The Last Time I Saw Richard

Joni Mitchell has a gift for creating pictures of sad personalities. Here as she writes of Richard, she also paints a picture of the person speaking to Richard. This is one of my favourite Joni Mitchell songs.

The Last Time I Saw Richard(Words and music by Joni Mitchell; from the album Blue)
(Listen to the song here.) 

The last time I saw Richard was Detroit in '68,
And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday
Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe
You laugh, he said you think you're immune, go look at your eyes
They're full of moon
You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
All those pretty lies, pretty lies
When you gonna realize they're only pretty lies
Only pretty lies, just pretty lies 

He put a quarter in the Wurlitzer, and he pushed
Three buttons and the thing began to whirr
And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
And she said drink up now it's gettin' on time to close
Richard, you haven't really changed, I said
It's just that now you're romanticizing some pain that's in your head
You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs
You punched are dreaming
Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet 

Richard got married to a figure skater
And he bought her a dishwasher and a Coffee percolator
And he drinks at home now most nights with the TV on
And all the house lights left up bright
I'm gonna blow this damn candle out
I don't want Nobody comin' over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin' behind bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings
And fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days 

Songwriter: Joni Mitchell; Published by Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Joni Mitchell/Crazy Crow Music/Siquomb Music

Message in a Bottle

I saw a news story about a message in a bottle that had travelled approximately 4000 km from Gaspe, Quebec to East Passage, Ireland. The message, stuffed into a two litre plastic pop bottle had survived at sea for eight years and then been found by a nine year old boy. The girls who had set it adrift were twelve years old when they sent their note out to the world and, at twenty years old, were now surprised to hear that someone had finally found it.

This story caused me to think about why people send out a message in this fashion. The girls in Quebec had seen something on television that had made them want to try this; but what about other people? Why would anyone send a message by such an inefficient method of communication. Sting, in the song he did with "The Police," says that it is about loneliness.

"Seems I'm not alone at being alone." - Sting, "Message in a Bottle."

The song suggests that many people have the feeling of being a lonely castaway looking for someone with whom to connect in a world filled with other lonely castaways.

"When you're surrounded by all these people, it can be lonelier than when you're by yourself. You can be in a huge crowd, but if you don't feel like you can trust anyone or talk to anybody, you feel like you're really alone." -  Fiona Apple

The movie, Message in a Bottle, starring Kevin Costner, suggests that the concept is about looking for that one person with whom we might romantically connect.

Perhaps the attraction of sending a message in a bottle is about desiring to find our own message from some distant place. Is it a desire for our own unique message that will guide our lives and give purpose for our future? Some have locked prayers in tiny bottles and sent them out on the waves, hoping, with little hope, that the message might be seen by some divine being.

A message in a bottle is a romantic concept. There are better ways to solve the loneliness; there are better ways to find romance; there are better ways to get a divine message. In a world of 8 billion people we need not cut ourselves off from each other or from God.

"We are all like foolish puppets who desiring to be kings; now lie pitifully crippled after cutting our own strings." - Randy Stonehill

"Message In A Bottle"
(words and music by Sting)

 Just a castaway
 An island lost at sea
 Another lonely day
 With no one here but me
 More loneliness
 Than any man could bear
 Rescue me before I fall into despair

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
Message in a bottle

A year has passed since I wrote my note
But I should have known this right from the start
Only hope can keep me together
Love can mend your life
But love can break your heart

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
Message in a bottle

Walked out this morning
Don't believe what I saw
A hundred billion bottles
Washed up on the shore
Seems I'm not alone at being alone
A hundred billion castaways
Looking for a home

I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle
Message in a bottle

Sending out an SOS

Waiting In The Weeds

The last few days of August always make me think of the lyrics of this song. It is a beautiful masterpiece of lyric and melody on the Eagles Long Road Out of Eden album. It is a song of longing, loneliness and loss. Perhaps it is also an indictment of the music industry and culture in general with its references to crows and sparrows, peacocks, flavor of the week, and the darling of the chic.

Waiting In The Weeds
(written by Don Henley and Steuart Smith)

It's coming on the end of August.
Another summer's promise almost gone.
And though I heard some wise men say that every dog will have his day,
He never mentioned that these dog days get so long.

I don't know when I realized the dream was over.
Well, there was no particular hour, no given day.
You know it didn't go down in flames,
There was no final scene, no frozen frame,
I just watched it slowly fade away.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for my time to come around again.
And hope is floating on the breeze,
Carrying my soul high up above the ground.
And I've been keeping to myself,
Knowing that the seasons are slowly changing.
Even though you're with somebody else,
He'll never love you like I do.

I've been biding time with the crows and sparrows,
While peacocks prance and strut up on the stage.
If I knew love was just a dance, proximity and chance,
You will excuse me if I skip the masquerade.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for the dust to settle down.
Along the back roads, running through the fields,
Lying on the outskirts of this lonesome town.
And I imagine sunlight in your hair
You're at the county fair - you're holding hands and laughing,
And now the Ferris Wheel has stopped,
You're swinging on the top, suspended there with him,
And he's the darling of the chic - the flavor of the week is melting down your pretty summer dress
Baby what a mess you're making.

I've been stumbling though some dark places,
And I'm following the plow.
I know I've fallen out of your good graces
It's all right now.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for the summer rain to fall.
Upon the wild birds, scattering the seeds,
Answering the calling of the tide's eternal tune,
The phases of the moon, the chambers of the heart, the egg and dart.
A small gray spider spinning in the dark,
In spite of all the times the web is torn apart.

And I've been waiting in the weeds,
Waiting for my time to come around again.
And hope is floating on the breeze,
Carrying my soul high up above the ground.
And I've been keeping to myself,
Knowing that the seasons are slowly changing.
Even though you're with somebody else,
He'll never love you like I do.

Tremble

(Lyrics and music by Nichole Nordeman)
(Listen here)
Have I come too casually?
Because it seems to me
There's something I've neglected
How does one approach a deity with informality
And still protect the sacred?
'Cause you came and chose to wear the skin of all of us
And it's easy to forget You left a throne
And the line gets blurry all the time
Between daily and divine
And it's hard to know the difference

Oh, let me not forget to tremble
Oh, let me not forget to tremble
Face down on the ground do I dare
To take the liberty to stare at you
Oh, let me not,
Oh, let me not forget to tremble

What a shame to think that I'd appear
Even slightly cavalier
In the matter of salvation
Do I claim this gift You freely gave
As if it were mine to take
With such little hesitation?
'Cause you came and stood among the very least of us
And it's easy to forget you left a throne

Oh, let me not forget to tremble
Oh, let me not forget to tremble
Face down on the ground do I dare
To take the liberty to stare at you
Oh, let me not,
Oh, let me not forget to tremble

The cradle and the grave could not contain Your divinity
Neither can I oversimplify this love

Oh, let me not forget to tremble
Face down on the ground do I dare
To take the liberty to stare at you
Oh, let me
Oh, let me not forget to tremble.

Listen to it here.

Till We Have Faces

I just finished re-reading Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. What an amazing book! It is hard to descibe what an effect this book has on a person but let me leave you with three quotes.

The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from . . . . my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back. - p. 83, 84

"Are the gods not just?" "Oh no, child. What would become of us if they were?" - p. 308

When the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the centre of your soul for years, which you have, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you’ll not talk about the joy of words. I saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. Till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? How can they meet us face to face till we have faces? - p. 305

Lewis, C.S. Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold. Glasgow: William Collons Sons and Co. Ltd, 1985.