Red Clover

Red Clover (Trifolium pratense)—a species of clover, native to Europe, western Asia and northwest Africa, but planted in many other regions

Trifolium—from the Latin tres, “three,” and folium, “leaf,” named after the characteristic form of the leaf having three leaflets (“trifoliate”)

Pratense—from the Latin, “found in meadows”

The colors red (crimson) and green (the color of a clover leaf) are, of course, primary colors. The two colors, along with blue, are referred to as “additive colors,” meaning that the blending of these colors can create many others, including white. The use of multiple colors, as a metaphor for social harmony, is common. Additionally, in the Western world, the colors of red and green are associated with Christmas, a consequence of the use, during the middle ages, of pine trees adorned with red apples as part of the dramatization of the story of humankind’s Fall, the story of Adam and Eve (the pine-apple tree serving as the stand-in for the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil). Of course, the color red and the color green also have multiple symbolic meanings (e.g., red for passion; green for envy), and so possess what is called "multivalency."

I no longer remember the first time I saw a “black light” (and hence its spectacular alteration of the apparent color of quotidian objects); certainly, at the latest, by 1969. (I may have seen a black light much earlier than this, because natural history museums often used--still use--a black light in order to highlight the presence of certain, colorful, minerals in what seemed to be in the light of common day just plain-looking rocks.) At any rate, by the mid-60s, water-based fluorescent paints were popularly available, thus giving rise to a form of art with especially vivid colors that came to be closely associated with the psychedelic experience—black light paintings. By the mid-60s, black light poster painters were using the “fluorescent” colors of magenta, cerise, blue/azure, chartreuse yellow, red, and, of course, green. The psychedelic experience, at least in its LSD or acid-trip version, came to be associated with vivid, swirling colors, evoked in live rock concerts by what was known as a “light show,” a form of synaesthesia (the swirling colors were to the eye what the sound was to the ear). The black light painting thus served as a single snapshot of an acid trip. But the essential goal of a psychedelic experience was to alter everyday perception, to defamiliarize the familiar, and so, on occasion, to achieve a mystical insight.

Tommy James & The Shondells’ “Crimson & Clover” was recorded late in 1968—at the height of the psychedelic era, the period of High Psychedelia—and released as a single in December of that year, a remarkable serendipity considering red and green, crimson and clover, are so conventionally associated with December--and hence Christmas. The 45 rpm single quickly rose to the #1 spot in early 1969, and became one of the band’s biggest hits.

The question is—Is “Crimson & Clover” the aural equivalent of a black light painting (and therefore an example of High Psychedelia)? Or is it about something else? Or, conceivably, both? After all, it isn’t titled “Red, White, & Blue,” or “Magenta & Azure,” although it shares with other songs of its era a color in its title (and I don’t mean the term for a particular musical form, “blues”). Here are a few songs containing colors, right off the top of my head (meaning hardly definitive):

Blue Suede Shoes (Elvis)
Blue Angel (Roy Orbison)
Blue Velvet (Bobby Vinton)
Blue Turns to Grey (The Rolling Stones)
Crystal Blue Persuasion (Tommy James & The Shondells)
Roses Are Red (My Love) (Bobby Vinton)
Red Rubber Ball (The Cyrkle)
1-2-3 Red Light (The 1910 Fruitgum Company)
Black is Black (Los Bravos)
Paint It, Black (The Rolling Stones)
Black Magic Woman (Fleetwood Mac)
Chartreuse (Ken Nordine)
Mellow Yellow (Donovan)
Yellow Submarine (The Beatles)
Purple Haze (Jimi Hendrix Experience)
White Room (Cream)
White Rabbit (Jefferson Airplane)
Green Tambourine (The Lemon Pipers)

“Crimson & Clover” contains rather minimal lyrics, so minimal, in fact, that they seem to elude any definitive meaning:

Ahh...
Now I don’t hardly know her
But I think I could love her
Crimson and clover

Ahh...
Well if she come walkin’ over
Now I been waitin’ to show her
Crimson and clover (over and over)

Yeah...
My mind’s such a sweet thing
I want to do everything
What a beautiful feeling
Crimson and clover (over and over)

Crimson and cl(over) over and over...
Crimson and cl(over) over and over...

I think this song to be unintelligible without referring to occult theories of sexual alchemy—what famed occultist Aleister Crowley called “sex magick.” The trifoliate leaf, a feature of the red clover plant, is very similar to the deliberately phallic letter “A” that Crowley used as part of his obscene signature: a penis with testicles (the outline of the trifoliate clover leaf is used on the cover of the album Crimson & Clover). Red, the color of menstruation, is associated with the female (and perhaps, also, with Crowley’s “Scarlet Woman”).

White Tantrism: a form of sexual alchemy involving a man and woman making sexual contact for the purpose of transmuting sexual energies rather than achieving orgasm.

Hence crimson & clover refers to a form of Tantric sexual alchemy, suggested by the lyric, Now I don’t hardly know her/But I think I could love her, and, Well if she come walkin’ over/Now I been waitin’ to show her. The use of “love” in this context is ambiguous, but it doesn’t seem to suggest merely a Platonic (chaste) relationship. Moreover, our singer avers that he has been waitin’ to show her...what?

White Tantrism (continued): This form of sexual act is considered by its adherents as a spiritual exercise to awaken consciousness, not as an act of erotic love (or rather, the sublimation of sexual energy into mental energy).

My mind’s such a sweet thing
I want to do everything
What a beautiful feeling

Psychedelic music sought to find aural equivalencies to heightened, acute insight, or mystical knowledge, and in that sense, “Crimson & Clover” seeks to express just that desire. The obsessive repetition of crimson and clover over and over serves as a Tantric mantra, the word clover containing both the word “lover” but also the word “over,” as in the sexual action of physical movement repeated over and over (and over).

What we call a flower—as in, for example, the crimson flower of the red clover plant—is in fact the exposed sexual organs of the plant for all the world to see.

ifyoubelievein

As a tribute to Love’s masterpiece, Forever Changes (1967), (re) issued on CD on Tuesday this week as a (slightly late) two-disc 40th Anniversary Edition by Rhino Records, I thought I would discuss a song on the album that’s always intrigued me. However...I shall not be discussing one of the album’s more obvious choices. Instead, I’ll discuss a song that, unless I simply missed it, goes unmentioned in Andrew Hultkrans’s otherwise quite compelling monograph (2004) on Forever Changes, published as part of Continuum’s Thirty Three and A Third series of books devoted to “classic” (broadly defined) albums of the Rock Era. The song I wish to discuss is one written by Bryan MacLean and not Arthur Lee, which I suppose explains why it is omitted from Hultkrans’s discussion of the album, so exclusively focused as it is on the mercurial figure of Arthur Lee (1945-2006).

Hultkrans places Forever Changes within the tradition of American apocalyptic prophecy, acknowledging certain unorthodox, or rather heretical, notions in its ideas, particularly gnosticism (I use the lower case rather the upper case in contrast to Hultkrans in order to suggest that gnosticism is hardly a homogeneous set of beliefs that have passed hermetically sealed, or unaltered, through time). I have no difficulty accepting his argument on this matter, as I think he is right, although I might have tried to distinguish religious (orthodox, and hence organized and formalized) thought (whether that be Druidic, Christian, Islamic, or whatever) from spiritual thought, the latter being that which is not properly something that is part of a group or collective experience, more personalized, and hence unorthodox (see my previous entry on the song “Bristlecone Pine”).

At the outset, let me say that I think the compositional styles of the group's two late songwriters, Arthur Lee (primarily) and Bryan MacLean (1947-1998), can be distinguished. In one of our recent email discussions, my friend Tim Lucas speculated that the cryptic qualities of much lyrical content in rock music is rooted in songwriters building up lyrics nonsensically and/or onomatopoeically, using as an example Paul McCartney’s original words for “Yesterday”: “Scrambled eggs, oh my baby, how I love your legs...” In other words, nonsense words and phrases are substituted as syllabic “place holders” during the composition of the melody, with the assumption that the actual set of lyrics will be finalized later. A wonderfully comic enactment of Tim’s idea can be found in David Byrne’s fine film True Stories (1987), in a scene in which John Goodman previews a song he is writing titled “People Like Us.” As he sings the unfinished song to a female friend of his, he is forced to substitute phrases and monosyllables for the unfinished lyrics while attempting to maintain the melody: “In 1950 when I was born, papa...I haven’t written this verse quite yet...Six feet tall in size 12 shoes...na, na, na, na, na, na, people like us.”

Given this insight into lyrical composition, I think it is therefore possible to distinguish between songs written by Arthur Lee and by Bryan MacLean (setting aside the obvious designation of authorship by the use of the proper name, of course) simply by examining the formal qualities of the lyrics. I’m especially interested in Bryan MacLean’s song “Old Man,” which has neither the “stream-of-consciousness” features of most of Lee’s songs on the album, nor their rather fanciful, nonsensical aspects, either (“Oh, the snot has caked against my pants, it’s turned to crystal”). According to information published on his website, Bryan MacLean did not declare his actual religious conversion until December 1970, but I think a close look at his song “Old Man” reveals the process had begun years earlier. I especially like the way the lyrical material is structured in the song, so that the meaning of events mentioned early on can only be fully understood by events recounted later (this idea is discussed further below):

I once knew a man
Been everywhere in the world
Gave me a tiny ivory ball
Said it would bring me good
Never believed it would until
I have been loving you

Dear old man
He’d seen most everything
Gave me a piece of good advice
Said it would do me well
I couldn’t really tell until
I have been loving you

Now it seems
Things are not so strange
I can see more clearly
Suddenly I’ve found my way
I know the old man would laugh
He spoke of love’s sweeter days
And in his eloquent way
I think he was speaking of you
You are so lovely
You didn't have to say a thing

But I remember that old man
Telling me he’d seen the light
Gave me a small brown leather book
Insisted that he was right
I only heard him slightly
Til I heard you whisper
Took you up all in my arms

Dear old man
Wise old man
Fine old man, now

I once: “Once,” as in “Once upon a time,” reveals at the outset that we are in the realm of parable, the extended use of analogy in narrative form. The fact that the “old man” of the title is unnamed (remains a common rather than proper name) is in this regard a reiteration of the song's parabolic purpose; the “old man” is explicitly associated with worldly experience (“been everywhere…seen most everything”) but seems to be, remarkably, unjaded by his vast experiences. “Old man” will also come to suggest the wisdom that comes only through age ("Wise old man"). The significance of the "old man" is not that he is a close friend, and hence does not need to be properly named; rather, his importance is the symbolic gift(s) he bequeathed to our singer. Moreover, the fact that he is "old" suggests that the opposite is true of our singer (only someone young would remark upon the man being older, on his old age).

A tiny ivory ball: Ivory, of course, is a highly prized and extremely valuable substance. It is possible to understand the “tiny ivory ball” to be a reference to the ball Christ is often depicted as holding in his left hand in Medieval and Renaissance art, interpreted as a symbol of His power over the world (I've included for the purposes of illustration an image of the painting attributed to Michelangelo titled Salvator Mundi, “Savior of the world”). The ball in His left hand is interpreted as signifying his dominion over the entire world (which, I'll note in passing, reveals that Medieval Europeans did not, in fact, believe the world was "flat," a piece of sheer legerdemain). The point is not that our singer is Christ, but that he's been given a symbolic gift of great value. The meaning of the gift lies in its resemblance to the ball Christ holds in his left hand, not that it is that ball.

I have been loving you: An interesting grammatical construction, as one would think the line would read, “I had been loving you,” or “I’d loved you.” The identity of “you,” of course, is ambiguous, and remains so. If “you” were capitalized throughout, the identity would be clearer, I think, but in any case the meaning of the utterance, "I have been loving you," is that the love is not a recent development, but one that has been ongoing for some time. It may also mean that our singer was only made consciously aware of the fact that he has been loving the unnamed "you" for quite some time, but only after the old man's presence made the reality of the love manifest. In other words, I could say, "I have been loving you," a confession that the love has always been there, but only at this very moment did I become consciously aware of the love I have for you. Freud would probably refer to such a moment of (re)cognition an instance of the sudden awareness of one's "reaction formation," the conscious denial of a truth which one's behavior has actually confirmed.

A piece of good advice: A symbolic gift of value yet again, although we are left to speculate what, precisely, the "piece of good advice" is. However, certain translations of the Bible in the late 60s and early 70s carried not the title Bible but rather, Good News.

I can see more clearly/Suddenly I’ve found my way: Religious conversion is frequently metaphorically presented as a person's finding the right path (think of the lyric in “Amazing Grace,” I was lost but now am found...) and seeing clearly, as in better understanding (...Was blind, but now, I see). The word sin is actually a ancient term taken from the practice of archery: to sin is to be off-the-mark, to miss the bullseye, to be off-target. The archetypal figure for conversion, of course, is Saul of Tarsus: blinded by the light of God, he is compensated for his loss through greater knowledge and insight (“inner seeing”), and becomes Paul the Christian apologist. Symbolically, through the change of his name to Paul, he announces his new identity to all the world. Additionally, Dante begins his Inferno with the image of himself as lost in a dark wood:

In the middle of the journey of our life
I came to myself within a dark wood
where the straight way was lost. (J. D. Sinclair)

Danteworlds glosses Dante’s decision to begin the poem in a dark wood as follows:

The dark forest--selva oscura--in which Dante finds himself at the beginning of the poem (Inf. 1.2) is described in vague terms, perhaps as an indication of the protagonist’s own disorientation. The precise nature of this disorientation--spiritual, physical, psychological, moral, political--is itself difficult to determine at this point and thus underscores two very important ideas for reading this poem: first, we are encouraged to identify with Dante (the character) and understand knowledge to be a learning process; second, the poem is carefully structured so that we must sometimes read “backwards” from later events to gain a fuller understanding of what happened earlier.

Characteristic of Dante's way of working, this “dark wood” is a product of the poet's imagination likely based on ideas from various traditions. These include the medieval Platonic image of chaotic matter--unformed, unnamed--as a type of primordial wood (silva); the forest at the entrance to the classical underworld (Hades) as described by Virgil (Aeneid 6.179); Augustine's association of spiritual error (sin) with a "region of unlikeness" (Confessions 7.10); and the dangerous forests from which the wandering knights of medieval Romances must extricate themselves. In an earlier work (Convivio 4.24.12), Dante imagines the bewildering period of adolescence--in which one needs guidance to keep from losing the "good way"--as a sort of "meandering forest" (erronea selva).

Other popular songs using similar language: Johnny Nash, “I Can See Clearly Now,” or the old gospel standard, "The Unclouded Day," covered by Don Henley on his first solo album.

Love’s sweeter days: In contrast to our singer, the old man is beyond sexual desire, the physical expression of erotic love; all passion is spent. Here’s Tristran in Tennyson's Idylls of the King, speaking to Iseult: “May God be with thee, sweet, when old and gray, / And past desire!” Remember that there is sexual love, or eros, and a "higher" love, Platonic, chaste, and done in good faith: caritas ("charity").

And in his eloquent way/I think he was speaking of you: Do not be fooled into thinking that the “you” being addressed is necessarily the singer’s “lover” in an erotic sense. Indeed, the use of love in this song seems idealized in the Platonic sense. The lyrics are deliberately ambiguous on this point, and besides, religious conversion is often imagined figuratively in physical terms--even sexual. Notice the figurative language in the following poem by John Donne (“Batter my heart, three-person'd God...”), with its use of terms such as “enthrall” (a double entendre meaning to enslave or to enchant, beguile) and “ravish” (to be taken sexually by force):

Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv’d, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth’d unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

You are so lovely/You didn't have to say a thing: “You” remains silent and mute throughout, the object of attention and desire, but “lovely” as well, rather like a picture--"pretty as a picture." To me, an unavoidable association with the image of silent loveliness is the subject of Da Vinci’s sphinx-like figure in the painting titled Mona Lisa.

The light: Again, the use of the metaphor of seeing as religious awakening and understanding, although the phrase can mean knowledge in a general sense. Additionally, Jesus Christ is "the light of the world."

A small brown leather book: As in the use of the term “old man,” here again is the substitution of general terms (common nouns/names) where one might expect a proper name (e.g., “Bible”). Nonetheless, the deliberately vague identity of the book doesn't compromise what we are to understand is its great value. The phrase, small brown leather book, allows us to associate the word “book” with wisdom (just as we associate wisdom with the “old man”). Still, the book, made of brown leather, presumably rules out a math textbook, phone book, match book, sociology textbook, and so on, and activates the inevitable association of the word “leather” with the word “Bible.” Is the old man to be understood as a preacher, a minister, a priest? Or simply a mysterious wanderer who passed on to our narrator the wisdom he had acquired through his travels, written down (contained) in the book?

Til I heard you whisper/Took you up all in my arms: These lines are delivered at the climactic, emotional peak of the music. The use of “whisper” suggests the personal nature of his religious experience, although the word is (again) sufficiently ambiguous to also allow us to imagine his lover whispering the sweeter things of love in his ear (The Beatles: “Do You Want To Know a Secret?” The answer: “I’m in love with you”). "Til I heard you whisper" also suggests "the calling" that accompanies any kind of profound religious conversion. Why is it a whisper, a calling? Because God doesn't mail letters to his chosen: he speaks. “Took you up all in my arms” speaks both to the embrace of a loved one but also the full embrace of an idea, the act of surrendering physically to an overwhelming desire, the fulfillment of an emotional need, a reconciliation, the end of a powerful struggle, the embracing act of antagonists at the end of a long battle.

Dedicated to the memory of Bryan MacLean and Arthur Lee

Bristlecone Pine

In respect to Earth Day 2008, I thought I'd write in honor of North America's oldest known living tree, the Methuselah Tree, a bristlecone pine estimated to be very near 5,000 years old (not the one pictured, although the picture is of a bristlecone pine). I first heard of the bristlecone pine through a song I first heard performed by Jim Salestrom about a decade ago. At the time, I was acting as Interim Director of the Museum of Nebraska Art, and Jim had contacted me about the possibility of doing a concert (a one-man show) at the museum in the spring of 1999. Given that I'd known of Jim (which is to say, not personally) for over twenty years--originally from Kearney, Nebraska, he had formed in the mid-1970s a band called Timberline which had a Top 10 chart hit in 1976 entitled "Timberline"--I immediately agreed. I spoke with Jim after his marvelous concert, and he signed several CDs for me, among them his album The Messenger, which contains the song titled "Bristlecone Pine." He performed many songs that day, but to me the most brilliant was "Bristlecone Pine," which I must say is one of the most sublimely beautiful, which is to say, haunting, songs I've ever heard.

Way up in the mountains on a high timberline
There's a twisted old tree called the bristlecone pine
The wind there is bitter; it cuts like a knife
It keeps that tree holding on for dear life

But hold on it does, standing its ground
Standing as empires rise and fall down
When Jesus was gathering lambs to his fold
The tree was already a thousand years old

Now the way I have lived there ain't no way to tell
When I die if I'm going to heaven or hell
So when I'm laid to rest it would suit me just fine
To sleep at the feet of the bristlecone pine

And as I would slowly return to this earth
What little this body of mine might be worth
Would soon start to nourish the roots of that tree
And it would partake of the essence of me

And who knows what's found as the centuries turn
A small spark of me might continue to burn
As long as the sun does continue to shine
Down on the limbs of the bristlecone pine

Now the way I have lived there ain't no way to tell
When I die if I'm going to heaven or hell
When I'm laid to rest it would suit me just fine
To sleep at the feet of the bristlecone pine
To sleep at the feet of the bristlecone pine

Music and Lyrics by Hugh Prestwood
© Hugh Prestwood Music

I love the image of the bristlecone pine, an utterly pagan conception of eternity, and the way the singer imagines himself achieving eternal life through his body's nourishing of that old, gnarled tree. What I also like about the song is the way it enacts a sort of Nietzschean, pre-Christian, concept of religious thought, of a religion that imagines both the soul and eternity, or eternal life, as a part of a natural process, with the images of eternity found in nature itself.

Scientists have refused to disclose the precise location of California's Methuselah Tree, fearing acts of vandalism. I have no trouble with this policy, primarily because the potential vandals are surely misguided, and not for the obvious reasons: they have imagined their relationship with the tree totally backwards. The point is not to take apart the tree, and hence have a sterile piece of eternity; the point is to partake of the tree's existence, to nourish the tree with one's own body, and achieve eternity thereby.

Mondegreen, Pt. 4: Lucy in Disguise With Diamonds

A few weeks ago I began to explore the mondegreen, the unintentional mishearing of a verbal utterance enabled by homophonic ambiguity. The first venture, "Dead Ants Are My Friends, A-Blowin’ in the Wind," was followed by a second entry, "Betty and the Jets." The third, which I wrote on Easter Sunday exploring the implications of the Biblical mondegreen, I titled "Melon Calling Baby." I have said throughout my discussions of the mondegreen that I'm not so much interested in it as a form of "error" as I am in the way it is a sort of creative interaction with the song's actual lyrics. In my “Betty and the Jets” entry, I’d suggested the existence of the mondegreen, at least insofar as lyrics are concerned, is a consequence of a message being deformed once it is subject to electronic transmission, a technology which emphasizes the received nature of messages.

If information available on the web is correct, then the origin of John Fred (pictured) & His Playboy Band’s marvelous #1 hit of early 1968, “Judy in Disguise (With Glasses),” was the result of John Fred's (actual name: John Fred Gourrier) mishearing The Beatles' lyric, "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," as "Lucy in Disguise with Diamonds." Hence, “Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)” is one song, at least, that we can definitively point to as a song actually invented or created through mondegreen deformation. The relationship between the two songs is rather obvious, with "Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)" being a pastiche of the earlier tune. There is a match between the bi-syllabic names Lucy/Judy, in which the glyph "L" of Lucy is turned around in mirror-image form to become a "J" (as in "John"), while the phoneme "d" in Judy (and also "Fred") nicely alliterates with the "d" in disguise, just as the "-cy" of Lucy alliterates with the "s" phoneme of “sky.” Additionally, "With Glasses" is a sort of deliberate devaluation of "With Diamonds" (glass being a sort of cheap imitation of a diamond).

Many websites are available that contain the lyrics to "Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)," but I'll present the following lyrics as being a faithful transcription--with one exception, clearly indicated. Highlighted words or phrases are glossed below:

Judy in disguise, well that’s what you are
Lemonade pies with your brand new car
So cantaloupe eyes come to me tonight
Judy in disguise with glasses

Keep wearin’ your bracelets, and your new Rara
And cross your heart, yeah, with your livin’ bra
A chimney sweep sparrow with guise [guys?]
Judy in disguise with glasses

Come to me tonight
Come to me tonight
Taking everything in sight
Except for the strings on my kite

Judy in disguise, hey that’s what you are
Lemonade pies, you got your brand new car
So cantaloupe eyes come to me tonight
Judy in disguise with glasses

Come to me tonight
Come to me tonight
Taking everything in sight
Except for the strings on my kite

Judy in disguise, what you aiming for
A circus of horror, yeah yeah,
Well that’s what you are,
You made me a life of ashes
I…guess…I'll…just…take…your…glasses

Lemonade Pies: At the very least, this phrase is a pastiche of "marmalade skies" of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" (LSD), although the phrase may be a reference to the sheer size of Lucy's stylish (and presumably yellow) sunglasses, possibly large hooped (yellow) earrings, or perhaps even the characteristic color of her clothing. An inevitable association, I'm somewhat hesitant to mention, is the word "Pie" with female genitalia. The slang phrase, "Hair Pie" (cf. Captain Beefheart and His Magic Band's Trout Mask Replica), is a slang term for female genitalia that one may "eat," that is, perform oral sex. The meaning of "lemonade" given the terms of this reading hardly needs to be made explicit.

Cantaloupe eyes: Again, a pastiche, this time of of the collocation "kaleidoscope eyes" of LSD. The word kaleidoscope is derived from the Greek words kalos, meaning beautiful, and eidos, meaning form, and hence does not refer to colors as such, although the child's toy referred to as a "kaleidoscope" often produces startling color combinations. Actually, the word "kaleidoscope" refers to the shifting colored shapes one can see at the end of the scope, not the colors themselves. "Cantaloupe eyes" therefore seems to be a surreal metaphor at its farthest reach, but in any case refers to the shape of her eyes (or perhaps her glasses) and not their color.

Your new Rara: "Rara" is a reference to a chic brand of women's clothing, particularly a stylish kind of sexy dress. Hence "new Rara" reiterates the "new car" of the previous stanza, suggesting the vast disposable income of the femme fatale's parents. The implication is that she is spoiled and pampered, like the "rich bitch girl" in Hall and Oates' "Rich Girl" ("You can rely on the old man's money").

Cross your heart, yeah, with your livin' bra: A reference to the "Playtex Living Bra," that is, a brand of brassiere introduced in the mid-60s employing an innovative "cross your heart" means of breast support (as the adman's slogan went), meaning a brassiere that could provide more comfortable and more shapely support. In 1968 this particular lyric was quite provocative, although it may be hard to believe now. My wife Becky and I both remember the "livin' bra" lyric to be the subject of sensational conversation when we (at the time) were still in junior high. As my friend Tim Lucas pointed out to me, John Fred ventured into territory with this lyric that The Beatles wouldn't tackle until "Ob La Di, Ob La Da" ("Life goes on...bra!") in late 1968. "Burn your bra," was a feminist slogan in the 1960s, the symbolic casting off of middle-class, bourgeoisie repression. Our femme fatale is not a feminist.

Chimney sweep sparrow with guise: Most sites containing the lyrics to this song have the word "guise"--but is it actually the homophone of "guise," guys? For me, this is probably the most elusive line in the entire song. If the word is "guise," then to what does the metaphorical phrase, "Chimney sweep sparrow," refer? But if the word is "guys," then the lyric is more intelligible, the swift, swooping, darting flight of a chimney sweep sparrow being the key image. "Chimney sweep sparrow with guys" would then be descriptive of her behavior, flitting from one "guy" (boy) to the next, the repetitive behavior of our femme fatale to "seduce and abandon" the boys who fall under her spell. She engages in "serial dating," but is loyal to no one boy--"guy." Mary Wells, in "My Guy," sings, "I'm stickin' to my guy like a stamp to letter/Like birds of a feather we stick together." Not so of our "Judy in disguise."

Except for the strings on my kite: Perhaps an oblique reference to The Beatles song, "Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite" from Sgt. Pepper's. It seems more likely, however, that "the strings on my kite" is a metaphor for male sexual arousal, the erection our narrator has whenever he's near our femme fatale. Thus the utterance, "Taking everything in sight/Except the strings on my kite," means she's quite willing to "make out," indeed, is quite aggressive when doing so, but refuses to "put out," or engage in sex. Hence our narrator is turned on by her behavior, but complains of the lack of sexual fulfillment, of consummation. In other words, she's a "tease."

What you aiming for: Our narrator's admission that he's suspicious of her motives, that is, is fundamentally afraid of her. That she's a mystery to him is suggested by her (sun)glasses which disguise her, not her appearance, but what she actually desires "in her heart."

Circus of horror: Circus of Horrors was a British film released in 1960, a loose adaptation of Phantom of the Opera set within a circus. Interestingly, several of its characters figuratively wear masks: either disfigured or seeking a disguise, their visages are restored and/or modified by reconstructive surgery. Additionally, the film featured prominently the pop song Look for a Star on its soundtrack. The lyric, "A circus of horror...is what you are," is actually the most explicit lyric in the entire song in terms of its characterization of the femme fatale: she may be beautiful in appearance, but in reality she is a monster, hiding her real nature by means of her disguise.

You made me a life of ashes: The goal of the femme fatale may or may not be conscious, but in any case she initiates a series events that result in the complete destruction of the male--not his death, but the complete destruction of his world. Her objective is not to destroy him, but rather his world, to initiate in the male a crisis of subjectivity, the ontological destruction of everything he believed to be certain. Hence the appropriateness of the metaphor, "life of ashes." While I cannot "prove" it--nor do I have any inclination to do so--I choose to believe that John Fred had in mind the famous image of Sue Lyon from Stanley Kubrick's Lolita (1962), which seems to me an image which sufficiently captures the femme fatale he was trying, impressionistically, to sketch.

One final remark: "Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)" is referred to by some as "bubblegum," but I think this incorrect. Prior to recording the song, John Fred had worked with several prominent New Orleans musicians, including members of Fats Domino's band and Mac Rebennack (Dr. John). I agree with those who see the song as R&B with psychedelic features; its overt allusion to "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds" also recommends it as an example of psychedelia.

Exergue: For those interested, "Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)" is one of the mid-60s Top 40 songs "covered" (as it were) on the Residents' album "The Third Reich 'n' Roll," apparently because the Residents were from Louisiana, as was John Fred.

Whistle While You Read

Whistle [OE. hwistle] An act of whistling; a clear shrill sound produced by forcing the breath through the narrow opening made by contracting the lips; esp. as a call or signal to a person or animal; also as an expression of surprise or astonishment; rarely, the action of whistling a tune. [OED]

TCM's screening a few months ago of several films in Columbia's Whistler series (eight films 1944-48, seven of them starring Richard Dix) prompted me to think about how whistling is used in movies and in music, the way it is employed and what it signifies when it is used. I've always very much enjoyed the Whistler series--several installments of which, incidentally, were directed by William Castle. The Whistler began as a CBS radio series in 1942 and ran until 1955 (during which time, additionally, were made the eight films mentioned above). Each episode began with the haunting opening theme--whistled, of course--while the slightly sinister narrator introduced himself, saying to the listener, "I am the Whistler and I know many things, for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak."

The god-like omniscience of the Whistler has always vaguely suggested to me the mechanism of Fate or Destiny itself, since He (the voice was male) knows the secret desires (what is "hidden in the hearts") of men and women, what obsessive, overwhelming desire drives them and has distorted or deformed them--and hence will destroy them ("character is fate"). Although I haven't researched this topic in depth, the figure of the Whistler is most likely distantly related to the figure of the Pied Piper (a pipe is form of whistle), the mysterious musician dressed in many colors whose piping hypnotically lures the children of Hameln off to their doom (the Grimm Brothers' version). It is this association we have with whistling that Peter Gabriel, for instance, invokes in "Intruder" (Peter Gabriel, 1980).

In movies whistling is often associated with surprise (just about every World War II movie) but also a signal of attraction, a culturally symbolic gesture made by an American male to proclaim (without the use of speech) his approval, erotically speaking, of a particular dame. In music, whistling can also signify contentment or happiness ("Don't Worry, Be Happy"), solitary, melancholy contemplation ("(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay"), self-absorbed autoeroticism ("Centerfold"), pleasant, relaxing idleness ("I Love to Whistle"; also, the theme from The Andy Griffith Show), or even merely a way to pass the time, to avoid monotony when speech is either impossible or forbidden ("Colonel Bogey March"; "Whistle While You Work" from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs), but it is always is associated with a solitary individual alone with his thoughts, even if that individual is within a crowd. A popular "crooner" such as Bing Crosby frequently whistled in his songs, an act often signifying self-contentment but also an unrestrained joie de vivre.

Ten Representative Recordings Featuring Whistling:

“Colonel Bogey March”—A song popularized by British soldiers during World War I. In the game of golf, a “bogey” is, of course, a designation for being one stroke over par. Legend has it that the tune was inspired by two golfers, known to the song’s composer, who preferred to whistle two descending notes rather than shouting “Fore!” Although written in 1914, “Colonel Bogey March” later became, famously, the theme song to the highly successful World War II movie, The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957). Widely known as an avid golfer, Bing Crosby may have been inspired to adopt his frequent practice of whistling because of this song (long before the 1957 film, of course).
The Bangles, “Walk Like an Egyptian”
Bobby Bloom, “Montego Bay”
Bing Crosby, “Moonlight Becomes You”
Peter Gabriel, “Intruder”
Peter Gabriel, “Games Without Frontiers”
J. Geils Band, “Centerfold”
Kay Kyser and His Orchestra, “I Love to Whistle” (Sully Mason, vocal)
Bobby McFerrin, “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”
Otis Redding, "(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay"

Virtually all of these songs were huge hits, incidentally. Is the fact that they all contain whistling simply coincidental, or do most people enjoy songs with whistling as much as I do?

Hazel Court, 1926-2008

The sad news arrived yesterday that British actress Hazel Court died at age 82. I never met her, although she was very supportive of my and David's forthcoming book on the Roger Corman Poe Cycle (1960-64), Nevermore (link is on the right), to be published by Tomahawk Press. Indeed, Hazel's own autobiography is forthcoming--very soon--from Tomahawk Press, and it saddens me that she never lived to see it in print. Hazel had expressed great interest to David about our Nevermore book, and had agreed to read the relevant chapters on the films in which she had appeared and contribute additional relevant information to our discussion. Sadly, that will never happen, but it only reaffirms the urgency with which David and I must complete the work, as many of the surviving individuals involved in the Poe films are also in their 80s. An overview of Hazel's career can be found here, while Tim Lucas wrote a brief eulogy that I found quite touching.