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Wednesday, March 18, 2009
AIN'T NO LOVE IN THE HEART OF THE CITY
Bobby Blue Bland
Dreamer
BGO : 1974
[Buy It]
I'M THROWING MY ARMS AROUND PARIS
Morrissey
Years of Refusal
Lost Highway : 2009
[Buy It]
HONK IF YOU'RE LONELY
Silver Jews
American Water
Drag City : 1998
[Buy It]
Moving to a new city means being alone. This is an obvious statement, almost too obvious to state. But when you're the one alone in a city, it strikes you as a blinding, almost brilliant epiphany. "Here I am in a place so full of people - yet completely alone!" you think, smug, then scared, in your solitude. Or in this case, my solitude. I moved to New York City this past fall, and was suddenly very much by myself. After ten years in another friend-filled town, it felt strange and new to me.
Thousands of others have had this feeling in thousands of other cities before me. Many of them aren't even new to the city - they're just newly alone. And many of them have penned songs about it. Which makes sense - when artists are faced with change and loneliness, they muse, create, and whine poetic.
When I first arrived, I spent countless hours by myself, Manhattan and music my only friends. Headphones on, I explored, I encountered, observed. And I listened to what the experts (albeit musical ones) had to say. Their advice was varied. Bob Dylan warned that I'd get kicked up and knocked down ("Hard Times in New York Town"). The Replacements explained the woes of drinking solo ("If Only You Were Lonely"). Nick Gilder did some meditative easy rocking ("Hot Child in the City"). Heart did some melodramatic squawking ("Alone"). Soon enough, I noticed a common theme in the soundtrack: lost love. Meaning: your baby left you, which in turn has left you roaming the streets, remembering the happy threesome you took for granted. It was always you, your lover and the city you adored. And now that it's just the two of you- you and the city, that is - you're left to meander and mope endlessly. It's the perfect blend of mental catharsis, physical exercise, and, well, sightseeing. Add music and you've mapped out a potential route to recovery.
In Bobby Blue Bland's "Aint No Love In The Heart Of The City," you can tell he once loved both the city and woman desperately. And now he has, in effect, lost both. Because the blissful romance has disappeared, so has its backdrop. Sure, the city's still there, but without the context of the relationship, it's just a town full of cold shoulders and old memories. Now that she's gone the sun won't shine - at least for him - which sure 'nough is a pity indeed, because he now hates the very place that could actually help him mend his heart. As I know, the city can be a great romantic lead. It's always willing, always up for adventures - and though it pleases a giant population on a daily basis - its sights and sounds often feel like they're made for you alone.
Yes, rather than resent the place, why not embrace it to the point of extremity? Who needs love when you've got architecture? Real love is for sissies, anyway. Leave it to Morrissey to wail this slightly ridiculous sentiment with perfect (or at least perfected) sincerity. "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris" has him personifying a place in the absence of human touch. Give him avenues and buildings and give them fast-- only stone and steel accept his love, and you get the feeling he needs to love pretty bad. I guess I kind of do too. Thankfully, an affair with any city has the happy guarantee of reciprocation. There's an easy intimacy in getting to know its quirks, exploring its nooks and crannies. It gives and you receive expertise on where to go and what to do. What a selfless lover.
Perhaps my favorite approach is a bittersweet medium between the two. The Silver Jews' "Honk If You're Lonely" suggests using a place you love to get over the one you loved, and in doing so, find someone new to love. Or maybe just other lonely hearts to fill the void. David Berman's melancholy deadpan takes loneliness in the city and turns it into a hopeful anthem for losers everywhere. As he cruises the strips of his town, he weaves a tale of taking a second chance on life in the city. He might pine a little, but he'll be damned if he lets anyone get the best of his experience. And so he uses his old haunts to kindle new love. This seems the perfect way to deal with loneliness and explore the city from a different (and potentially refreshing) perspective:I know it seems sad to be this damn blue
But there's always a chance that you'll meet someone new Of course, all of this alone-ness is usually only temporary - eventually you meet new people, you meet more new people, and settle comfortably back into the routine of relationships. Which is where (and when) you feel most at home. Because let's face it, we're a needy bunch, us humans: needy for validation, conversation, and the occasional Sunday brunch.
But in those first solitary months, you find yourself alone in the city, and alone in the city you find yourself. After six months, New York and I are getting into the swing of things - slow dancing through evenings that run too late, stumbling groggily into hazy mornings after. I've met a lot of friends. Some keep going through the revolving door. Some stick and stick well. And when they're not around, I'm still content being alone. But I'm lucky - I wasn't heartbroken when I got here. So I guess I get the best of both worlds. And by worlds I mean cities. The sun is shining from the city hall to the county line. Stone and steel accept my love. And around every corner, there is the possibility of meeting someone new.
So by all means, honk if you're lonely.Labels: madeleine, morrissey, soul
posted by mad
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