I used to dream of owning an air conditioner. Then I
got one. I used to dream of owning a microwave oven.
Then I got one. Now I dream of being a "Mysterious
Woman," which I know will remain my impossible
unfulfilled dream, since I blab everything. This
song probably comes from listening to Suzanne Vega's
albums one too many times. I love her music. Oh ...
to be of those elusive sirens of the night. Oh ...
to keep everyone guessing. Oh ... to be a mysterious
nightbird in flight. Oh ... well.
Writes Christine Lavin about her song Mysterious Woman on the album
Good Thing He Can't Read My Mind. This is a funny, yet beautiful,
song where half-digested images of Suzanne Vega, and from her songs,
blend with Lavin's reactions and personal dreams. It is a strange
bridge between two songwriters of different temperaments and a
unique chance to listen to Suzanne's songs from another person's
point-of-view. Although Mysterious Woman obviously derives from
listening to Suzanne Vega, it is very distinctly a Lavin song, and
would probably be fascinating even for a person who knows nothing
about Suzanne. (There is a hilarious, totally idiotic
"modernistic poem" within the song that has been interpreted as a
parody of a Vega song, which I cannot agree with.)Lavin is often the semi-detached observer. With her witty songs and good-natured cynicisms she uncovers the hidden motives and reasons behind others, as well as her own, behaviour. She has a keen eye for the petty details that unite us all and make us human. And she is irresistibly funny.
Although a few songs are contrived and overly witty, Lavin never scorns or condemns. In fact, her disarming humour very successfully evokes understanding and compassion for others. In many songs the speaker, who is very easy to identify with, conveys this sympathy by a single word or phrase indicating that she, and we, are just the same.
Lavin's wit is both verbal, intellectual and emotional. She frequently hits the nail on the head, as in the lines "he is not unhappy / he is not satisfied". This is a very accurate description of what I often feel -- not even Suzanne could have said it better. Lavin is the outsider among politically correct vegetarians and athletes, yuppies, Sensitive New Age Guys and "high-heeled women with non-functioning feet". The love affairs she describes are mostly bleak substitutes for an impossible romantic ideal. Why not have a Cold Pizza For Breakfast instead?
In a time when stars and celebrities are supposed to be preachers and perfect examples of the modern virtues (if they are not totally depraved), it is comforting to hear someone sing that "the joggers are jogging their lives away" and complain that "no matter what it is I order / I know there's an avocado / hidden on this plate" when "... a plate of pommes frites / is all I need". It is so human.
Unfortunately, "the reality of me / cannot compete / with the dreams you have of her" though "the reality of me / is probably much like / the reality of her". Singing about the futility of love, Lavin is capable of a sweet, melancholy voice that approaches the romantic tone of a Leonard Cohen song:
She hasn't seen him in thirty years
The mention of his name doesn't bring on tears
If you ask her,
"Are there any regrets?"
She'll tell you, "no"
But she never forgets
But Lavin's humour extends even to sulking:
I'd like to tell you a story
about how I've alienated everybody I've ever met
in my whole entire life
but I can't... 'cause you're so stupid
you probably don't even know
what a big word like alienate even means
Still, Lavin wants "... to be a mysterious woman / tantalize you
with my come-hither stare" like a Marlene Dietrich and "write
mysterious songs". But, as she has observed herself, she is less
successful in capturing the poetic and mysterious qualities of life.
Her songs are a bit too obvious, slightly superficial and she
sometimes falls into a boring sentimentality that fails to
communicate the intended atmosphere or sympathy. This is most
conspicuous when she leaves the sphere of the alienated urban people
she understands so well. But such minor faults are only natural for
a songwriter as productive as Lavin, and she should be judged for
the good songs that make up the majority of her work.Musically, many of Lavin's songs are reminiscent of the early Joni Mitchell, or Suzanne Vega before the Lou Reed concert of 1979. As Suzanne has said, listening to this kind of music (folk) is like drinking water -- it is something you can always go back to. I often do. While the Velvet Underground's important albums lurk in their covers, this is the music I really play a lot. Lavin is also a fine singer and guitarist. Her plain and sweet singing voice is somewhat similar to Suzanne's, although she lacks Suzanne's strong, deep and beautiful speaking voice.
Christine Lavin has been around for quite some time. She was among the first to record on COOP (later renamed Fast Folk) and she has released several albums and singles. Lavin belongs to the New York folk circuit, but has even toured Australia. I find her by far superior to most of the female singer/songwriters who have enjoyed brief commercial success in the wake of Suzanne Vega's singular achievement.
Lavin's recent albums on Rounder Records are well produced and very attractive to listen to. Good Thing He Can't Read My Mind is my personal favourite. Unfortunately, they are difficult to find in Europe, but since they are available on CD, your record store should be able to order them from USA. If you like intelligent, contempor- ary folk songs, there is a good chance you will like Christine Lavin.
Christine Lavin's albums on Rounder Records (Philo):
Future Fossils (1984)
Beau Woes and other problems of modern life (1986)
Good Thing He Can't Read My Mind (1988)
Another Woman's Man (1988)
Attainable Love (1990)
Compass (1991)
Live at the Birchmer: "Buy Me Bring Me Take Me: Don't Mess
My Hair!!!" (together with Patty Larkin, Megon McDonough,
& Sally Fingerett, 1991)
Hugo Westerlund
I want to be a mysterious woman
tantalize you with my come-hither stare
maybe it will work a little better
if you pretend I was nevet a Girl Scout
and I never learned how to twirl baton
ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
I feel a mysterious song coming on
I think I hear I scream
I think I hear ice cream
melting all over
the rock hard bread
which is stuck to
the chicken parts
long since dead
they're in a cold box
within a cold box
within a worm box
(which is my room)
there's a ceiling
there's a floor
there's a wall
there's a window
look at the moon
it's a marble, it's a button
it's a sequin, it's a polkadot
stiched into the velvet sky
the pocket of Sir Lancelot
who is riding on Pegasus
who is fighting with the Pleiades
who is fighting Cassiopeia
who is fighting with Hercules
who is fighting with Betelguex
who is fighting with the Milky Way
that is stuck to the Bird's Eye Peas
that is stuck to the ice cube tray
that is stuck to the chicken parts
that is stuck to the rock-hard bread
hey, what am I doing here?
I should be home
defrosting my refrigerator
But I want to be a mysterious woman
I hate being so easy to read
hey, bartender, give me a light
yeah, a Bud light
and a plate of pommes frites
is all I need