More than a few devastating lines in this song. The ones with the most impact, in my opinion:
Climbing hour upon hour through a total bore
With the one I keep where it never fades
In the safety of a pitch black mind
An airless cell that blocks the day
Tempting to assume "the safety of a pitch black mind" refers to self-numbing via drugs, but I'm wary of this; I think we all tend to read references to drugs in Elliott's songs, when he may have intended something else. As others have mentioned, the song is a vivid evocation of depression. If you've been there, you know what he means by a "pitch black mind." (This also fits with the earlier line: a daily struggle which feels endless, boring and pointless because of the inability to maintain interest, or feel pleasure.) When I hear him sing about the endless cell, I think of (metaphorical) self-confinement: what William Blake called "mind-forged manacles."
Elliott refers to picture(s) in "Sweet Adeline" also. Does he literally mean photographs (which can be cut apart with scissors, as the other song suggests), or pictures in one's head? Memories. Ones you'd like to keep, but most often would rather not look at.
Recently I read an excerpt from the autobiography of a doctor. (Here I'm thinking of what blackout2oo7 wrote.) At a symposium attended primarily by psychiatrists, she spoke of lying awake nights wondering about that mistake she might have made, the one which could cost a patient their life. Other attendees said they could sympathize: but that if you've never been a therapist with many patients who are suicidal, you can only begin to imagine what the worst of those sleepless nights are like. If I'm ever having doubts about therapy because of the financial cost, I try to remember how--more than once--my doctor has fought for my life.
Ethan's description of Elliott's voice, "clear water," is perfect. Some critics complain his voice is too even...not expressive enough. Have they never heard him sing live? Regardless...I don't think every singer needs histrionics to give a moving performance. Mark Eitzel for example; I like his music, but sometimes I wish he'd dial it down a bit.
I too have wondered whether the "you" is someone he knows, or whether this is an internal dialogue.
Never occurred to me until now. The crucial lines I cited, they're reminiscent of another writer's eloquent words of despair. I'm thinking of Macbeth's soliloquy, after hearing of his wife's death:
Never occurred to me until now. The crucial lines I cited, they're reminiscent of another writer's eloquent words of despair. I'm thinking of Macbeth's soliloquy, after hearing of his wife's death:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing....
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury
Signifying nothing.
More than a few devastating lines in this song. The ones with the most impact, in my opinion:
Climbing hour upon hour through a total bore With the one I keep where it never fades In the safety of a pitch black mind An airless cell that blocks the day
Tempting to assume "the safety of a pitch black mind" refers to self-numbing via drugs, but I'm wary of this; I think we all tend to read references to drugs in Elliott's songs, when he may have intended something else. As others have mentioned, the song is a vivid evocation of depression. If you've been there, you know what he means by a "pitch black mind." (This also fits with the earlier line: a daily struggle which feels endless, boring and pointless because of the inability to maintain interest, or feel pleasure.) When I hear him sing about the endless cell, I think of (metaphorical) self-confinement: what William Blake called "mind-forged manacles."
Elliott refers to picture(s) in "Sweet Adeline" also. Does he literally mean photographs (which can be cut apart with scissors, as the other song suggests), or pictures in one's head? Memories. Ones you'd like to keep, but most often would rather not look at.
Recently I read an excerpt from the autobiography of a doctor. (Here I'm thinking of what blackout2oo7 wrote.) At a symposium attended primarily by psychiatrists, she spoke of lying awake nights wondering about that mistake she might have made, the one which could cost a patient their life. Other attendees said they could sympathize: but that if you've never been a therapist with many patients who are suicidal, you can only begin to imagine what the worst of those sleepless nights are like. If I'm ever having doubts about therapy because of the financial cost, I try to remember how--more than once--my doctor has fought for my life.
Ethan's description of Elliott's voice, "clear water," is perfect. Some critics complain his voice is too even...not expressive enough. Have they never heard him sing live? Regardless...I don't think every singer needs histrionics to give a moving performance. Mark Eitzel for example; I like his music, but sometimes I wish he'd dial it down a bit.
I too have wondered whether the "you" is someone he knows, or whether this is an internal dialogue.
Never occurred to me until now. The crucial lines I cited, they're reminiscent of another writer's eloquent words of despair. I'm thinking of Macbeth's soliloquy, after hearing of his wife's death:
Never occurred to me until now. The crucial lines I cited, they're reminiscent of another writer's eloquent words of despair. I'm thinking of Macbeth's soliloquy, after hearing of his wife's death:
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing....
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury Signifying nothing.