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Day 07. A song that reminds you of a certain event
River - Joni Mitchell
The pictures in this video are all wrong for me. I see the hard earth of Texas, the dried grass, the frosty cold of the prairie countryside, the nascent snow, the deserted and lonely highways, the warmth of large gaseous automobiles, and on the edges, the spectral presence of my family (now mostly gone) and my friend Glenda (thankfully still around).
The first time I heard Joni's Blue album was in December '71. I immediately loved it. I loved all of the songs. It was the first pop album that had a strong effect on me - the experience was long overdue. And not to be often repeated.
I never really thought of River as a Christmas song, it just obliquely refers to Christmas in a few places in the lyric, and has a nice touch of Jingle Bells in the intro. In the past 10 years there have been lots of covers and such, but when the album came out I didn't know anyone outside my circle who paid any attention to this song or any of the others.
Since it was oblique, it was the perfect Christmas song for me in the early 70s. The sense of isolation mixed with yearning, of being on the outside of things, and the philosophical questions that isolation poses, were all part of my inner Christmas. (Ang Lee's The Ice Storm captures this holiday angst. It also captures the early 70s better than any other movie.)
As I have come to know now, this reflection is actually a necessary part of Christmas. To truly experience the sparkling light, the warmth, the humanity, the hope, the momentary truce of all strife, it's important to know something of the chasm. In every good Christmas story, there is always dark before the breaking light. Judy has to sing the sad Have yourself a merry little Christmas before the real thing can come.
The pictures in this video are all wrong for me. I see the hard earth of Texas, the dried grass, the frosty cold of the prairie countryside, the nascent snow, the deserted and lonely highways, the warmth of large gaseous automobiles, and on the edges, the spectral presence of my family (now mostly gone) and my friend Glenda (thankfully still around).
The first time I heard Joni's Blue album was in December '71. I immediately loved it. I loved all of the songs. It was the first pop album that had a strong effect on me - the experience was long overdue. And not to be often repeated.
I never really thought of River as a Christmas song, it just obliquely refers to Christmas in a few places in the lyric, and has a nice touch of Jingle Bells in the intro. In the past 10 years there have been lots of covers and such, but when the album came out I didn't know anyone outside my circle who paid any attention to this song or any of the others.
Since it was oblique, it was the perfect Christmas song for me in the early 70s. The sense of isolation mixed with yearning, of being on the outside of things, and the philosophical questions that isolation poses, were all part of my inner Christmas. (Ang Lee's The Ice Storm captures this holiday angst. It also captures the early 70s better than any other movie.)
As I have come to know now, this reflection is actually a necessary part of Christmas. To truly experience the sparkling light, the warmth, the humanity, the hope, the momentary truce of all strife, it's important to know something of the chasm. In every good Christmas story, there is always dark before the breaking light. Judy has to sing the sad Have yourself a merry little Christmas before the real thing can come.
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It's funny, though, the thing about having to know the loss before you can really appreciate the opposite? Back when I was seventeen years old drivin around downtown Dallas in my bigass '75 Cadillac late at night, River made perfect sense to me. I understood the loss long before I had any right to; it would be 8 years before any boy really left a hole in my heart, and when it happened I already knew how to feel.
It was the other- the A Case Of You side of it, the oh my god I am so full of joy and love and (and, and...) that I think my shit may fucking explode- that was a mystery to me until about 5 years ago, when I met a guy I really loved all the way through and without hesitation. And of course I landed on my feet (or my face- whichever's cleverer) when the bottom fell out from under that.
Why all this self-analysis in your livejournal? It's got me wondering, for the moment, what it says about me that I came from the factory with an understanding of loss built in and yet no fucking idea how to just enjoy what I've got to lose in the meantime.
Very little (from anyone who does not live in my head, anyway) prompts this degree of introspection for me. So uh, thanks, I think. <3
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