Suzanne Vega: Three Songs
By Brian Rose
1982

This is an article from the autumn of 1982, the first year of "The CooP, the Fast Folk Musical Magazine." I was editing the written part of the record/magazine, and Jack Hardy, the initiator of the project, was in charge of the recordings. Most of my articles from that time were divided between light humor (a piece about my first performance) and ponderous attempts at definition (a piece about the so-called literary song). The following article, unfortunately, fits more in the latter category, but it may nevertheless be of interest to some since it is probably the first serious thing written about Suzanne Vega and her songs. This was a couple of years before the New York Times first reviewed one of her concerts, and well before her debut album on A&M. I cringe now at my use of the word trilogy to describe the three songs written about in the article. While it's true that the songs fit together thematically with broad-brushed medieval images of battlefields, knights and palaces, etc., I don't see any reason for forcing them into a construct that Suzanne, I'm sure, never thought about. I do take some satisfaction, however, in that I recognized "Tom's Diner" as breaking new ground in Suzanne's writing. I still appreciate it for its "whimsy and sagacity." Suzanne Vega: Three Songs By Brian Rose There are few young songwriters whose work is developed enough to stand much close analysis. Suzanne Vega, a twenty-three year old New Yorker, is a notable exception. Several of her songs have been included in past issues of The CooP: "Calypso," "Cracking," "Gypsy," and "Knight Moves." "Knight Moves" is one song of a trilogy that is essentially concerned with the battle of the sexes and a quest for individual revelation. The first song of the trilogy, "Marching Dream," sets the mythic stage on which all three songs take place: "I have dreamed that many men have marched across this field." In this song, Vega seeks to project the mundane failures of personal relationships onto a screen of epic and noble proportions. "I have wished that I could hear each secret told by lovers in the battle with each shade of red and gold." She dreams of "all men's arms," and wishes to read "the secret writing there" in hopes of finding an answer to some unnamed burden of self. The wistful desire expressed in the song is amplified by a lovely melody that almost seems to float on air. The song closes with the word "listening" repeated several times, but silence and loneliness is the implied response. The centerpiece of the trilogy is "The Queen and the Soldier," a sweeping landscape of a song in which the soldier presents himself before the young queen "for whom we all kill." The scene between the two characters is drawn with klieg light clarity--a knock on the door, the soldier states his intention to quit the battle, and she slowly lets him inside. The sexual implications are obvious as she leads him down the "long narrow hall" into her room with red tapestries. The soldier seeks an explanation for the battle raging outside. He attempts to crack the queen's royal veneer. In a moment of weakness she almost succumbs to his forthrightness, but out of fear and shame, she turns him away to be killed. The queen, an austere figure of poignant suffering, will not or cannot reveal the source of her suffering. We are left with nothing more than an opaque reference to a "secret burning thread." The narrative moves briskly, carried on the waves of a waltz melody of exquisite beauty. Vega's singing conveys child-like innocence and world weariness simultaneously. She accompanies herself on the guitar with simple arpeggios that abruptly give way to a rhythmic plucking of the chords in the last verse. "Out in the distance her order was heard." The staccato picking quickens the dramatic tempo as the soldier is killed. The cruelty of the queen's act is made all the more horrifying by her unyielding resistance to her own conscience and the offers of sympathy, even love, from the soldier. As he is killed and she goes on "strangling in the solitude she preferred," the song fades out quickly, leaving the listener with unreconcilable feelings of sorrow and anger. It is clear that "The Queen and the Soldier" is a self-referential song despite its broadly stroked cartoon mythology. Vega is or allows herself to become the queen. It is difficult to ascertain to what extent she is indicting herself--the mythic nature of the song allows for the revelation of forbidden emotions that bore to the heart of relations between men and women. Ultimately, the triumph of the song is the queen's refusal to bend, regardless of the horror of the situation. Vega does not let the queen fall into the arms of the gallant soldier, but neither is the queen allowed to find unjust freedom in her rejection of him. "The battle continued on..." In "Knight Moves," the queen "in one false move turns herself into a pawn." Is she falling in love? It isn't clear. "One side stone one side fire standing alone among all men's desire." The rapid strumming at the end of "The Queen and the Soldier" is repeated throughout "Knight Moves," but the baroque ballad style is replaced with a syncopated "modern" melody. After each verse the chorus asks the queen, "Do you love any, can you love one." By the end of the song, the constant accusations of the chorus become ridicule. "Walk on her blind side was the answer to the joke." In the first and last verses the "blurry night turns into a very clear dawn," but no image of an epiphany is revealed, and the song ends with the harping questions of the chorus. Although these songs were not written specifically as a trilogy, they form a discreet unit within Vega's repertoire. As a single statement this trilogy is best described as a cycle of three songs since there is no true resolution offered thematically or musically. Since its completion last year, she has written one song in particular that breaks new ground, "Tom's Diner," an a cappella piece of whimsy and sagacity. There's a woman On the outside Looking inside Does she see me? No, she does not really see me 'Cause she sees her own reflection. For the time being, Suzanne Vega "would rather be a riddle." To learn more about Brian Rose, [photographer, singer/songwriter, founding father of Fast Folk] - check out his website!

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