or later you’re gonna decide,
Sooner or later there’s nowhere to hide,
Baby it’s time so why waste it in chatter?
Let’s settle the matter,
Baby you’re mine on a platter
I always get my man.
‘Sooner or Later’ was also nominated for a Best Song Oscar (fortuitous timing today), which it won ~ and more importantly which meant that Madonna would perform the song on the Oscar telecast. I missed the show that year (see, I wasn’t always that gay), but made sure to see it a few years later when my Madonna obsession began to rage. (Most of the performance was captured on a VHS Oscar Retrospective.) Of course it’s now on YouTube, and we get to see the telescopic opening, as well as the very best ending and exit vamp in Oscar history.
Early on, the camera goes in for a tight close-up as Madonna’s gloved hand trembles in the spotlight ~ one of the first glimpses we get of her nervousness for some performances, and a compelling peek of her as a mortal being. It is an endearing moment: here is the woman who at that point was one of the most famous and successful of all time, at arguably the height of her power and adulation ~ playing to a house of jaded actors who had little to no respect for her, and she went for it. That takes balls. That takes determination. That takes a belief in oneself and a disregard for the opinions of those who would never like her. In my Freshman year of high school, those were attributes that I sorely lacked.
But if you insist, babe,
The challenge delights me,
The more you resist, babe,
The more it excites me
And no one I’ve kissed babe,
Ever fights me again.
I felt the need to don perfectly preppy garb in an effort to win the affection and approval of my fellow students. I looked interested in what every teacher had to say, finishing all my homework on time and studying for every test in an effort to please all the school faculty. I did everything my parents asked and recommended, starting music lessons and keeping score for the girls basketball team to round out my education with extracurricular activities. I did it all without the inner-confidence that Madonna exuded, shaky hand and all, and I did it well. It just happened that none of it made me particularly happy or content. But that’s another story for another song.
If you’re on my list it’s just a question of when,
When I get a yen, then baby amen,
I’m counting to ten, and then…
As far as the Oscar show goes, it is one of her best live performances ever ~ including tours and award shows ~ and she sounds incredible. Not that it was without its quirks and foibles ~ at one point near the end one of her earrings falls off – a cluster of diamonds costing ten times what my house is worth – and gets lodged in a lock of platinum blonde hair. It stays there magically, until she bows her head as the song ends. Plucking it from her tresses, she tosses it into the orchestra pit. That’s star power, that’s grit, that’s Madonna.
I’m gonna love you like nothing you’ve known,
I’m gonna love you when you’re all alone.
Sooner is better than later but lover,
I’ll hover, I’ll plan…
Seriously, watch that Oscar performance ending and tell me you don’t love her.
This time I’m not only getting, I’m holding my man.
{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.}
Everybody comes to Hollywood,
They want to make it in the neighborhood.
They like the smell of it in Hollywood,
How could it hurt you when it looks so good?
Shine your light now,
This time it’s got to be good,
You’ll get it right now, yeah,
Cause you’re in Hollywood.
It was my summer working at the Thruway Authority – where we had our own parking (30 feet from the building) and I could drive to Delmar while on lunch. Madonna had had a rather dismal lead-off single from her recent American Life album, so she followed up with a paint-by-the-numbers pop-like bore of a safety song. It didn’t matter, I drove around with the windows open, challenging speeding tickets, blaring ‘Hollywood’, and drinking Boston shakes from the local ice cream shack.
Despite that, this remains one of my least favorite songs on that album, an otherwise-under-rated electronic pastoral, with flourishes of folk tempered with flashes of brilliance. Heavily laden with guitars of all sorts, the album got shafted because of the politicized fervor of post-9/11 fear. It’s a shame, but not because of this song.
‘Hollywood’ is another woe-is-life-at-the-top type song that posits the banal question, ‘How could it hurt you when it looks so good?’ Possibly when it sounds this bad. Sorry, I’m just not a big fan of this one. It’s telling that Madonna used an instrumental version of ‘Hollywood’ on the Reinvention tour in support of the American Life album. Or maybe she just found the repetitive yet tricky lyrics too much of a challenge – I recall a few flubs on the mini-promo tour she did for the album.
The video, however, is why I have the song on the iPod. It is classic chameleonic Madonna – highly stylized, filled with iconic images, and an absolute homage to her mode-shifting nature. There’s also a slight ‘All About Eve’ reference that puts Madonna in the glamorous trappings of Margo Channing as a younger maid looks at her longingly. That concept could have been explored a bit more, but any reference is better than none at all.
Most people will remember this song only from its performance at the MTV Music Awards, where Madonna kissed Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, then danced with Missy Elliott. The night it aired, I was in Ogunquit. Having heard whispers that she might be opening the show, I told Andy to go downstairs and make dinner reservations while I watched to see what might transpire during the opening. The snaky bassline of ‘Like A Virgin’ began and I held my breath. Britney and Christina did their rudimentary run-through of the song, and then there she was, rising from a wedding cake like the very first time, in groom/dominatrix drag, overseeing the proceedings and completely in charge of it all. Twenty years into her career, she was still the most highly-charged performance of the night, and all the world was talking about the next day.
Personally, I enjoyed that rendition of ‘Hollywood’ – and it left no doubt as to who the reigning Queen was, and remains.
{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.}
Gray shadows, one-night stands, the lost and the lonely, and the sad, unbearable waking of the morn. Such is the selection of the iPod shuffle, which has chosen ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall’ from Madonna’s film Evita. It was early 1997. I was single and trying valiantly to be fabulous. (Sometimes being fabulous means being kind of slutty.)
I don’t expect my love affairs to last for long,
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it,
But all the same I hate it wouldn’t you?
I was on the road with The Royal Rainbow World Tour, and Evita had just opened. Visiting friends in snowy Rochester, New York, I wore a leopard coat and fuschia silk shirt to see the film with a few friends. A little touch of star quality in dismal upstate NY. I was running away from having to start my real life, going on this world-wide jaunt to put off settling down now that I had graduated from Brandeis. Boston was still my home-base, but I preferred the vagabond nomadic excitement of living out of my parents’ Blazer, a rack of fancy frockery in the backseat, a sequin purse of toll coins in the front, and a small collection of necklaces dangling from the rearview mirror. I drove all night just to get away from myself.
So what happens now?
So what happens now?
Where am I going to?
Where am I going to?
In Rochester there was a poster store that carried a nice selection of postcards. A black and white image of a naked man, sitting on the edge of a bed in the morning light. Head down, clothes scattered on the floor, and the rumpled sheets of a duet or solitary struggle. It is hard to tell which is which, and the light of day doesn’t do much to aid in recovery. I had been in that position, had hung my head that low, and I would do so again and again in the years to come.
Time and time again I’ve said that I don’t care,
That I’m immune to gloom, that I’m hard through and through
But every time it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me and they do.
I preferred to stay in hotels rather than at my friends’ dorm rooms or apartments. Even then solitude was comforting to me, my natural state being one of distance, slight detachment – always separate from the rest of the world, even from my friends and family. And then again… distance lends enchantment…
So what happens now?
So what happens now?
Where am I going to?
Where am I going to?
And now the saddest part of the song, the refrain that rang in my head on so many mornings after:
Call in three months’ time and I’ll be fine, I know, Well maybe not that fine, but I’ll survive anyhow I won’t recall the names and places of each sad occasion, But that’s no consolation here and how.
How many times had I calculated the number of months the pain would last? I tried all sorts of equations – usually it was half the length of the relationship, if there even was a relationship. It was more tricky when there were sudden feelings after just a single night. Yes, decidedly more tricky, and somehow inversely more painful. It was the apathy and general disregard that used to hurt the most. I could never understand – not then – how one could not feel anything.
So what happens now?
So what happens now?
Where am I going to?
Where am I going to?
Don’t ask anymore…
Song #31: ‘Another Suitcase in Another Hall’ – January 1997
It happens each year like clock-work. Right around this time I start getting antsy. Having been all but housebound for over a month, I feel like a caged animal, and woe to anyone caught behind the bars. To alleviate the matter, I tend to start traveling, as much as, and to anywhere, possible. This weekend that will bring me to Stormville, NY, to visit my friends Missy and Joe and their two-year-old boy Julian. Yes, another baby is on my horizon, but I’m told he’s gregarious and fun and likes to sing, so we have all that in common.
It’s been over a year since I visited them, which means it’s a year since I’ve been to the Woodbury Outlets. Sadly, I have not spent the ensuing time saving up any sort of money, so with any luck there will be a few good sales to offset such a lack of foresight and financial planning. All that is beside the point, as I really just need a relaxing weekend away with a couple of good friends – one of whom I’ve known since we were five.
That sort of lasting friendship is hard to come by, and I’m lucky to have a few such friends that have been with me through the decades. Those are the people who are family to me, the ones who survive distance and time to stick around for the long haul. So many of our friendships seem forged by proximity and convenience, employment and opportunity, FaceBook and Twitter – or simple circumstance. I’ve always demanded a bit more from my true friends, and like to think I’ve given just as much in return. It takes work to maintain a meaningful friendship with someone – work and effort and communication. The latter may seem easier in this day and age (I remember sending letters to all my friends when we were all at different colleges – and I still prefer a hand-written note to any e-mail or, worse, phone call) but that convenience is often an easy out. Luckily for me, the friends I’ve kept put the same effort and work into staying in touch as I do, and we all manage to see each other at some point or other during the year.
The older I get, and the more people that come and go in my life, the more I value the friends I’ve had for twenty, some even thirty, years. Those are the people around whom I can truly relax and be myself. Those are the people I don’t need to impress with fancy clothes or pricey bags or high-fashion shoes. That doesn’t mean I won’t put on a good show, but it does mean they wouldn’t mind if I didn’t.
{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.}
Just one of those things
When everything goes incredible
And all is beautiful
(Can’t get my head around it, I need to think about it) (Can’t get my head around it, I need to think about it)
And all of those things
That used to get you down
Now have no effect at all
Cause life is beautiful
(Can’t get my head around it, I need to think about it) (Can’t get my head around it, I need to think about it)
The day started out in the sunny Mission District of San Francisco, with a breakfast at a corner diner, windows open, the morning walking lazily by. My friend Chris and I were about to hit the road and the long drive South – to the Santa Barbara area. Being a Northeastern boy, I always underestimate distances in other states, particularly those as long as California. I was attending another friend’s wedding, so I asked Chris if he wanted to drive down with me, not realizing exactly how far of a drive it would be, especially when taking the scenic Pacific Coast Highway route.
Most of Madonna’s songs, particularly in latter years, are what I would consider evening songs – moody, dark, and dramatic – perfect for a night out, and doubly good for an evening in – but not many are made for the morning. ‘Incredible’ is one of her morning songs – for greeting the day with promise and excitement, especially when that day is sunny and overflowing with the anticipation of a happy destination and unforgettable journey.
Remembering the very first time
You caught that some one’s special eye
And all of your cares dropped
And all of the world just stopped.
(I hope) I want to go back to then
Got to figure out how, got to remember when
I felt it, it thrilled me
I want it, to fill me
Chris is a good guy, and a lifelong friend, and while he doesn’t hate Madonna, he’s certainly not her biggest fan. But for some reason, he loves this song. And he played it at least twenty five times in a row – no exaggeration. Suddenly I was being paid back by my brother and mother for all the car rides in which I played Madonna relentlessly. And I got it. I got it good. But at the beginning, it was just the California breeze in my hair, the sun up above, and the great Pacific to our right as we wound our way down the coast.
You don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone
And everything in life just goes wrong
Feels like nobody’s listening
And something is missing
Guy bonding is easier than girl bonding somehow – there is less pretense, less preening – and there’s an ease to being with one of my straight guy friends that I haven’t found in straight women or gay men. Maybe it’s the underlying fact that we’re not one another’s competition, theoretically or realistically.
Chris winds us along the Pacific Coast, which is now lined with fog, affording only brief, tantalizing glimpses of the rocky shore and the ocean beyond. We make a few stops – including a break at the naturally majestic Post Ranch Inn (where we could just barely afford an appetizer, much less a night at the Inn – which runs up to $2285 – yes, per night).
When the fog parted, we took a moment to pull off the road before dusk descended. Groups of seals and sea birds huddled on the shore. Sharks inhabited these waters, and as the wind picked up and the light went, I shuddered at the thought of their dark world, equally enthralled and repelled. Then it was back on the road, and the darkening way South.
I remember when
You were the one
You were my friend
You gave me life
You were the sun
You taught me things
I didn’t run
I fell to my knees
I didn’t know why
I started to breathe
I wanted to cry
I need a reminder
So I can relate
I need to go back there
Before it’s too late
After about eight hours of driving (or riding as the case may be), I was over it – the song, the car, the traffic, and even the Madonna Inn, which we passed. We stopped for dinner around San Luis Obispo, recharging for the final stretch, and as we pulled into the hotel, I think we were both a little crazy.
It’s time to get your hands up
It’s time to get your body moving…
Some Madonna songs are great for driving, and while the 50th play of this one pushed it, ‘Incredible’ is the perfect driving song, especially along the shore of California with one of your best friends.
Let’s finish what we started
Incredible
You’re welcome to my party…
I don’t want this to end
I am missing my best friend
It was incredible
There is no reason…
{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.}
It was the summer of 1990 – the summer of ‘Dick Tracy’, the summer of Blonde Ambition, and the summer of my trip to the then-Soviet Union. It was a summer of intrigue, of mystery, of wooded night walks, whispered secrets, and thick, hot days in which the sun beat down relentlessly and made one wonder whether the cool of night would ever come again.
All work, and no play, makes Dick a dull, dull boy…
Career gets in the way…
Square jaw, such a handsome face,
Why do you have to save the human race?
Life of crime, no it never pays,
Clean up the streets and make your secret-get-away,
All alone, in your room with your radio,
No one to hold you, had to let her go…
At this point, Madonna was still the only artist whose entire albums I learned inside out. ‘He’s A Man’ was the lead track on her ‘I’m Breathless’ album Music from and Inspired by the Film Dick Tracy. It was heavenly. And the album marked the first time she went in a Broadway/show-tune direction. Madonna singing Sondheim? Sign me up, and sign me up fast. I was just becoming a show tune queen, and this certainly helped to cement the deal. Sondheim was a hero to me for ‘Into the Woods’. I know most of his adoring public hearkens back to ‘Sunday in the Park with George’ or ‘Sweeney Todd’, but my first Sondheim experience was ‘Into the Woods’, and I loved it. Follow that with the three songs Madonna did with him on ‘I’m Breathless’, and this album was on non-stop rotation for the entire summer of 1990, much to the chagrin of my brother whenever he was trapped in the car with me.
You’re a man with a gun in your hand,
Waging a war between good and evil can be a bore.
If you don’t take time, it’s not nice,
So here’s my advice,
Take your love on the run,
Oh God let me be the one,
A man with a gun.
‘He’s A Man’ is a seductive, slow-burning introduction to the whole feel of the ‘Dick Tracy’ movie and that entire glamorous/gangster era when everybody was holding out for a hero named after a penis. Myself, I had not yet joined the hunt for Dick, so I watched the adventure from the periphery, all of fourteen years old and not quite ready to give up the childhood ghost. For that moment, listening to Madonna sing about it was all I needed. The rest took place in my head.
All boss and no brains,
Bullies and thugs, they take up all your time in vain.
Can’t let go, someone cries and you hear the call,
Who’s gonna catch you, don’t good guys ever fall?
It had a lounge-like bar feel to it, and though the hard stiff stuff stung my lips and burned my tongue, the atmosphere called to me in the seductive plucking of a bass and the languid runs of a smoke-addled pianist. A jazzy undertone ran throughout the record – and that summer – and in the midnight talks of adolescence, in the longing and the confusing want, Madonna sang her siren songs for a Dick, and I listened and pined along with her.
All alone, in your room with your radio,
No one to hold you, I would never let you go…
{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 are some Madonna songs that are so fun and catchy they stand alone, not needful of any backstory, (and certainly not crying out for my own silly attachment to it). Being that I don’t have any distinctive memory attached to it, we’re going to let ‘Give It 2 Me’ run its own bass-pumping course.
What are you waiting for?
Nobody’s gonna show you how.
Why wait for someone else to do what you can do right now?
Got no boundaries and no limits,
If there’s excitement put me in it,
If it’s against the law arrest me,
If you can handle it undress me.
Sometimes a good Madonna song is all you need to dance in front of a mirror, in your underwear, throwing a party for one and having the time of your life.
[Insert cute picture of me dancing in my underwear in front of the mirror if it were possible to take a picture of myself while dancing in front of a mirror and looking cute in my underwear.]
Don’t stop me now
Don’t need to catch my breath
I can go on and on and on…
When the lights go down
And there’s no one left
I can go on and on and on…
Give it 2 me!
Yeah!
No one’s gonna show me how.
Give it 2 me!
Yeah!
No one’s gonna stop me now.
A brief interruption: How cool is it that Pharrell Williams features his gorgeous purple Hermes Birkin in the original video?
They say that a good thing never lasts and that it has to fall
Those are the people that did not amount to much at all.
{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 would have been a perfect song a little later in the year, as it is so strongly associated with Spring for me- but the iPod will shuffle as it sees fit, so ‘I’ll Remember’ is up for discussion now. Some Madonna songs are filler – light throw-away moments that pass the time on car rides – but others are more distinctive sign-posts, framing and freezing a certain period of life that will remain tenaciously tied to a moment. This is one of the latter, and I can’t listen to it without thinking of the spring of 1994 at Brandeis and in Boston, the last girl I ever kissed, and the loss of any final vestiges of childhood.
Say goodbye to not knowing when
the truth in my whole life began.
Say goodbye to not knowing how to cry
You taught me that.
And I’ll remember the strength that you gave me
Now that I’m standing on my own
I’ll remember the way that you saved me…
I’ll remember.
This was the very last time I walked into Tower Records, or any record store for that matter, without being keenly aware of a Madonna release – the Internet was just in the process of revolutionizing information – but for now, for this one final moment of ignorant innocence, I was oblivious to what I was about to find.
Making a quick flip through the Madonna section, I saw something called ‘I’ll Remember’.For the date, the photo on the cassette (yes, cassette) was questionable – it being a reused one from the ‘Rain’ video, grainy and sub-par, but there was the Copyright of 1994. I quickly purchased it, popped it into my walkman, and as the opening Patrick Leonard-produced melody began, my heart leapt at this secret surprise.
Having just had my heart broken, by a girl no less – and no more – the song resonated more than Madonna songs usually resonate with me (which is a lot on their most unaffecting level), and the underlying melancholy and lost-love lyrics were another powerful link I felt to the artist.
Inside, I was a child,
That could not mend a broken wing.
Outside, I looked for a way
To teach my heart to sing,
And I’ll remember the love that you gave me
Now that I’m standing on my own.
I’ll remember the way that you changed me,
I’ll remember…
– – – – – – – – –
Back on campus, my Freshman year continued. The winter was relenting, the last of the most tenacious snow was finally melting in dirty patches. This was the time of heaves, when the earth buckled between moments of freezing and thawing, and the hearts of romantics followed tumultuous suit. Thoughts of suicide ravaged my head, and one night I found myself on the roof of the observatory building, looking over its edge and wondering. A couple of students burst into my silent reverie, giggling as their eyes adjusted to the dark, and still snickering even after they noticed another person standing there. I walked back to the staircase and descended.
– – – – – – – – –
I learned to let go
Of the illusion that we can possess
I learned to let go,
I travel in stillness,
And I’ll remember…
Happiness.
– – – – – – – – –
A couple of weeks later it was time to leave Brandeis. Somehow I had made it through a year of college, and I was returning home for the summer. At the end of April, or the very start of May, there was a solar eclipse. I remember watching the crescents of the sun filtered through the canopy of trees already in leaf outside my dormitory. Somewhere there are a few photos of those shadows, and that day. I was leaving Hassenfeld, my Freshman dorm, and my first year of college, and I was ready.
No I’ve never been afraid to cry,
Now I finally have a reason why…
No I’ve never been afraid to cry,
Now I finally have a reason why…
It strikes me as I write this – a rather late realization- that ‘ I’ll Remember’ was really the end of my supposed-straight life, and the very last remnants of my childhood. Try as I might, it was a losing battle, and that girl would prove to be the very last girl I ever kissed. We would have one more summer together, and then it would be the boys’ turn to break my heart.
After a whirlwind, bang-up shopping expedition (five bags of which I dropped off in the car), it was time to head back to the condo for a photo shoot and an early night. The side streets leading home were still enchanted by the snowfall.
This was a strange bout of snow that still clung to signs and trees days after it had fallen, even in the face of biting winds. I was grateful for that, to be able to catch what I might otherwise miss.
The entry-way to my street was framed with arching boughs holding snow. It creates a magical effect, matched only by the bright cherry blooms of spring that lend the same overhead wonder.
A bare dogwood tree to the right also carries its snowy load, like clouds hanging low in the sky. It is a frigid beauty, one that exemplifies the icy crystalline structure of all this snow, frozen in place with Winter’s numbing clarity.
The sun goes down over Southwest Corridor Park. Night will soon follow. And though the nights are brighter in the snow, there is a deeper sort of darkness in the Winter.
Not living in Boston full-time has but scant rewards. There is, however, one luxury that I get to embrace, and that’s the ability to pick and choose when I visit. When a snowstorm or stretch of rainy weather is forecast, I can stay home and wait until the clouds clear. Sometimes, though, when there are sales or special events or a bracelet that needs to be dropped off at Tiffany’s, one has to make the trip.
It’s been a number of years since I was in town to see this much snow. The last time was the weekend where Suzie, Chris, and I spent a night in Boston before driving up to Provincetown for a winter reading at the Fine Arts Work Center. The days prior had left most of Western Massachusetts covered in two feet of snow, and there was literally nowhere left for it to go. The streets were piled high, parked cars would remain buried for weeks, and walking all but required snowshoes.
This weekend saw a similar thick blanket of snow, which is why I waited an extra day for things to clear up a bit before driving in. It was a good decision, though I had no problems, and in fact the city was rather resplendent in its snow-covered mantle.
The wind was a bit cutting, but nothing a pair of scarves wrapped tightly around my neck and ears couldn’t handle. The sidewalks were all neatly plowed, and I managed to grab a few shots while hurrying between stores. It was, after all, a shopping trip to capitalize on the post-holiday slump sales (and given that I got 50% off everything I purchased, I managed to stay within budget).
One thing I previously laughed at but currently embrace is the use of long-underwear. I used to think they were for fools and skiers and the occasional isolated unabomber, but I am now a huge fan (pics of proof to be posted in due time). They are not as itchy as I remember them being, so perhaps in the last decade and a half they have made major improvements.
 {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.}
Hey Mr. DJ, put a record on,
I wanna dance with my baby…
In a vocoder-enhanced robotic voice of the future, the opening salvo of ‘Music’ found Madonna entering the new millennium ready to boogie-woogie. This song reminds me of my husband. Fun, funky, and instantly-classic. It came out just after I met him, and as such will always hold a special place in my heart.
It was September of 2000. I was traveling between Boston and Albany as Andy and I figured out what we were becoming. On a weekend alone, I heard this song on the radio for the first time. I sat there in the condo, ear up against the speaker, stunned and enraptured and slightly underwhelmed as I am the first time I hear any new Madonna song (it’s a good omen – see ‘Frozen’ and ‘Like A Prayer’). This was both a throw-back to her earliest R&B-dance roots, and an unflinching look to the future thanks to the computerized blips and stuttering booms of Mirwais. It was just before Internet leaks took over, and it was still possible to remain in the dark as to what a song sounded like until it premiered on the radio, and somehow I caught it at just the right moment. By the end of it, I was even dancing a little.
Do you like to Boogie Woogie?
Do you like my acid-rock?
Oh I more than liked it, I loved it. And I more than liked Andy. It was a time of celebration, a time of gleeful abandon, of giving it up to the beat, to the music, and to the prospect of loving and being loved.
And when the music starts, I never wanna stop,
It’s gonna drive me crazy…
Music…
Simple. Powerful. To the point. It was Madonna bringing it like only she could, staking another musical milestone with a memory that would burn brightly as one of the happiest in my life. As Summer ripened into Fall, and Andy and I felt our way into our relationship, Madonna was the soundtrack that formed the backdrop to all of the fun.
Music makes the people come together – yeah,
Music makes the bourgeoisie and a rebel…
That September marked our first trip together. We drove up to Ogunquit, Maine where Andy knew a few people, and it felt like we were a world away from everything else. In this fantastical place there was a beautiful ocean shore, a breathtaking seaside walk, a jewel-box of restaurants, and a couple of bars and dance clubs to fill the nights with adventure.
Don’t think of yesterday and I don’t look at the clock
I like to boogie-woogie.
It’s like riding on the wind and it never goes away
Touches everything I’m in, got to have it every day.
Andy’s friend Al ran MaineStreet at the time, and, while still relatively new, it had already established itself as a go-to spot for the good-time crowd. As the bar began to fill, and the lights flashed, the throbbing dance beat built to the first of many crescendos. Soon the dance floor was moving with the collective break-neck motions of the music-mad masses. It was then when I felt, more than heard, the opening strains of the Calderone Anthem Mix. Victor Calderone has a way with crafting a killer Madonna remix, steadily building and adding to his creation until it gives glorious way to the thundering pinnacle of its climax, and there it dangles for a delicious moment before its precipitous drop and heady whoosh to a racing conclusion.
I’ve got a bad-gay admission to make: I don’t go out to dance clubs a lot. I never have. I usually prefer the quiet atmosphere of a bar to the techno-deadened bass attack of a club any day. But once in a while I’ll have a night out when a club is exactly what I’m looking for, and if there’s a Madonna song on (as there more than likely will be) it makes it all the better, as if I’m meant to be exactly there, at that moment.
It’s happened a few times – a Calderone remix of ‘Frozen’ in the chilly Rochester winter, a transcendent bit of ‘Isaac’ and the exhilarating rush of ‘Vogue’ reborn in Chelsea, and Tracy Young’s whirling take on ‘Don’t Tell Me’ on a rare Saturday at Waterworks. This time it was ‘Music’ in Ogunquit, with a new boyfriend by my side, a new club in the midst of establishing itself, and a new Madonna album on the horizon. For that one moment, all was right with the world.
Music makes the people come together – yeah,
Music makes the bourgeoisie and a rebel…
On a technical side-note, ‘Music’ marked Madonna’s 12th Number One hit on the Billboard charts (and her last one, thus far). The album also debuted at #1 – her first number one album since 1989 (she’s been luckier in that of late, as every one of her studio albums since Music has managed to hit the top spot for at least a week: American Life, Confessions on a Dance Floor, and Hard Candy).
While spottier than its predecessor of perfection (the magnificent and yet-to-be-topped Ray of Light), Music was a more-fun companion-piece. I made my customary pilgrimage to Tower Records on Newbury Street (I think it was still Tower Records at that point – if not, then Virgin) for the midnight release, and got a free poster because I bought the Limited Edition special CD. The poster featured Madonna in high-cowgirl mode, a style that at first seemed jarring (she did once proclaim that she would never date a guy who wore cowboy boots) but ended up working better than even she probably anticipated. (Picture a smattering of pink cowboy hats at her ‘Drowned World Tour’ stops.)
As for the video, directed by Jonas Akerlund, Madonna also went back to old-school MTV fun, with a cheeky bit by Sacha Baron Cohen as Ali G, girl support from Niki Haris and Debi Mazar, and a requisite animated sequence that found a cartoon Madonna super-heroine in a Metropolis-like world with buildings and signs featuring the names of past hits. At that stage in her career, she could already look back with a wink, confident that the release of a new Madonna album was still a momentous event.
There have been a number of memorable live performances of ‘Music’ – most notably its limo-centric free-for-all at the Grammy Awards, an incredible Live 8 version, and the finale to the Drowned World Tour. But I think it was her mash-up of ‘Music’ and ‘Disco Inferno’ from the ‘Confessions Tour’ that holds status as my favorite performance of the song:
