This song is a very accurate depiction of addiction, told from the inside.
On one of his live albums, Wilcox says he didn't know anything about Chet Baker except what he read on the liner notes. (Baker died from a fall out of a window, which is referred to in the ninth line.)
Somewhere else -- it might have been in the interview on his DVD -- Wilcox says this song "saved my life". My impression is Wilcox was suffering from addiction when he wrote this song -- he says in the interview "I could not have recopied it faster than I wrote it" -- and this song helped him see a way out. (My guess is Wilcox was addicted to sex. I have no data for that other than the songs he has written, such as "Right Now", "Language of the Heart", "Dangerous", and especially "Please Don't Call").
As an unrecovered addict, you keep doing something you really want to stop doing. "Changed the wiring in my brain", "Like the flowers towards the sun/I will follow", and "These open mouths/will trust and swallow/anything that came along" all describe this state of inability to stop, to choose, to be rational.
The siren call of the solace of whatever you are addicted to -- and addiction is nearly always an attempt to numb a seemingly unbearable pain -- this siren call includes the insidious suggestion that you could take just a nip, just a puff, just a look, just a little of the desired sensation. But. No You Can't. Attempt "just a splash" and you are "five miles deep".
Indeed. And addiction can take many forms, witness the "anthrax scientist," Bruce Ivins, whose long-ago rejection by a girl for whom he carried a torch the rest of his life led to a series of bizarre, self-destructive responses to the "siren call" culminating in dishonor and death. Are such non-chemical "addictions" really worthy of being classified as such? I believe so. Pathological obsessions such as Ivins' can lead to the same disastrous outcomes as chemical dependency. Musicians and other artists may be somewhat more prone to such demons. The flip side is that...
Indeed. And addiction can take many forms, witness the "anthrax scientist," Bruce Ivins, whose long-ago rejection by a girl for whom he carried a torch the rest of his life led to a series of bizarre, self-destructive responses to the "siren call" culminating in dishonor and death. Are such non-chemical "addictions" really worthy of being classified as such? I believe so. Pathological obsessions such as Ivins' can lead to the same disastrous outcomes as chemical dependency. Musicians and other artists may be somewhat more prone to such demons. The flip side is that we are fortunate in having an outlet which others for whom the "wiring in [their] brain," like Ivins perhaps, do not. Our inner demons may in fact drive creativity. Indeed, the creative impulse can ease the pain and possibly prevent further descent into the abyss. Catharsis and redemption can take many forms. For me, jazz improvisation on saxophone or keyboard and writing songs that evoke nostalgic memories can do it, as can driving a classic car--with my siblings as passengers--through the neighborhood where we grew up, and where I first fell (very much unilaterally) in love. I have no idea whether David Wilcox was an addict, and if so, to what. But in this one song he has expressed most eloquently the "seemingly unbearable pain" that so many of us know all too well. As a long-time Chet Baker fan, hearing this song sung by k. d. lang never fails to evoke ecstatic melancholy. This is a song for the ages.
This song is a very accurate depiction of addiction, told from the inside.
On one of his live albums, Wilcox says he didn't know anything about Chet Baker except what he read on the liner notes. (Baker died from a fall out of a window, which is referred to in the ninth line.)
Somewhere else -- it might have been in the interview on his DVD -- Wilcox says this song "saved my life". My impression is Wilcox was suffering from addiction when he wrote this song -- he says in the interview "I could not have recopied it faster than I wrote it" -- and this song helped him see a way out. (My guess is Wilcox was addicted to sex. I have no data for that other than the songs he has written, such as "Right Now", "Language of the Heart", "Dangerous", and especially "Please Don't Call").
As an unrecovered addict, you keep doing something you really want to stop doing. "Changed the wiring in my brain", "Like the flowers towards the sun/I will follow", and "These open mouths/will trust and swallow/anything that came along" all describe this state of inability to stop, to choose, to be rational.
The siren call of the solace of whatever you are addicted to -- and addiction is nearly always an attempt to numb a seemingly unbearable pain -- this siren call includes the insidious suggestion that you could take just a nip, just a puff, just a look, just a little of the desired sensation. But. No You Can't. Attempt "just a splash" and you are "five miles deep".
Indeed. And addiction can take many forms, witness the "anthrax scientist," Bruce Ivins, whose long-ago rejection by a girl for whom he carried a torch the rest of his life led to a series of bizarre, self-destructive responses to the "siren call" culminating in dishonor and death. Are such non-chemical "addictions" really worthy of being classified as such? I believe so. Pathological obsessions such as Ivins' can lead to the same disastrous outcomes as chemical dependency. Musicians and other artists may be somewhat more prone to such demons. The flip side is that...
Indeed. And addiction can take many forms, witness the "anthrax scientist," Bruce Ivins, whose long-ago rejection by a girl for whom he carried a torch the rest of his life led to a series of bizarre, self-destructive responses to the "siren call" culminating in dishonor and death. Are such non-chemical "addictions" really worthy of being classified as such? I believe so. Pathological obsessions such as Ivins' can lead to the same disastrous outcomes as chemical dependency. Musicians and other artists may be somewhat more prone to such demons. The flip side is that we are fortunate in having an outlet which others for whom the "wiring in [their] brain," like Ivins perhaps, do not. Our inner demons may in fact drive creativity. Indeed, the creative impulse can ease the pain and possibly prevent further descent into the abyss. Catharsis and redemption can take many forms. For me, jazz improvisation on saxophone or keyboard and writing songs that evoke nostalgic memories can do it, as can driving a classic car--with my siblings as passengers--through the neighborhood where we grew up, and where I first fell (very much unilaterally) in love. I have no idea whether David Wilcox was an addict, and if so, to what. But in this one song he has expressed most eloquently the "seemingly unbearable pain" that so many of us know all too well. As a long-time Chet Baker fan, hearing this song sung by k. d. lang never fails to evoke ecstatic melancholy. This is a song for the ages.