I have been thinking about a song.
This came about because our Fi was belting it out at full
volume in her bedroom (singing it I mean, not playing an electronic recording) at
the time I wandered upstairs to retire for the night.
I am very nervous of quoting songs on the internet, because
poets and singers, musicians and even some novelists, once they reach celebrity
status, enter some kind of samsara state of mind where it seems reasonable to
them to employ legal firms to comb the internet for copyright infringements for
which they can sue people to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars.
This sufficiently alarms and horrifies me that I have no plans
to trip all unawares into that bear-pit.
A few years ago one could expect to quote two lines of a
song or poem without seeking permission.
Now the rule of thumb is, “Don’t bother.”
Even so I did want to say something about the song Fi was
singing. It is called River Deep, Mountain High, and
was performed by Tina Turner. I
remember listening to it on the school bus, because we always begged the driver
to let us listen to Radio One (the pop station) on the journey home, and it was
in the charts when I was a teenager.
At that time, the lyrics seemed reasonable – and plausible –
to me. Yes, I could remember what it
felt like to have a favourite doll (or perhaps my stuffed plush fox would fit
the bill) to whom I had given my heart and in whom I saw great charm and
worthiness. At that age, making the
transition from childhood to adulthood, I could both remember the emotional
attachment I felt to my toys and feel vividly the power and intensity of
falling in love with boys, and the similarity to which the song drew attention had my ready acquiescence – yes; I love you just the way I loved that stuffed
fox but with extra ampage.
Listening to Fi singing this evening, forty years down the
road, I found myself wondering, what was Phil Spector (who wrote the lyrics)
thinking of? I mean, could you imagine
the response of the beloved mentioned in the song?
Conceive if you can, of a young man in the 16-22 age group
being informed by some dewy-eyed bird that she had a rag doll she really really
really (to the power of 40 and climbing) loved – and she now is ready to reveal
that she loved him just like she loved her Raggedy Ann, only more so.
“Er . . . gee . . . thanks . . .”
I mean the relationship is doomed, innit?
---------------------------------------------------
(if you don’t know what I’m talking about, see here)
Ah – happy memory! The first year I went to the Big Green Gathering, a huge and glorious Permaculture event in England’s west country (a Google image search on "Big Green Gathering" will give you an idea, though I never did see those ladies clad only in mud), I
bought this bag for 50p. It served me
well for more than a decade, and was getting a bit decrepit – but came in handy
for bagging up items of clothing for the charity shop.
4 comments:
Being the same age, I thought I would know the song, but when I listened it was just vaguely familiar, like I'd heard it on radios back then, but not owned it and/or played it in my room 1000 times, as I did so many records. Anyway, it hit me just as it hit you all these years later...uh..you had a rag doll and you loved it a lot and now you love your man just as much as you loved your doll? Uh...wow...I think - what a lucky guy he is...I think? So strange. Perhaps someone could write those words into their wedding vows to make them extra meaningful: "I promise to love, honor and cherish you, in sickness and in health, for better or for worse, as well as I loved my rag doll, as long as we both shall live!" Definitely hit my funny bone this morning, Ember. :)
:0D
I remember when the first time i listened to this song
:0) - brings back memories!
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