This is SUCH an incredibly beautiful and adventurous song. I don't usually bother to comment, but I can't leave with the only interpretation here (just prior to mine) suggesting . . . cannibalism. I won't denigrate someone else's comment -- everyone's view on art is valid in some relative space, but I'll offer something for balance that may be a tad more relative to most people's heads.
This song is a beautiful fugue, a daze, a psychedelic Indiana Jones dream overlaid with Goddess myth. All the references to a woman in the song are dreamlike, suggestive of that feminine spirit ideal, eros, that we all desire to guide us at one time or another.
I picture Steve K. checking in, maybe he just did a show in Brazil, where he fed off the energy of his fans for a great show even though he was already wiped out from the long flight. Now returns to his hotel completely exhausted -- most everyone who travels can relate to this -- where he falls straightaway on the bed and drifts off.
Dreaming, he's immersed in a Native American shamanic ceremony, which is most often a psychedelic trip of male confirmation. But somehow this feminine spirit, imagine it as eros or anima, transforms it into a betrothal, a marriage ceremony. Now "married," he won't be able to shake off ("couldn't take it off if I tried") this feminine eros spirit, goddess persona, dragging him toward adventure.
In dream-word, he drifts. Probably outside the dream he fell asleep undressed, and hence he drifts back toward consciousness in this hotel womb, waking up a bit (how else do you remember any of your dreams?). It is the dangers in the dream (and the subconscious need to get undressed for bed proper) which direct him back to someplace secure, to "home." And when you're on the road, that is always . . . the hotel room. Safety.
But the fugue is too great, the anima carries him onward to the next adventure. Within the dream, he recalls the safety of the hotel . . . no, wait, he thinks, THAT must be the dream . . . Dream life, as anyone dreaming vividly knows, it is all too real. So his anima pulls him to adventure (always more real), while his insecurity looks backward to safety. Hence in dream-time he dreams of the safety of his hotel womb. They are both dualistic sides of his goddess myth, she encompasses both.
He is transported by her further into the dream role, becoming her "Indiana Jones" . . . yet all the way typically reluctant, just as Indiana was. In the song, our hero seems to drag his heels when he finds himself floating down the Amazon river, or else waking up amidst buildings "swaying like trees." Yet she incites him onward to the next frame. He yearns for the softness of the hotel, which is also the softness of her womb; while instead she brings him to immediacy of the moment. The Mother of the Storm is searching for her son.
Alternately, he yearns back towards wakefulness, womb, and safety. He asks her, why can't the danger represented by the masks be reconciled? As his eros and anima, in response she does extend her womb, but later also presses him on. The Lost City is "just another mile" ahead.
This is SUCH an incredibly beautiful and adventurous song. I don't usually bother to comment, but I can't leave with the only interpretation here (just prior to mine) suggesting . . . cannibalism. I won't denigrate someone else's comment -- everyone's view on art is valid in some relative space, but I'll offer something for balance that may be a tad more relative to most people's heads.
This song is a beautiful fugue, a daze, a psychedelic Indiana Jones dream overlaid with Goddess myth. All the references to a woman in the song are dreamlike, suggestive of that feminine spirit ideal, eros, that we all desire to guide us at one time or another.
I picture Steve K. checking in, maybe he just did a show in Brazil, where he fed off the energy of his fans for a great show even though he was already wiped out from the long flight. Now returns to his hotel completely exhausted -- most everyone who travels can relate to this -- where he falls straightaway on the bed and drifts off.
Dreaming, he's immersed in a Native American shamanic ceremony, which is most often a psychedelic trip of male confirmation. But somehow this feminine spirit, imagine it as eros or anima, transforms it into a betrothal, a marriage ceremony. Now "married," he won't be able to shake off ("couldn't take it off if I tried") this feminine eros spirit, goddess persona, dragging him toward adventure.
In dream-word, he drifts. Probably outside the dream he fell asleep undressed, and hence he drifts back toward consciousness in this hotel womb, waking up a bit (how else do you remember any of your dreams?). It is the dangers in the dream (and the subconscious need to get undressed for bed proper) which direct him back to someplace secure, to "home." And when you're on the road, that is always . . . the hotel room. Safety.
But the fugue is too great, the anima carries him onward to the next adventure. Within the dream, he recalls the safety of the hotel . . . no, wait, he thinks, THAT must be the dream . . . Dream life, as anyone dreaming vividly knows, it is all too real. So his anima pulls him to adventure (always more real), while his insecurity looks backward to safety. Hence in dream-time he dreams of the safety of his hotel womb. They are both dualistic sides of his goddess myth, she encompasses both.
He is transported by her further into the dream role, becoming her "Indiana Jones" . . . yet all the way typically reluctant, just as Indiana was. In the song, our hero seems to drag his heels when he finds himself floating down the Amazon river, or else waking up amidst buildings "swaying like trees." Yet she incites him onward to the next frame. He yearns for the softness of the hotel, which is also the softness of her womb; while instead she brings him to immediacy of the moment. The Mother of the Storm is searching for her son.
Alternately, he yearns back towards wakefulness, womb, and safety. He asks her, why can't the danger represented by the masks be reconciled? As his eros and anima, in response she does extend her womb, but later also presses him on. The Lost City is "just another mile" ahead.