On a rainy day, thinking about a song I used to listen to a lot in my teens, and songwriters as poets, and painters as poets. Which is where Joni Mitchell came in, as she is all of those things. Some of her rhymes can be a bit off the mark, but the whole thing just works.
There is always a song for every day, and every situation I find myself in. It's how I cope. During this whole weird time I've had a growing song list that I listen to when walking. I listen at night with headphones on and music too loud, or drive alone with the music too loud, always remembering it's deafening whenever I have a passenger. I feel deeply, and often cry a lot, which is the effect I would want to have if I'd written those songs. Not to make people sad, but to make them feel too much. I know it's something I could never do, so I give all the credit, all the emotion, to those who can, and do.
This song came to me today when heavy, warm rain started to fall. I used to listen this, taped illegally from a vinyl album I got out of the the Oldham Library record section, loud through headphones after a night out in the rain-soaked streets of Manchester. Like most songs I go back to over and over, the words mean as much as the music. They always do...
It was a rainy night
We took a taxi to your mother's home
She went to Florida and left you
With your father's gun, alone
Upon her small white bed
I fell into a dream
You sat up all the night and watched me
To see, who in the world I might be
I am from the Sunday school
I sing soprano in the upstairs choir
You are a holy man
On the F.M. radio
I sat up all the night and watched thee
To see, who in the world you might be
You called me beautiful
You called your mother, she was very tanned
So you packed your tent and you went
To live out in the Arizona sand
You are a refugee
From a wealthy family
You gave up all the golden factories
To see, who in the world you might be
