I've been listening to Brian Fallon's Painkillers all week. It's a great album, and after a couple listens through, its easy to pick up on it being a "divorce album." It's so good, it makes the pain of separation sound like a journey sure to bring on emotions worth their weight, walking away from the experience having earned a sort of emotional enlightenment. I was about to google the details of his separation because of the tabloid culture I've been brought up in, but I stopped myself, having a moment of reckoning that it's not ok to look up his personal life to establish a frame of reference for his lyrics.
It was hard to fight the urge after hearing Fallon interchange Baby with Janie during the final chorus in Long Drives. Is it Janie who made his heart so fat and then deflated? He references Jane in "Here's looking at you kid" from the Gaslight Anthem. He could be using Janie like Springsteen uses Maria, a blanket name for vagina yielding companion who has a temporary presence in the life of a contrarian who can't control easy onset boredom. Besides if Jane is supposed to be Fallon's ex, then who is Elsie, Rosemary, and yet another Maria.
It seems like female anthems after breakups are stories of becoming stronger or being broken beyond repair. But there aren't songs titled Samuel or Freddy spinning the tale of how on a beer buzzed night a man danced into their heart, making a lasting impression, then disappearing like smoke, the songs are more profound. Claiming recovery and strength, or casting shame for how poorly their heart was handled.
Dolly wrote Jolene about a woman who tried to snatch her man. Which reminded me of Lebron James and the string of tweets from Rihanna congratulating him for his victory, however, the praising photos were, in a very obvious way, sexual. Writing 23 in sun cream like a load of jizz on the belly. It's great that she fearlessly shows her love, but like, he's a married dude, with kids. So then I have to whisper a wish, Please don't try and fuck Lebron. Savannah Brinson doesn't need that to be the counterweight to this momentous success for their family. A fearful plead to not rip a family apart because of a celebrity crush.
Again, why I give a shit is really beyond me. Today I turned 34 years old, and I have invested energy in the lives of people who would feel nothing if I had my last breath. My birthday present was a fancy watch, another thing to examine. At least it is consistent. I went on Facebook and read a bunch of Happy Birthday wishes which was such a nice time. Facebook gets a lot of shit for its lack of depth, but it's totally necessary during modern times when we really don't have time to write long letters annually to each friend we've made throughout life. We meet too many people. It's an unnatural tether to the past, but it feels good for the most part.
I read through the timeline, and saw a heartbreaking post from a college classmate. I've been thinking of her since. Her post joins other news from last week, in direct opposition; where one person lost another person gained. The heart has chambers for a reason, there will be space for grief and more space for love. It can keep expanding, making room within the rooms. Like listening to Fallon's album birthed from his divorce, the pain is so much more than a moment, it's a life itself.
I think of the celebrities and their drama as the male told rock songs of short but impressionable loves. They can be the Janes and Marias. But the real relationships, the people I think of when I go to sleep at night, or wake up in the morning, those are the fem-anthems the "I Will Survive" or "Roar" because I'm rooting for them, for their heart to expand, and encase their pain in expectation. Like the consistency of a watch, when BOBO gets punched, she's going to pop back up, regardless of wanting to, or knowing if a fist will be greeting her again, and eventually she'll learn she's made of inflated plastic that can absorb anything.
One of the songs on Painkillers is called Honey Magnolia. I asked my husband if he thinks it's a nod to The Grateful Dead. He didn't know what I was talking about, and found my Dead knowledge a tad shocking. You can take the girl out of Tahoe, but can't take the Tahoe out of the girl. There are a couple givens from growing up amongst the hippies; an early introduction to drugs and booze, a nonjudgemental outlook, and basic Grateful Dead knowledge. Looking at the lyrics next to each other, I can draw some parallels. The Dead's Sugar Magnolia is about a woman whose always available, she's waiting, and ready, when he wants her, and Honey Magnolia is about a woman whose fed up with the waiting, and sends him back to the man's man's world.
I like Fallon's song better. The Dead's was from a different era, and although hippies are progressive on paper there is an awful lot of women taking on the burden for the comfort of their man. Plus Sugar Magnolia is a groupie appreciation song, and I can't think of a worse fate. Being a groupie is like being a prostitute whose paid in head pats. Although, Honey Magnolia tells the story from the woman's point of view, by the man who shaped her outlook, its empowering nonetheless. He knows that she's got a life, and it's not to be seasonal eye candy. Her life could be one page in his life, a Maria, but there is no expectation to stand around waiting, unless she's getting cold hard cash, or a nice watch out of it.
Dolly wrote Jolene about a woman who tried to snatch her man. Which reminded me of Lebron James and the string of tweets from Rihanna congratulating him for his victory, however, the praising photos were, in a very obvious way, sexual. Writing 23 in sun cream like a load of jizz on the belly. It's great that she fearlessly shows her love, but like, he's a married dude, with kids. So then I have to whisper a wish, Please don't try and fuck Lebron. Savannah Brinson doesn't need that to be the counterweight to this momentous success for their family. A fearful plead to not rip a family apart because of a celebrity crush.
Again, why I give a shit is really beyond me. Today I turned 34 years old, and I have invested energy in the lives of people who would feel nothing if I had my last breath. My birthday present was a fancy watch, another thing to examine. At least it is consistent. I went on Facebook and read a bunch of Happy Birthday wishes which was such a nice time. Facebook gets a lot of shit for its lack of depth, but it's totally necessary during modern times when we really don't have time to write long letters annually to each friend we've made throughout life. We meet too many people. It's an unnatural tether to the past, but it feels good for the most part.
I read through the timeline, and saw a heartbreaking post from a college classmate. I've been thinking of her since. Her post joins other news from last week, in direct opposition; where one person lost another person gained. The heart has chambers for a reason, there will be space for grief and more space for love. It can keep expanding, making room within the rooms. Like listening to Fallon's album birthed from his divorce, the pain is so much more than a moment, it's a life itself.
I think of the celebrities and their drama as the male told rock songs of short but impressionable loves. They can be the Janes and Marias. But the real relationships, the people I think of when I go to sleep at night, or wake up in the morning, those are the fem-anthems the "I Will Survive" or "Roar" because I'm rooting for them, for their heart to expand, and encase their pain in expectation. Like the consistency of a watch, when BOBO gets punched, she's going to pop back up, regardless of wanting to, or knowing if a fist will be greeting her again, and eventually she'll learn she's made of inflated plastic that can absorb anything.
One of the songs on Painkillers is called Honey Magnolia. I asked my husband if he thinks it's a nod to The Grateful Dead. He didn't know what I was talking about, and found my Dead knowledge a tad shocking. You can take the girl out of Tahoe, but can't take the Tahoe out of the girl. There are a couple givens from growing up amongst the hippies; an early introduction to drugs and booze, a nonjudgemental outlook, and basic Grateful Dead knowledge. Looking at the lyrics next to each other, I can draw some parallels. The Dead's Sugar Magnolia is about a woman whose always available, she's waiting, and ready, when he wants her, and Honey Magnolia is about a woman whose fed up with the waiting, and sends him back to the man's man's world.
I like Fallon's song better. The Dead's was from a different era, and although hippies are progressive on paper there is an awful lot of women taking on the burden for the comfort of their man. Plus Sugar Magnolia is a groupie appreciation song, and I can't think of a worse fate. Being a groupie is like being a prostitute whose paid in head pats. Although, Honey Magnolia tells the story from the woman's point of view, by the man who shaped her outlook, its empowering nonetheless. He knows that she's got a life, and it's not to be seasonal eye candy. Her life could be one page in his life, a Maria, but there is no expectation to stand around waiting, unless she's getting cold hard cash, or a nice watch out of it.
Very touching. Though i think this just prompted my premature mid-life crisis. And that dick Fallon needs to get over me!
ReplyDeleteWilson!! Ha! He never will!
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