Here, Esmerelda, Sal's mother, speaks. He is in jail, but she is somewhat trapped as well, as she explains.
She writes to her son in prison, using his adult name, Salvador. She tells him that lunch is over, but even though it is noon, there is no sunlight in her apartment: "The buildings here, tall as our mountains/ Slice through the windows and cut off the sun."
By "our mountains," she means those back home, in Puerto Rico. She is homesick. Even if life was hard there... well, it is hard in New York, too, but not as pretty outside! Still she vows to Salvador to "never return until you are free." Thoughts of the homeland fo cheer her, especially when she hears the Aguialdo-- a Hispanic Christmas carol of sorts-- to which she dances with her daughter, Aurea.
She confides to him that she has been "unlucky" in love. Her Puerto Rican husband drank and ran around. Gonzales, the preacher who brought her to America, was a "hypocrite," who "beat you and preached about repentance/ Has gone." Actually, she left Gonzales, after he abandoned Sal to his prison fate.
Esmerelda might also point out that the church that took them in to begin with was also, ultimately, cruel to Salvador. Both lands, both husbands, both churches, have made promises of rescue... only to require that they be rescued from them, in turn!
"Another Sunday ends," Esmerelda sighs. This throwaway line is actually very telling. Esmerelda is no longer banking on "Sunday,"... on promises of faith and salvation, especially not by those who profess religious power.
No... "tomorrow is another hardworking Monday." She is trying to depend on herself, on her own work. But this seems another blind alley filled with false promises; "I am still hoping for the raise they promised me." Perhaps, someday, she will have the fortitude to remind her employers of their promise. For now, she is neither dependent on men--husbands or her son-- nor on the Church.
"There's a job as a operator/ If I could speak the language easily." In the era before cell phones, operators were telephone company employees who helped connect calls, provide 411 information, etc.; today, their job would be called "customer service." Naturally, fluency was a requirement. Esmerelda is unaware that classes in English for non-native speakers have been offered in places like libraries and community centers for decades, and she seems still too reticent to even ask after such things.
After all of her struggles, she seems ready to take a break, though: "I view my light with resignation." Further, she is still a several-times-over minority-- a woman, an immigrant, older than most job seekers, a not-quite fluent-enough-speaker. Oh, and the mother of a well-known convicted murderer, which could also hurt her career prospects.
She also seems content to consider "the Barrio" as "our own little nation," a Puerto Rican island, as it were, within the island of Manhattan. Perhaps being close to her people is as close as she can get to being with her family, which dwindles ever smaller. Wistfully, she tells Sal, "Sometimes I hear you run upstairs."
Even with all of her betrayals by the organized Church, Esmerelda still clings to her faith, and tells Sal to, also: "Keep your Bible near you."
Why? Because "time is an ocean of endless tears." Every time she put herself forward-- to the church back in Puerto Rico, to both her husbands, to this new land, and now to her job-- she has been slapped backward.
And now, she sits in her apartment, and Sal in his cell.. each a prisoner wavering between resignation to darkness and hope of sunlight.
But the Bible tells of the rise of Joseph, the Exodus from bondage, the entrance into the Promised Land, the elevation of David.... and the Ascension of Jesus. All stories of lowly people achieving liberty, self-determination, and salvation.
Next Song: Time is an Ocean
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Monday, August 13, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Obvious Child
The speaker begins by trying to explain, perhaps to himself, where he is in life, now that he is getting on. He says he used to an easy life... or maybe he's just not assertive anymore and takes it easy. He doesn't want to be babied... but he doesn't expect an anxiety-free life, which he sees as the trade-off. He's got a lot to work though yet.
Now, the easier way to read the next passage would be to have it: "Some people say a lie’s a lie’s a lie/ But I say why/ Why deny the obvious, Child?" meaning, "Some people say all lies are equal, but I say, 'Come on, Dude, it's obvious that some are far worse than others.'"
But that's not what it says. The liner notes, Simon's website, and the Lyrics book all agree: The line is "Why deny the obvious child?"-- i.e., the child who is obvious.
So we have one side of the argument being: "All lies are equal," and the speaker taking up the contrary position, which is that we should not... deny the existence of a certain child. And just who is this "child" who is, or should be, seen by all? The Baby Jesus? I can't think of a more famous child...
Or perhaps it is not a "child" at all. Perhaps the word "child" is a metaphor for "result." If you think that all lies are equal, then the result of that logic means that, say, the lie of a president is morally equivalent to the lie "I've had a great time!" tossed backward while exiting a dull party.
Next, Simon has some fun with us: "And in remembering a road sign/ I am remembering a girl when I was young." Oh dear, what sign could that be? A disappointing one, like "STOP"? A welcome one, like "YIELD"? Perhaps an eyebrow-raising one, like "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" or even "DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD." (Feel free to join in, in the comments!)
They did agree on the hopefulness and heightened emotion of youth: "We said, “These songs are true/ These days are ours/ These tears are free.” (Shades of Springsteen's line: "We learned more from a three-minute record/ Than we ever learned in school.")
The next enigmatic line was actually interpreted by Simon, in an interview. My mother guessed that it referred to a papal visit to a sports stadium. I thought it meant that the lines between first base and third, and then second base and home plate, resembled a cross in the ballpark.
But Simon said-- and he was clear that all listeners are entitled to their own interpretations-- that "the cross is in the ballpark" came from fusing two idioms; "The crosses that we bear, they're in the ballpark, they're doable." I have also heard this phrased: "God never gives us more than we can handle."
The speaker then explains why he brought up that "girl"-- he had a child with her: "We had a little son and we thought we’d call him Sonny." Then we hear Sonny's story, how he "gets married," "has a baby" and still feels as "sunny" as his parents did when they were young. Not like his father, the speaker (see the first verse).
The next chorus has the speaker talking about the actual Sun, and how he follows it across the entire day. "Some people say the sky is just the sky," he muses, "But...why deny the obvious child?" Again, the result of that thought is despair. The sky is more than just the atmosphere the sunlight passes through. It is a source of life-giving oxygen, the protective shield against the coldness of space, possibly the abode of angels.
Back to Sonny. Sonny is feeling uncharacteristically pensive and stifled, and is perhaps having a midlife crisis (his hair is "thinning"). So he finds his high school yearbook and sees how he is doing, compared to others his age.
Simon's site has a major error here; it has the line "roots are like cages." The book and liner notes, as well as the sound in the song, are clear. The line is "rooms" are like cages. This is key, as the word "room" appears three times in two stanzas "The light across my room"; "the room of my day"; and this line. While his father can feel connected to the whole "sky" from his "room," Sonny feels that his is a "cage." Then the site screws up again; the word is "idly," not "idle."
So... how are Sonny's classsmates doing? Not well. Some have "fled from themselves"-- Had breakdowns? Made compromises that denied their desires?-- and some have simply passed on. So Sonny "wanders beyond his interior walls"--either by simply going outside, or by realizing that his life now consists of others as well as himself (his wife, his baby) to whom he is connected.
The song closes with the first verse repeating, with alterations. The speaker, for all of the thoughts he has just worked through, seems unchanged. But then...
Simon folds two ideas into one. The lines "a lie's a lie's a lie" combined with "the sky is just the sky" to form "a lie is just a lie."
In other words, some people think that a a lie is just that, an isolated untruth. But no, it is more than that. A lie can be a roadblock, or a burden you carry your whole life. But that burden, that cross, is actually "in the ballpark."
How does he come to realize this? Well, "why deny the obvious child?"
OK, already, who is that? Why, his own child, Sonny. Obviously.
The child who was there all along. The child who still carried the joy of his father's youth, the joy he was raised with. The youthful joy that said "These songs are true... and hey, the cross is in the ballpark."
And Sonny realizes this in his own "baby," his own "obvious child."
So maybe Kafka was wrong when he said "The meaning of life is that it ends." Kafka, who did not have children, did not have an obvious child to show him-- the meaning of life is that it begins all over again.
Musical Note:
The percussion part is performed by a Brazillian drum ensemble called Olodum. They were founded in 1979 and have brought many youths into music, while pioneering a blend of samba, reggae, and African rhythms. Simon brought them to New York for his Concert in Central Park.
To record this track, the ensemble performed outside, as no studio was large enough to hold their 20-plus drummers. (I am not clear if their name, "Olodum," is connected to that of the Yoruba deity "Olodumare," mentioned in a song later on the album.) They later appeared on the Michael Jackson track "They Don't Care About Us."
Another Brazillian act, a vocalist named Briz, sang backup. And two noted American musicians appear as well-- Fabulous Thunderbirds vocalist Kim Wilson on harmonica, and Michael Brecker on his Electronic Wind Instrument (EWI).
IMPACT:
Simon brought several of his Graceland session musicians to Brazil with him for this album, his next major project.
The Rhythm of the Saints peaked at #4 on the US album chart, and while this track did chart, it did not crack the Top 40. The album did better in the UK, topping the charts; there, the song reached #15. Worldwide sales overall sent the album over the multi-platinum mark.
In 2014, a movie about "an unplanned pregnancy" titled Obvious Child was released; the song is on the soundtrack.
Next Song: Can't Run But
Now, the easier way to read the next passage would be to have it: "Some people say a lie’s a lie’s a lie/ But I say why/ Why deny the obvious, Child?" meaning, "Some people say all lies are equal, but I say, 'Come on, Dude, it's obvious that some are far worse than others.'"
But that's not what it says. The liner notes, Simon's website, and the Lyrics book all agree: The line is "Why deny the obvious child?"-- i.e., the child who is obvious.
So we have one side of the argument being: "All lies are equal," and the speaker taking up the contrary position, which is that we should not... deny the existence of a certain child. And just who is this "child" who is, or should be, seen by all? The Baby Jesus? I can't think of a more famous child...
Or perhaps it is not a "child" at all. Perhaps the word "child" is a metaphor for "result." If you think that all lies are equal, then the result of that logic means that, say, the lie of a president is morally equivalent to the lie "I've had a great time!" tossed backward while exiting a dull party.
Next, Simon has some fun with us: "And in remembering a road sign/ I am remembering a girl when I was young." Oh dear, what sign could that be? A disappointing one, like "STOP"? A welcome one, like "YIELD"? Perhaps an eyebrow-raising one, like "ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK" or even "DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD." (Feel free to join in, in the comments!)
They did agree on the hopefulness and heightened emotion of youth: "We said, “These songs are true/ These days are ours/ These tears are free.” (Shades of Springsteen's line: "We learned more from a three-minute record/ Than we ever learned in school.")
The next enigmatic line was actually interpreted by Simon, in an interview. My mother guessed that it referred to a papal visit to a sports stadium. I thought it meant that the lines between first base and third, and then second base and home plate, resembled a cross in the ballpark.
But Simon said-- and he was clear that all listeners are entitled to their own interpretations-- that "the cross is in the ballpark" came from fusing two idioms; "The crosses that we bear, they're in the ballpark, they're doable." I have also heard this phrased: "God never gives us more than we can handle."
The speaker then explains why he brought up that "girl"-- he had a child with her: "We had a little son and we thought we’d call him Sonny." Then we hear Sonny's story, how he "gets married," "has a baby" and still feels as "sunny" as his parents did when they were young. Not like his father, the speaker (see the first verse).
The next chorus has the speaker talking about the actual Sun, and how he follows it across the entire day. "Some people say the sky is just the sky," he muses, "But...why deny the obvious child?" Again, the result of that thought is despair. The sky is more than just the atmosphere the sunlight passes through. It is a source of life-giving oxygen, the protective shield against the coldness of space, possibly the abode of angels.
Back to Sonny. Sonny is feeling uncharacteristically pensive and stifled, and is perhaps having a midlife crisis (his hair is "thinning"). So he finds his high school yearbook and sees how he is doing, compared to others his age.
Simon's site has a major error here; it has the line "roots are like cages." The book and liner notes, as well as the sound in the song, are clear. The line is "rooms" are like cages. This is key, as the word "room" appears three times in two stanzas "The light across my room"; "the room of my day"; and this line. While his father can feel connected to the whole "sky" from his "room," Sonny feels that his is a "cage." Then the site screws up again; the word is "idly," not "idle."
So... how are Sonny's classsmates doing? Not well. Some have "fled from themselves"-- Had breakdowns? Made compromises that denied their desires?-- and some have simply passed on. So Sonny "wanders beyond his interior walls"--either by simply going outside, or by realizing that his life now consists of others as well as himself (his wife, his baby) to whom he is connected.
The song closes with the first verse repeating, with alterations. The speaker, for all of the thoughts he has just worked through, seems unchanged. But then...
Simon folds two ideas into one. The lines "a lie's a lie's a lie" combined with "the sky is just the sky" to form "a lie is just a lie."
In other words, some people think that a a lie is just that, an isolated untruth. But no, it is more than that. A lie can be a roadblock, or a burden you carry your whole life. But that burden, that cross, is actually "in the ballpark."
How does he come to realize this? Well, "why deny the obvious child?"
OK, already, who is that? Why, his own child, Sonny. Obviously.
The child who was there all along. The child who still carried the joy of his father's youth, the joy he was raised with. The youthful joy that said "These songs are true... and hey, the cross is in the ballpark."
And Sonny realizes this in his own "baby," his own "obvious child."
So maybe Kafka was wrong when he said "The meaning of life is that it ends." Kafka, who did not have children, did not have an obvious child to show him-- the meaning of life is that it begins all over again.
Musical Note:
The percussion part is performed by a Brazillian drum ensemble called Olodum. They were founded in 1979 and have brought many youths into music, while pioneering a blend of samba, reggae, and African rhythms. Simon brought them to New York for his Concert in Central Park.
To record this track, the ensemble performed outside, as no studio was large enough to hold their 20-plus drummers. (I am not clear if their name, "Olodum," is connected to that of the Yoruba deity "Olodumare," mentioned in a song later on the album.) They later appeared on the Michael Jackson track "They Don't Care About Us."
Another Brazillian act, a vocalist named Briz, sang backup. And two noted American musicians appear as well-- Fabulous Thunderbirds vocalist Kim Wilson on harmonica, and Michael Brecker on his Electronic Wind Instrument (EWI).
IMPACT:
Simon brought several of his Graceland session musicians to Brazil with him for this album, his next major project.
The Rhythm of the Saints peaked at #4 on the US album chart, and while this track did chart, it did not crack the Top 40. The album did better in the UK, topping the charts; there, the song reached #15. Worldwide sales overall sent the album over the multi-platinum mark.
In 2014, a movie about "an unplanned pregnancy" titled Obvious Child was released; the song is on the soundtrack.
Next Song: Can't Run But
Monday, February 27, 2012
That Was Your Mother
The television show How I Met Your Mother is a hit, but I am not sure that the how-I-met-your-mother story told in this song would have made for a popular sitcom.
For one thing, the speaker is not exactly father-of-the-year material. His priorities are decidedly not family-oriented, and he seems too willing to share personal information with his son. Whom he addresses as "Dude."
As with any story, we must have a setting and characters. The place is Lafayette, Louisiana, named after the Marquis de Lafayette, a hero of American independence. However, he was French, so it makes sense that a French-settled area of America would choose to name a town after him.
The time? Before the child being addressed was born. Was his future father lonely and longing for family life? Not exactly: "I was still single, and life was great!" He then explains that he chose a job that made him rootless.
He finds himself in this Southern town. Today, the population is 120,000, but at the time the song is set it was far fewer; the census shows 40,000 in 1960 and not even 70,000 in 1970. Even though he is a "travelling salesman," he was raised in a city (he considers himself a "city boy") and is therefore not impressed by the size of the place.
It is big enough, however, to draw an act the magnitude of Clifton Chenier, largely considered to be the father of zydeco music. This is a raucous, accordion-based party music, heavy on the saxophones and washboard percussion, and it is as much a part of New Orleans culture as the spicy food and spicier Creole language. (This song itself is set to such music.)
Our salesman has some time to kill, so he is looking for a bar. He would like to "get a little conversation," hopefully with "those Cajun girls." (Is this something a child needs to know about his father?)
However, he never needs to get to a bar. His hopes are answered by chance: "Along came a young girl/ She’s pretty as a prayer book." (While one hopes that his father is attracted to his mother, the attraction might be more than physical, one would have also hoped.)
The father continues, relating his reaction: "If that’s my prayer book/ Lord, let us pray!” (By now, the son is thinking: "Too much information, Dad!")
At this point, the first-time listener of the song is let in on why any of this is being discussed altogether: "Well, that [the pretty woman] was your mother/ And that was your father." It is at this point that we realize that this entire discourse was a reminiscence on the listener's parents' first encounter.
And now, as if life wasn't "great" enough when the father was "single," the son has to hear this: "Before you was born, dude/ When life was great." "OK," the son thinks, "I get it-- things are more fun before you have adult responsibilities. That's a fairly universal idea, even if it hurts to hear it from one's own father. If anything," he concludes, "I will be sure to enjoy my own pre-fatherhood years as much as you did, Dad."
But the father is not done. "I sure do love you," he says to his son, but "You are the burden of my generation... let’s get that straight."
"Wow," the son thinks. "It's really important for him that I know how much of a 'burden' I am to him, and how 'great' his life was when he was 'single' and 'before I was born.' If he hates this life so much, why did he ever choose it? And once he knew he hated it, why did he stay? I'd almost rather he'd left-- and let me be raised by someone who didn't think of me as a weight he was carrying."
Meanwhile, the father is lost in his reverie of recollection: "Well, I’m standing on the corner of Lafayette/ Heading down to the Lone Star Café/ Maybe get a little conversation/ Drink a little red wine/ Standing in the shadow of Clifton Chenier/ Dancing the night away."
"That's it, Dad," fumes the son to himself, "Just cards for you on Father's Day from now on."
Musical note:
The track was recorded in Crowley, Louisiana, some 20 miles from Lafayette.
The band on this track is a zydeco standby called Good Rockin' Dopsie and the Twisters. The accordion is played by Alton "Dopsie" Rubin, Sr. and the drums by Junior. Another son, Dwayne, is also an accordion player with his own band.
Chenier died in 1987, a year after this album was released. He also was succeeded by his son, C.J. Chenier, who still plays and records.
It seems that the fathers related to this song were better at fathering than the fictional father described by the song itself. Maybe if our salesman had watched the musicians instead of the dancing girls...
The song samples a track called "At a Darktown Cakewalk" by one Charles Hale. I can only assume that it dates from when "Darktown" was an acceptable name for a certain part of town (turns out that was 1899). A "cakewalk" (now an expression meaning "an easy task") was a competition at which couples would compete for a fancy cake by dressing to the nines and strutting their stuff, promenading to music; the winners would literally-- and yes, this is where the expression originates-- "take the cake."
Next Song: All Around the World, or The Myth of Fingerprints
For one thing, the speaker is not exactly father-of-the-year material. His priorities are decidedly not family-oriented, and he seems too willing to share personal information with his son. Whom he addresses as "Dude."
As with any story, we must have a setting and characters. The place is Lafayette, Louisiana, named after the Marquis de Lafayette, a hero of American independence. However, he was French, so it makes sense that a French-settled area of America would choose to name a town after him.
The time? Before the child being addressed was born. Was his future father lonely and longing for family life? Not exactly: "I was still single, and life was great!" He then explains that he chose a job that made him rootless.
He finds himself in this Southern town. Today, the population is 120,000, but at the time the song is set it was far fewer; the census shows 40,000 in 1960 and not even 70,000 in 1970. Even though he is a "travelling salesman," he was raised in a city (he considers himself a "city boy") and is therefore not impressed by the size of the place.
It is big enough, however, to draw an act the magnitude of Clifton Chenier, largely considered to be the father of zydeco music. This is a raucous, accordion-based party music, heavy on the saxophones and washboard percussion, and it is as much a part of New Orleans culture as the spicy food and spicier Creole language. (This song itself is set to such music.)
Our salesman has some time to kill, so he is looking for a bar. He would like to "get a little conversation," hopefully with "those Cajun girls." (Is this something a child needs to know about his father?)
However, he never needs to get to a bar. His hopes are answered by chance: "Along came a young girl/ She’s pretty as a prayer book." (While one hopes that his father is attracted to his mother, the attraction might be more than physical, one would have also hoped.)
The father continues, relating his reaction: "If that’s my prayer book/ Lord, let us pray!” (By now, the son is thinking: "Too much information, Dad!")
At this point, the first-time listener of the song is let in on why any of this is being discussed altogether: "Well, that [the pretty woman] was your mother/ And that was your father." It is at this point that we realize that this entire discourse was a reminiscence on the listener's parents' first encounter.
And now, as if life wasn't "great" enough when the father was "single," the son has to hear this: "Before you was born, dude/ When life was great." "OK," the son thinks, "I get it-- things are more fun before you have adult responsibilities. That's a fairly universal idea, even if it hurts to hear it from one's own father. If anything," he concludes, "I will be sure to enjoy my own pre-fatherhood years as much as you did, Dad."
But the father is not done. "I sure do love you," he says to his son, but "You are the burden of my generation... let’s get that straight."
"Wow," the son thinks. "It's really important for him that I know how much of a 'burden' I am to him, and how 'great' his life was when he was 'single' and 'before I was born.' If he hates this life so much, why did he ever choose it? And once he knew he hated it, why did he stay? I'd almost rather he'd left-- and let me be raised by someone who didn't think of me as a weight he was carrying."
Meanwhile, the father is lost in his reverie of recollection: "Well, I’m standing on the corner of Lafayette/ Heading down to the Lone Star Café/ Maybe get a little conversation/ Drink a little red wine/ Standing in the shadow of Clifton Chenier/ Dancing the night away."
"That's it, Dad," fumes the son to himself, "Just cards for you on Father's Day from now on."
Musical note:
The track was recorded in Crowley, Louisiana, some 20 miles from Lafayette.
The band on this track is a zydeco standby called Good Rockin' Dopsie and the Twisters. The accordion is played by Alton "Dopsie" Rubin, Sr. and the drums by Junior. Another son, Dwayne, is also an accordion player with his own band.
Chenier died in 1987, a year after this album was released. He also was succeeded by his son, C.J. Chenier, who still plays and records.
It seems that the fathers related to this song were better at fathering than the fictional father described by the song itself. Maybe if our salesman had watched the musicians instead of the dancing girls...
The song samples a track called "At a Darktown Cakewalk" by one Charles Hale. I can only assume that it dates from when "Darktown" was an acceptable name for a certain part of town (turns out that was 1899). A "cakewalk" (now an expression meaning "an easy task") was a competition at which couples would compete for a fancy cake by dressing to the nines and strutting their stuff, promenading to music; the winners would literally-- and yes, this is where the expression originates-- "take the cake."
Next Song: All Around the World, or The Myth of Fingerprints
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