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Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Thursday, June 05, 2008



Traditionally and historically, lyric is the mode of heightened emotion, outburst, intensity -- “burst into song.”

Emotions are heightened at moments of change: falling in love and breaking up; adolescence in general. In other words, Rock and Roll!

Birth and death are . . . inarticulable intensities, because we have no language from the other side of them. We can only witness and imagine.

Long relationships, adulthood, maturity -- times of low-intensity change. Traditionally un-lyrical ages.

“Kisses Sweeter Than Wine” is an awesome long-relationship song, largely written by Lee Hayes of the Weavers (according to band mate Pete Seeger).

The pre-rock pop tradition wasn't expected to be autobiographical in any way. So if you can continue to come up with fresh imagery for falling in and out of love, bingo, you're golden.

Rock, somehow, got tagged auto-bio. Probably sheerly due to the concept of singer/songwriter/star, because none of rock's sources, except gospel, presumed an identity between singer and song.

Good funeral songs are rare. Are there any from the Tin Pan Alley tradition? The only one that comes to mind from rock is "Everybody Hurts" -- R.E.M, a beautiful song. "The Long Day Closes" by Henry Fothergill Chorley, with music by Arthur Sullivan (later of Gilbert and . . . ) is devastating and beautiful. It was often sung at funerals of members of Gilbert and Sullivan’s theater company.
No star is o'er the lake,
Its pale watch keeping,
The moon is half awake,
Through gray mists creeping,
The last red leaves fall round
The porch of roses,
The clock hath ceased to sound,
The long day closes.

Sit by the silent hearth
In calm endeavour,
To count the sounds of mirth,
Now dumb for ever.
Heed not how hope believes
And fate disposes:
Shadow is round the eaves,
The long day closes.

The lighted windows dim
Are fading slowly.
The fire that was so trim
Now quivers lowly.
Go to the dreamless bed
Where grief reposes;
Thy book of toil is read,
The long day closes.

(Carl’s post on a new album about the middle of a relationship, by a songwriter of whom I had never heard, got me thinking about this. Which is related to a subsequent post by Carl that touches on the rarity of prolonged vitality in the singer-songwriter tradition.)

-- Images are of Elvis and a 19th century illustration of Sappho and her lyre.
I wrote something 3 years ago comparing Sappho and Elvis.
Here it is:

Friday, April 08, 2005

SAPPHO & OTIS BLACKWELL: ITCHING LIKE A MAN ON A FUZZY TREE

She was one of the earliest, easily the most famous, and widely regarded as the best of the ancient Greek lyric poets.

He was an unsuccessful singer who hit it big by writing big hits for Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Peggy Lee, and James Taylor.

And their most famous creations are uncannily alike.

Fragment 31 from the poetry of Sappho and Otis Blackwell’s “All Shook Up” experience the physiology of love-lust in almost identical ways.

Sappho’s fragment may have been the most famous lyric poem in the ancient world. The Roman literary theorist Longinus discussed it in his work “On the Sublime.” Top Roman lyric poet Catullus translated it. (Click on “English” for English translations.) No other translations from Greek by him exist. And it’s a tremendous poem:

In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who
sits there facing you--any man whatever--
listening from close by to the sweetness of your
voice as you talk, the

sweetness of your laughter: yes, that--I swear it--
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can't
speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
ahold of me all over: I'm greener than the
grass is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying

But all must be endured, since even a poor [

(Translated by Jim Powell.)

Blackwell’s song was a number one hit for Elvis, and it’s wonderful:
A well I bless my soul
What’s wrong with me?
I’m itching like a man on a fuzzy tree
My friends say I’m actin’ wild as a bug
I’m in love
I’m all shook up
Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!

My hands are shaky and my knees are weak
I can’t seem to stand on my own two feet
Who do you thank when you have such luck?
I’m in love
I’m all shook up
Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!

Please don’t ask me what’s on my mind
I’m a little mixed up, but I’m feelin’ fine
When I’m near that girl that I love best
My heart beats so it scares me to death!

She touched my hand what a chill I got
Her lips are like a volcano that’s hot
I’m proud to say she’s my buttercup
I’m in love
I’m all shook up
Mm mm oh, oh, yeah, yeah!

My tongue gets tied when I try to speak
My insides shake like a leaf on a tree
There’s only one cure for this body of mine
That’s to have the girl that I love so fine!

How do Otis and Sappho know that it’s love? For one thing, there’s physical infirmity, trembling, wobbliness.
Sappho: “a trembling takes
ahold of me all over.”

Blackwell: “My hands are shaky and my knees are weak,
I can’t seem to stand on my own two feet” and “I’m all shook up.”

And this trembling doesn’t affect the limbs only, but the internal organs as well.
Sappho: The sound of her beloved’s laughter “sets the heart to shaking inside my breast.”

Blackwell: “My insides shake like a leaf on a tree” and “My heart beats so it scares me to death!”

The body’s regulation of internal temperature has gone wacko, and the singer experiences heat and cold simultaneously.

Sappho: “a
subtle fire races inside my skin” and “cold sweat covers me.”

Blackwell: “She touched my hand what a chill I got,
Her lips are like a volcano that’s hot.”

Confusion afflicts the singer.
Sappho: “my
eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing.”

Blackwell: “Please don’t ask me what’s on my mind,
I’m a little mixed up.”

And speechlessness ensues.
Sappho: “I can't
speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down.”


Blackwell: “My tongue gets tied when I try to speak.”

Sappho and Blackwell know: It must be love!

History doesn’t report whether Blackwell ever read Sappho, or Sappho ever heard Elvis. According legend, Blackwell’s inspiration came in the form of a challenge from his publisher, who shook a bottle of soda and said to Blackwell, “You can write about anything. Write about this!”

Blackwell went home and channeled Sappho, and the rest is history.
Posted by: John / 9:18 PM
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