Darling Lorraine

In 1959, a doo-wop quartet called The Knockouts released a song called "Darling Lorraine." This is not that song, which is your typical "I love you, I need you, whoa, whoa" fare.

This, instead, is a song of almost unrelieved and unremitting sadness. It's about a mismatched couple. Frank, our protagonist (a "hero" he is not), describes Lorraine as "hot," "cool," "light" and "free." And himself as, well, "not." The best he can come up with is that he's "tight."

In the opening, he sees her and is immediately drawn to her. He impulsively approaches her and, "with the part of me that talks," stammeringly introduces himself as being from "New York, New York." You know, as opposed to that other New York. This nervous routine isn't working, so he puts on airs: "All my life, I've been a wanderer..." (immediately admitting in an aside that, in fact, he has lived close to his parents his whole life; in the version on In the Blue Light, he lives even closer-- the line is now "I rented a room in my parents' place.").

As in "Train in the Distance," Frank and Lorraine get married as a matter of course, "and the usual marriage stuff" (a big romantic, our Frank). Then she tells him from (as far as he can see) out of nowhere that she has "had enough." To be specific: "Romance is a heartbreaker/ I'm not meant to be a homemaker/ And I'm tired of being 'Darling Lorraine.'" (This is only the second verse, too!)

Now, a sophisticated or sensitive man might have said, "Lorraine, I love you, and I want you be happy, and to be happy with me. So if there are some changes you would like to make, I'd like to hear them. Do you want to get a job outside the home? Do you feel that I don't treat you as a whole person, but just a love object? What can I do to help you be happy?"

Yes, but this is Frank. Who hears her talking about herself and responds as if it is all about himself. "What? You don't love me anymore? You don't like the way I chew?" (Ellen Degeneres has a routine about a woman who asks her mate: "Could you please just stop that... breathing?!" Contrast this with the speaker of, say, "They Can't Take That Away from Me," or "My Funny Valentine," who finds her lovers' quirks and even weaknesses just adorable.)

Now, Frank married a woman who was "hot (and) cool" and now he tells her "You say you're depressed but you're not/ You just like to stay in bed." Again, she could have some condition that could be helped; at least they could try couples' counseling. But this is Frank, so he says, "You're not the woman that I wed... I don't need you."

After this fight, he admits to himself: "I long for your love." Then he thinks that, if not for her, he could have been a musician, since he is not a very good money-maker. And then he goes back to "I feel so good with Darling Lorraine." He may have been right, in his earlier lie, that he has always been a wanderer. His mind never stays in one place long, anyway.

In the next verse, they are reconciled. It's Christmas. She has made pancakes, then they watch the movie It's a Wonderful Life, and for an afternoon, that phrase applies. Suddenly, there is another fight. Again, in his insecurity, he immediately assumes that the worst is here again; "You're walking out the door?" This time, he says something truly awful: "I'm sick to death of you, Lorraine!"

Now, he wishes he has watched his words, or that they had tried to find the underlying cause of her lethargy earlier. Because now, "her hands (are) like wood," and the doctor's news "isn't good." It is not clear if this is some sort of paralysis or skin condition, but it hardly matters. He has been inflexible ("I'm tight, that's me"), but now she is the one who literally cannot move.

Suddenly faced with prospect of losing Lorraine forever, he becomes the caring man he always should have been. Or maybe he cared before in a way that he thought was caring, without asking her what she actually needed. Now, it's:  "I know you're in pain... I'll buy us something sweet/ Here's an extra blanket, honey, to wrap around your feet."

And then, she dies: "The moon in the meadow/ Took Darling Lorraine." It's now too late to apologize, or give her more freedom, or anything. We can only hope Frank has learned, and does not mistreat his next lover this way.

With this acerbic "love" story, Simon acidly washes away the fairy tale painted by the earlier "Darling Lorraine. Love is often not "divine," as that song promised. "Romance," Lorraine discovers, "is a heartbreaker." It sets you up for a fall, when the story (or song) ends and reality kicks back in.

It turns out, the most dangerous character in Fairy-Tale Land is no witch or ogre or wolf, but Prince Charming, an impossible man we keep hearing about as if he existed. Or maybe... maybe it's the storytellers themselves, who promise us that married couples always live "happily ever after."

A twice-divorced man, listening to a record from around his 18th year. could not help but want to set the record straight about what really might happen to "Darling Lorraine" when the song ends. To do that, he'll have to be brutally Frank.

Lyrical note: Another change to the lyrics in the In the Blue Light version is, near the end, having the moonlight strike "leaves" instead of "trees." I'm not sure it matters, but Simon felt the need to make the change, so I thought I'd mention it.

Next Song: Old

Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall

In his play The Wild Duck, Henrik Ibsen (Norway) shows that it is better for some to live with an illusion than with the truth that would devastate them. In his book of essays, "The Myth of Sisyphus," Albert Camus (France) explains that, since hope and despair are equally absurd guesses as to the quality of the future, one might as well choose hope. Another work this song calls to mind is Umberto Eco's (Italy) novel The Name of the Rose, which discusses-- since knowledge is power-- who gets to know what, and whether it might be better for certain people to not know certain things.

And then of course, there is good old Jack Nicholson (America), in the film, "A Few Good Men," frustratedly asserting that we cannot, in fact, "handle the truth."

Whether the speaker in our song is aware of any of these works is beside the point-- he would certainly understand them. He has tried to fathom something about reality, and it confounded him most horribly. He has nightmares about the unknown: "Through the corridors of sleep... my mind dances and leaps in confusion."

He is not sure whether the reality he perceives is, in fact, real... or is perhaps all in his head. He is unsure of even his own status as "real." It would be one thing if the "dark and small" image his mirror reflects was himself, for at least then he could try to come to grips with his insignificance... only, he's "not sure at all it's [his] reflection."

Understandably, he seeks explanations in the usual places-- "God" and religion, science and philosophy-- only to find that such intense "light" leaves him "blinded." It seems that he cannot, in fact, handle the "truth."

Before, there were too many "shadows," and now there is too much "light"! So, it's back to the darkness, and "wander[ing] in the night."

In the end, he basically gives up, and goes back to pretending. Not out of fear, exactly, but because he did find an answer, of sorts. The logic is simple, really. One of two things is true:

Position A is that reality is objectively true. Yet, it is unknowable by his limited, human mind, which means that, as far as he can know, reality can only extend.... as far as he can know.

Position B is that there is no objective reality, and what is "real" is only whatever he says it is. In which case, his experience is real... because he creates "reality" by believing it into existence.

His conclusion is that, ironically, whether there is an objective reality or not, he is in the same spot: only able to know what he can know.

So, to be fair, in the end, he does not give up as much as he takes Camus' insightful nonchalance. Since he can't even know IF there is a "real" reality or it's all in his mind to begin with, he might as well stop worrying about it and get on with the business of living ("I must... face tomorrow"), as far as he experiences life.

As he puts it, "my fantasy becomes reality." Again, that could mean that (Position A) there is a true "reality" that he only has a limited awareness ("fantasy") of, so it's true for him... or (Position B) his imposition of his opinions and biases (his "fantasy") upon experiences actually changes those experiences ("reality") into what he says they are.

But it doesn't "matter," he realizes, if you "play" the "king" who imposes your will on reality (Position B), or a "pawn" who is moved about by hands unseen (Position A).

In either case, he sees, "I must be what I must be." In the case of Position A, this is so because he has no choice; he is fated. In position B, it's because whatever he wills (or stumbles) himself into becoming, he will become, due to simple cause and effect, even if he-- and not fate-- is the cause.

He started off by "hid[ing] behind the shield of [his] illusion." Ultimately, he returns there: "I'll continue to continue to pretend" as before [emphasis mine].

'As far as I'm concerned,' he decides, 'flowers don't bend when pummeled by heavy rains."

For instance, he will ignore mortality and "pretend/ My life will never end".' Mortality is too disabling a concept, so best to ignore it and "pretend" it away. If one is focused on death, one does not live.

Why this example? If one thinks too hard about what is inevitable, one stops trying to move forward at all. Reality gets in the way; illusion permits motion. Reality-- or at least the acknowledgement of it-- causes the death of progress. Only by ignoring reality/death can one truly live.

Yes, he will continue to imagine a world that works the way he needs it to, with all the myths that help him stay sane and functioning... even if he knows now that, yes, they are myths. (In the movie Unstrung Heroes, we have this exchange between an atheist and a believer: "Religion is a crutch." "Well, a crutch isn't a bad thing, if you need it.")

Our hero will continue to hunt the Wild Duck, he will continue to push his Sisyphean stone uphill, he will continue to copy Medieval manuscripts without reading them.

At least he can handle the truth... that he can't handle the truth.


Next song: A Simple Desultory Philippic.