We Need A Break….

bepeas

 

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Nashville, Tootsie’s,  And Handing Someone Their Ass,  I recently did the tourist thing in my hometown with a bunch of out of town friends. Yes we took our turns on a sin wagon.  Wandering from venue to venue, I noticed something. Every band that had a female singer did a rendition of “Goodbye, Earl”. You remember –  that song by the Dixie Chicks on their Fly album released in 1999. 1999, the good old days before a person with a vagina would never have the audacity to express a personal political opinion. Oops. Natalie Maines happened to express her disagreement with W’s ginned up war and then all hell broke loose.”Shut up and sing!” Country music fans had a conniption fit, radio stations stopped playing their music sometime in 2003, because ‘Murica!  Many of the ex-fans had to take to their fainting couches due to an attack of the vapors. What an idiotic fiasco, especially when you consider how these very same “patriots” behaved when the U.S. elected its first bi-racial president. Twice. Take a look at Charlie Daniels Facebook page sometime. No really. He posts the most hateful, racist, borderline treasonous vitriol. And I don’t see anyone burning his sucky CDs in the street. He is such a hypocrite, I’d be afraid to stand any closer than 10 feet from him. I would expect a lightening strike at any time. Two words for him, his grunts, and all the anti-Chick losers out there: ignorant hypocrites. But I digress.

Back to the point.  Every music venue plays the song, either live or on piped in music. That’s when I began to notice a curious phenomenon.

When the song begins, every woman in the place first screamed with excitement. All of us. Girls there for 21st birthdays, bachelorette parties, 30th, 40th, 50th birthday celebration. Women who ran the complete gamut.  All women. No men.

And every single one of them (my group included) sang at the top of their lungs, every single word of that song. Some of those girls were barely out of diapers when Earl had to die.  It’s a great song. It’s many people’s go-to karaoke song (this writer included). So clever, upbeat, fun, and with a happy ending!

What I found so interesting was the fact that Goodbye, Earl – a 17-year-old song about two best friends poisoning and disposing of the body of a wife-beating domestic abuser – seems to resonate with so many women.

Why do you think that is?

Is it because we all have a man in our lives we’d like to kill sometimes?  Is it because women, despite all the advances we have made, are still treated like second-class citizens, as some politicians of a certain religious bent want nothing more than to walk us back to the 1800s. The weaker sex, my ass. Is it because actual restraining orders and the like are ever truly enforced? Domestic abusers are pretty much allowed to run wild and free, even after a police report is filed. Fact: Law enforcement is supposed to confiscate the firearms of these guys. Do they?  The only answer anymore is MORE GUNS! ” If that woman had owned a gun, that never would have happened.”  I can hear them now. Is it as simple as the fact that women love the idea of having at least one friend close enough to help them dispose of a body, if necessary.  We do treasure our girl friends.

I suppose the answer lies in the grey areas between all of the above. Or maybe it’s simply a subconscious fantasy all females share. Passed down through our DNA.

In the mean time, I have the most delicious recipe for black-eyed peas. Hit me up if you’d like it.

Me, My Thoughts Are Flower Strewn

After years of having no particular focus, I have decided that The Middle-Aged Ingenue blog site’s main concentration should be my first love – entertainment. Film, television, books, music. I’m reposting this as an example, a transitional piece. I wrote this in 2014.

How a 22-year-old song caught me off guard and catapulted me into the existential ether.

Two pieces of art that best represent my tumultuous transition from youth to adulthood are Toad The Wet Sprocket’s achingly beautiful Dulcinea and R.E.M.’s masterwork Automatic For The People.  I lived and breathed those albums in the early 1990s.  Both became a part of my consciousness, of my very being.  They imbued my brain cells, my heart, my essence, and reside in my soul to this day.  These albums told my story. They spoke to, confronted, and comforted me during a time when my life was in a difficult but necessary period of uncertainty and upheaval.

Automatic For The People is not merely an album but a song cycle about youth, nostalgia, loneliness, joy, unfulfilled promise, and acceptance.  So profound are Stipes’ lyrics that they have been compared to the works of John Keats.  Haunting and painfully beautiful.  Soulful and intuitive.  Ultimately hopeful.

I heard a snippet of Find the River on a film soundtrack the other night. I hadn’t heard the song in years. It completely knocked me into a fugue state – set me adrift in the existential ether.  I became obsessed, as I sometimes do with music – with the lyrics, the musical structure, and the mystery of how the coalescence of those elements creates such beauty. I played the song over and over.  I sang along, admittedly through tears.  I analyzed the lyrics.  But this time, from a distance of over 20 years.  I became reacquainted with that anxious, aimless, confused girl.  She is indwelt in me.

She is still trying to find the river.

When Find The River was first written, it was said that Michael Stipe wrote the lyrics as an ode to River Phoenix. Scholars have compared the lyrics to To Autumn The Phoenix story may or may not be true, but that doesn’t really matter.  As with any sublime work of art,  it transcends simple interpretation.  Experiencing the song as a woman who possesses a little more of the maturity, enlightenment, and wisdom that comes with age,  it touches my psyche on a more intricate level now.  A level of discernment. A spiritual place.

The lyrics are poetry, yes, and ambiguous in a resplendent way. Find The River captures the sense memory of youth;  the beauty and tragedy of experience.  The pain of loss.  The joy of fulfillment.  The complexity and unpredictability of life and the eventual acquiescence that comes with having no choice but to move forward.  Lesson learned and lessons taught.   Disappointment, promise, and hope.  A completed cycle.  A full circle with light years to go.

All of this is coming your way.

I hope it touches your heart as well.

 
Hey now, little speedy head
The read on the speed meter says
You have to go to task in the city
Where people drown and people serve
Don’t be shy, your just deserve
Is only just light years to go
Me, my thoughts are flower strewn
Ocean storm, bayberry moon
I have got to leave to find my way
Watch the road and memorize
This life that passed before my eyes
Nothing is going my way
The ocean is the river’s goal
A need to leave the water knows
We’re closer now than light years to go
I have got to find the river
Bergamot and vetiver
Run through my head and fall away
Leave the road and memorize
This life that passed before my eyes
Nothing is going my way
There’s no one left to take the lead
But I tell you and you can see
We’re closer now than light years to go
 
Pick up here and chase the ride
The river empties to the tide
Fall into the ocean
The river to the ocean goes
A fortune for the undertow
None of this is going my way
There is nothing left to throw
Of ginger, lemon, indigo
Coriander stem and rose of hay
Strength and courage overrides
The privileged and weary eyes
Of river poet search naiveté
Pick up here and chase the ride
The river empties to the tide
All of this is coming your way

sunset