I get the sense that young and beginning writers and poets alike probably throw away more good ideas than they actually keep. Perhaps if we’d known the crucial yet delicate art of revision, more of our first attempts might have found their way onto the printed page. More to the point, how wonderful it would have been to have a firm sense of individuality, to have a clear vision of yourselves and where you want to be in the world as we first put pen to paper. Somewhere around 10 years old or so, I have a vague recollection of a poem about a ticking clock and the shadows that move around under your bedroom door at midnight. Write what you know, they say. I’ve never been confused for a poet, but I have always been a night owl. Today’s slow drag is with “Waiting for the End of The World,” from “My Aim is True,” released on July 22, 1977, exactly 26 days before the death of Elvis Presley on August 16, 1977. These events are unrelated yet forever cosmically tied to one another. The songwriting is credited to Elvis Costello, a man who, on July 22, 1977 was a mere 35 or so days away from his 23rd birthday. It’s unfair and a bit cliché to wonder aloud what others might have been doing when they were 22. Suffice it to say, not many would go on to have more than 33 stellar and genre-busting albums released in the ensuing 45+ years. As “Waiting for the End of the World,” illustrates, it was written by a poet whose powers of wit and observation would go on to serve him well. The man from the television crawled into the train I wonder who he's gonna stick it in this time Everyone was looking for a little entertainment So they'll probably pull his hands off when they find out his name The scene is set. A crowded train, a morning or evening commute, perhaps. In sharp relief to keeping their hands to themselves, however, there’ll be a lot of pawing and jockeying for attention on this trip. The narrator watches, keenly, yet so far passively, observing the action. And then they shut down the power all along the line And we got stuck in the tunnel where no lights shine They got to touching all the girls who were too scared to call out Nobody was saying anything at all As harrowing as it might sound, I just love the implication of this passage; it’s quite a statement. The same hands that were invading the man from the television’s space have now apparently crept down a little lower, now committing different forms of invasion. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, neither the groped nor the observer have domain over their own agency at that moment. “Nobody was saying anything at all.” This is a trope that will go on to follow this modern day master’s work to this day. There are no judgments, just objective observations that have the potential to stir others to anger. It’s quite brilliant, of course, how remaining “objective” can carry such emotional weight. We were waiting for the end of the world Waiting for the end of the world Waiting for the end of the world Dear Lord, I sincerely hope you're coming 'cause you’ve really started something The possible gloom and doom of sitting in a cramped metal container, in the dark, while various acts of violence take place, does seem to call for a bit of hyperbole, sure. A world-weary view of an entire species, as lamented by a fellow passenger; a person who we know nothing about and who isn’t likely to reveal himself anytime soon. The world is comprised of all kinds of characters. Overhearing others’ conversations is part of the joy that serves to counterbalance the horrors of being crammed together in small spaces. Things got back to normal as the train began to roll again We got to the station about twenty minutes later Doomsday averted. More passengers get on and get off. The legendary hitchhiker says that he knows where it’s at Now he’d like to go to Spain or somewhere like that With his two-tone Bible and his funny cigarettes, His suntan lotion and his castanets The next repeat of chorus tells us that, instead of “we,” “he,” presumably the legendary hitchhiker, was “waiting for the end of the world,” ending with the same lament about “sincerely hope you’re coming cos you’ve really started something.” This has a much less dire implication this time, perhaps, given that the hitchhiker conceivably has most of his worldly possessions with him, most notably a bible, and therefore more than happy to take the second coming all in stride. The complicated yet seemingly effortless rhyme of at/that are understated and perfect. The rhyme, funny cigarettes and castanets, anchor this highly visual and charming verse nicely. Then, logic dictates, another station, another chance to glimpse humanity as it parades through the doors. And then the bride, the groom, the congregation, and the priest All got onto the train when we were three stations east, yeah Hiding from a scandal in the national press They have been trying to get married since they stole a wedding dress This is a gloriously unexpected emergence. A Television personality, a bible toting hitchhiker, and now an entire wedding party have boarded. What motivates us as humans is vast and complicated. There are far worse rationales to get married, I suppose. National press and wedding dress. These rhymes cannot be overlooked for their confidence, their inventiveness, their timelessness. You may see them drowning as you stroll along the beach But don't roll out the lifeline till they're clean out of reach This sentiment, granted a bit less than objective, finishes the verse regarding the scandalous wedding party, yet the mounting cynicism of the piece seems to culminate into a crescendo of disinterested apathy at what will become of all these vignettes of human interaction as seen from a seat on a commuter train. I mean, sure, you could try to save them, but then again, we’ve all just come together in moving from one station stop to another. You can sit with your head down, staring into your own navel, just make sure you glance around every once in while, or perhaps you might miss it. There is no investment made in simply watching, is there? -- Dig it Again, this has been a slow drag with “Waiting for the End of the World” from 1977’s “My Aim is True.” Instead of introducing the world to who this individual singer/songwriter is or who he will be, it focuses instead on the quirks of the world, the absurdity that flashes before our eyes on a daily basis. Finally we’ve gone back to the beginning, to Elvis Costello’s first album, “My Aim is True,” backed by the uncredited Northern California band “Clover,” who, most of us know would go on to be part of Huey Lewis and The News, but who were referred to as “The Shamrocks” on “A Bunch of Stiff Records” release. Even the linguistic and poetic line between a clover and a shamrock is jam packed with allusion and implication. A singular talent, to be sure. There will be a lot written and scrutinized about his name, glasses, and his voice as his career progresses, yet he proves from the very start that he is under no obligation to justify himself as a person or as a performer. An inspiration to us all. Show Notes: ---------------------- Appreciation written, produced, and narrated by Remedy Robinson, MA/MFA Twitter: https://twitter.com/slowdragremedy Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/slow_drag_with_remedy/ Email: [email protected] Podcast music by https://www.fesliyanstudios.com Rate this Podcast: https://ratethispodcast.com/slowdrag ---------------------- References: Elvis Costello Wiki Resource: http://www.elviscostello.info/wiki/index.php/Waiting_For_The_End_Of_The_World To have “agency” https://www.basicknowledge101.com/pdf/Agency%20(philosophy).pdf “The capacity of an entity…to act in any given environment.” “A Bunch of Stiff Records” contractual band name: http://www.elviscostello.info/wiki/index.php/A_Bunch_Of_Stiff_Records So, until next time, Adieu, my little ballyhoo Comments are closed.
|
AboutSlow Drag with Remedy is an Elvis Costello podcast appreciation. It's an exploration of linguistics, language, poetry, and clever wordplay as framed by the peerless poetry of the modern-day master, Elvis Costello. Slow Drag by Song
Poor Napoleon Alibi Church Underground The Big Light Georgie and Her Rival Joe Porterhouse No Hiding Place 20% Amnesia All This Useless Beauty Let Him Dangle King of Thieves Damnation's Cellar Stripping Paper Pidgin English Riot Act Bedlam The Quickening Art Luxembourg Chemistry Class Living in Paradise My Mood Swings Waiting for the End of the World Little Atoms Two Little Hitlers Crimes of Paris You Tripped at Every Step Needle Time Men Called Uncle Peace in Our Time The Loved Ones I Almost Had a Weakness Our Little Angel Invasion Hit Parade Turpentine Miracle Man A Voice in the Dark The Greatest Thing Satellite Hand in Hand Clubland Tart Glitter Gulch Stations of the Cross Science Fiction Twin Possession This Sad Burlesque Flutter and Wow Soul for Hire After the Fall Blue Chair Monkey to Man Mouth Almighty Watch Your Step ...This Town... Distorted Angel Worthless Thing No Dancing Miss Macbeth Charm School Poor Fractured Atlas Brilliant Mistake My Little Blue Window Suspect My Tears Coal Train Robberies Fish 'n' Chip Papers I Hope You're Happy Now Man Out of Time 13 Steps Lead Down Go Away Sweet Pear The Name of This Thing is Not Love Jimmie Standing in the Rain The Deportees Club The Birds Will Still Be Singing Starting to Come to Me Pay It Back Five Small Words Pretty Words Radio Silence Human Hands Night Rally I'll Wear It Proudly Motel Matches Drum and Bone Harpies Bizarre Nothing Clings Like Ivy Why Won't Heaven Help Me Next Time 'Round The River in Reverse A Room with No Number Clown Strike The Invisible Man My Most Beautiful Mistake All the Rage The Town Where Time Stood Still Episode of Blonde e of Blonde No Flag A Slow Drag with Josephine That Bridge I Burned Sour Milk Cow Blues You Little Fool Spooky Girlfriend Suit of Lights There's a Story in Your Voice Dishonor The Stars The Other Side of Summer Mischievous Ghost They're Not Laughing at Me Now White Knuckles Honey, Are You Straight or Are You Blind? Black and White World The World and His Wife
God's Comic The First to Leave Green Shirt The Man You Love to Hate Lip Service American Gangster Time Blame It on Cain The Spell That You Cast Lipstick Vogue The Difference Stella Hurt Tears before Bedtime |