--
"It is music for exile, for the preparations, the significations of departure, for the symptoms of migration. It is the languishing music of picking through your belongings and deciding what to take. It is the two a.m. music of smelling and caressing books none of which you can carry--books you leave behind with friends who say they’ll always be here when you want them when you need them--music for a bowl of apples sitting on your table, apples you have not yet eaten, apples you cannot take--you know they have apples there in that other place but not these apples, not apples like these-- You eat your last native apple and stare at what your life is reduced to--all the things you can stick into a sack. It will be cold, you will need boots, you don’t own boots except these rubber ones--will they do? You pack them, you pack a letter from a friend so you will not feel too alone.
Music for final goodbyes for one last drink and a quick hug as you cram your cigarettes into your pocket and run to the bus, you run, run, your chest heaves, like the bellows of the bandoneon. You try to watch intently to emblazon in your mind these streets, these corners, those houses, the people, the smells, even the lurching bus fills you with a kind of stupid happiness and regret-- Music for the things you left behind in that room: a dress, magazines, some drawings, two pairs of shoes and blouses too old to be worn any more . . . four perfect apples.
Music for cold nights under incomprehensible stars, for cups of coffee and cigarette smoke, for a long walk by the river where you might be alone or you might meet someone. It is music for encounters in shabby stairways, the music of lovemaking in a narrow bed, the tendernesses, the caress, the pull of strong arms and legs.
Music for your invisibility . . .
Music for a day in the fall when you buy a new coat and think perhaps you will live here for the rest of your life, perhaps it will be possible, you have changed so much, would they recognize you? would you recognize your country? would you recognize yourself?"
-- from Fronteras Americanas, by Guillermo Verdecchia
Pretty good eh?
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In 1993 his one-man show, Fronteras Americanas, premiered at the Tarragon Theatre ’s Extra Space. It was subsequently produced at Festival de Theatre des Amériques (now Festival TransAmériques ) in Montreal, then remounted on Tarragon’s main stage, before moving to the Manitoba Theatre Centre and Vancouver Playhouse . In all of the productions Verdecchia played himself and his alter-ego, Wideload, a flamboyant Latino stereotype. The play is an attempt to resist the objectification effected by naming in terms of race and place through the formation of an “oppositional consciousness.” The Verdecchia persona reflects on his experiences as an immigrant to Canada. He provides a history lesson on the diaspora of “Latin” peoples in order to construct for himself an historical context. Ironically when he returns “home” to Argentina, and he again finds himself an outsider. Wideload comments sarcastically on his reception by a “Saxon” population and contrasts the physical and sexual makeup of a “Latino” with that of a “Saxon.” In the concluding episode, the character Verdecchia asserts that he is building a house on the border, and challenges the audience to consider and celebrate the rich ethnic makeup of those who call Canada home. Fronteras Americanas won a Chalmers Award and a Governor General’s Award . Verdecchia also wrote and starred in a short film adaptation of Fronteras Americanas, called Crucero/Crossroads, which played at film festivals around the world and received nine international awards.
--
Anyway, the passage reminded me of the following song, music for pleasure by Departure Lounge. I couldn't find the song or lyrics anywhere online so I uploaded them to YouTube and here. I'm not 100% sure about the lyrics as I embrace a biased ear, but they should be close enough.
Stamp my ticket, pull my plug
I'm tuning out and I'm turning off
I'm not the hero that I thought I was
I don't want to be up there looking down
everything is small from far away
I want to see you up close again
Tap my wire, feed my line
pull me out of my frozen mind
gotta get back into the world outside
music for pleasure
Cover your ears, count to three,
you'll need a torch if you're following me.
I need some air and a new routine
plus some device to help me
stay in touch with how I feel.
Tap my wire, feed my line
pull me out of my frozen mind
gonna get these puppet strings untied
I'm not another broken fairground ride
if your heart is empty, open wide.
Tap my wire, feed my line
pull me out of my frozen mind
I'm going to leave that joker I was behind
music for pleasure.
No more pressure, no more pain,
no more struggle for hollow gain
I want to feel like I'm alive again
Older and wiser
be nice to each other
music for pleasure
--
Reading and comparing the two passages, at first glance they don't seem to click quite right. I mean, on the surface you have the music, the travel, the transportation of oneself and the sense of the journey, lack of a home. But something just doesn't click, right? There is a complexity to Verdecchia's passage that DL just can't come close to. They are quite obviously not in the same league. The personal examples, the consumption and assimilation of loss, memories and movement.
And then, at least for me, the two passages do click. I feel they are expressing similar feelings in slightly different ways, perhaps emotions connected to a far away place, thing, or even person. Something that you wish you could keep forever but know you probably shouldn't (for the better of you) and really can't in any real sense anyway. If it does come back it won't be the same, which is a good thing; it'll be different and better. A new, fresh start after a disappearance, whether you like it or not. At least, that's the way I interpreted it!
This song is easily in my top 15. Not only is it melodic, but I do love the simple and vague electrically and mechanically related lyrics.
--
"I need some air and a new routine
plus some device to help me
stay in touch with how I feel.
Tap my wire, feed my line
pull me out of my frozen mind
gonna get these puppet strings untied
I'm not another broken fairground ride
if your heart is empty, open wide."
--
Basically I've found I love any lyrics to do with wire transmissions (as receivers and as senders: as the transmission goes down the wire you need repeaters or the intended message slowly fades away type analogies... ) and broken, under maintained, neglected mechanical equipment, but that's another story all together.
Listening to this song my mind instantly flashes back 7-8-9 years ago, driving my 1997 silver Acura down a black highway, simultaneously travelling away from and toward loved things and ones.
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