Cranial Gunk

I know exactly how Hedwig got into my head. It was Wayne County being interviewed in a BBC documentary about the Velvet Underground’s “Walk on the Wild Side”. Then I remembered this compilation CD that I got through my Mojo subscription, I Love New York Punk. Wayne County’s “Fuck Off” is the second track.

And that led me to Hedwig.

“Wicked Little Town” in particular.

I am prone to earworms – Not the dog kind – But the kind that has a song you annoyingly don’t know all the words to running through your head all day and all night. Some people like to draw a line down the middle and divide the songs they hear into good ones and bad ones (the latter being more likely to become an earworm than the former). I used to do that too but nowadays like to think that being bombarded with all different types of music, speeches, and sounds over the course of a day (every day), a song must possess something  spectacular to be able to stick around in my head past a week.

The Hedwig song is a good song.

Sort of sad but inspiring.

These lines that are my favorite (or at least they’re the ones I hear over and over again in my head):

That when everything starts breaking down
You take the pieces off the ground
And show this wicked town
Something beautiful and new

You think that luck has left you there
But maybe there’s nothing
Up in the sky but air

And there’s no mystical design
No cosmic lover preassigned
There’s nothing you can find
That cannot be found

Sort of sad because it puts the burden of life on us and the consequences of our decisions without giving us an out – a divine supernatural force like God or the devil or fate or destiny to blame when the puzzle we’re putting together doesn’t look like the picture on the box. 

And sort of inspiring because it says we can do something about it – We are empowered to change our situations – our “luck.”

The song appears twice in the movie. If you are familiar with the story, it occurs first after Luther leaves Hedwig in Kansas and Hedwig begins a friendship with Tommy Gnosis, who he comes to blame for his failure. Hedwig’s relationship to Tommy is bookended by the song. At the end of the movie, it’s Tommy singing the song to Hedwig (a reverse of when the song is first heard).

It’s a wistful kind of song perfect for stereotypical Mondays, Wednesdays, and rainy Sundays – gray fall skies (do I need to tell you what my week has been like?).

I wouldn’t call it an earworm (or ohrwurm) as defined by EarwormsResearch.org – “the earworm phenomenon – getting a catchy, annoying little song, tune, or jingle stuck in one’s head“ – though the song has been stuck in my head.

Then again worms aren’t all bad. Slimy and squirmy, the earthworm feeds the earth – enriching soil in its wake. From daisies to tulips, corn to cotton, the earthworm helps keep soil healthy so we can plant and grow and clothe and feed. The earworm might just as effectively cultivate the mind.

It was pop in its day but a classic today. It’s the song I have the strongest memory of from my father’s record collection. It popped into my head when I wrote about Rosanne Cash’s List. It’s the music my father listened to. It’s the music I listen to. And I think my kids like it too – I’ve played it for them once or twice – now and then.

The Platters’ Twilight Time.

Heavenly shades of night are falling, it’s twilight time
Out of the mist your voice is calling, ’tis twilight time
When purple-colored curtains mark the end of day
I’ll hear you, my dear, at twilight time.

Deepening shadows gather splendor as day is done
Fingers of night will soon surrender the setting sun
I count the moments darling till you’re here with me
Together at last at twilight time.

Wow.

Purple-colored curtains mark the end of day – Deeping shadows gather splendor as day is done – Fingers of night will soon surrender the setting sun…

These are the lines my mind has them sing over and over again. These are the lines I wait for as I hit the back button on my iPod over and over again.

I like the imaginary of Cinemascope Technicolor curtains flowing gently downwards to hide a theater stage that closes a Hollywood heyday musical about zealous lovers.

I like the imaginary of a fist slowly unclenching, palm up, silhouetted fingers peeling back to reveal a bright orange fruit.

Bob Dylan – Jim Morrison – Patti Smith. I don’t question their lyrics as poetry – images from words that exist without instrumental accompaniment. “Twilight Time” reminds me there is a legacy of great writing out there.  I just have to keep my eyes and ears and mind open.

I Googled “Twilight Time,” “Twilight Time Song”,” and ended up at a Wikipedia entry informing me the lyrics were written by Buck Ram (who according to another Wikipedia entry was a songwriter, producer, and arranger most known for his work with The Platters. The music written by a group in the 1940s called The Three Suns.