Guten abend meinen bloghausen lieblings.
I do not speak German.
I figured it’s about time I bored your sedentary asses with yet another AMAZING song from my cursed jukebox.
And before you start calling me names and such, let’s just take a second here to just appreciate how lucky we are to be living in this utopian internet era with all this blognology at our blogner tips(?!).
A mere 30 years ago, to achieve this same effect, I’d have to have mailed you all a hand-written letter with magazine cuttings and cassette tapes sellotaped to it at regular intervals. It’s impractical, it’s expensive, and frankly I’ve got better things to do with my time! OK I haven’t really, but you get my drift.
So you see – these blog posts are actually pretty amazing really!
You will come back here and check them all and like them and tell your friends and send me lots of lovely money. And your shoes ladies!
Oh relax – I’m joking! (unless you really are hypnotised right now in which case send the shoes)
I’m glad we could clear that up.
OK so that brings the babbling nonsense portion of the post to a close and now I’m free to tell you about the song:
It’s from the end of the musical/movie Hair. The lyrics are a wordsearch within a sudoku puzzle within a Rubiks cube. I’ve tried to crack them but they’re beyond me. Here’s a couple of ideas though.
We starve, look at one another, short of breath
Walking proudly in our winter coats
Wearing smells from laboratories
Facing a dying nation of moving paper fantasy
Listening for the new told lies
With supreme visions of lonely tunes
OK my best guess is that this is a comment on modern society. Synthetically perfumed people, estranged from one another, starving for the old things, for basic human touch and compassion. In its absence, they insulate themselves from such scary quandaries with pride and finery. Losing themselves in love songs and the like. In a country led by criminals, with a precarious debt-based economy. And that would be the USA in that particular context but it’s most of the planet now let’s face it.
Somewhere, inside something there is a rush of
Greatness, who knows what stands in front of
Our lives, I fashion my future on films in space
Silence tells me secretly
Yet the spark is still there deep down waiting to be rekindled and we put our hopes in a better future as promised by futuristic utopian dreams. The silence part could refer to meditation. I think it was Chopin who said(Christ that sounds so pretentious – forgive me) music is the spaces between the notes. We seem to need the silence as well as the noise though we’re tacitly expected to be immersed in noise all our waking hours in the modern world.
As for this nightmare verse:
Manchester, England, England
Manchester, England, England
Across the Atlantic Sea
And I’m a genius, genius
I believe in God
And I believe that God believes in Claude
That’s me, that’s me, that’s me
I have to pass on that – I can’t see the connection. I know it’s a recall to an earlier song in the musical, but it’s been a while and I don’t think relistening to it will help cos I’m pretty sure I’ve been down this road before!
The last bit is the name of the main protaganist for what that’s worth.
I do love the way this song is written I must say:
Singing our space songs on a spider web sitar
Life is around you and in you
Answer for Timothy Leary, dearie
Hmmm maybe something to do with sending good vibes out into space through the web of life in hope our benevolent space brothers will come and save us from our self-inflicted predicament. I’m reading a lot into that obviously, but in the wake of Woodstock, such hippie tropes would’ve seemed less naive than they do now. And hell, some people still believe that stuff. And maybe they’re right!
After dropping acid, a lot of people have the revelation of all life being interconnected and the sensation of being one with every living thing in the universe. So that could explain the Leary line in the context of magic space vibes.
So there you have it. I’m probably way off on everything. If you have a better idea what it might be about, then by all means, send me your shoes. Or your wife’s shoes if you’re a gentleman – I’m not a weirdo!
Whatever it means, I love the poetry and I love the song. It’s one of those that I can’t help singing along to and I convince myself that I actually sound good until I hit mute or take the headphones off and then it’s just my lame out-of-tune caterwauling. And I remember again, and shake my fist at God in disgust.