Tag: classic rock

“Wonderland” Song Analysis

I am aware that most people hear “Wonderland”1 by Big Country as a simple love song. And you would be halfway correct in thinking that, by saying that, I have implied that I do not think “Wonderland” is a simple love song.

It has taken me an almost full year (and what an obsessive year it has been, haha!) since I first heard this song to realize that my perception of it is…probably at least a little bit unconventional. You’ve heard of a conventional love song, haven’t you? Well, I do wonder if this one may be, then, an unconventional love song, though probably not in the way you’re thinking. (What way are you thinking of? What does “unconventional”, much less an “unconventional love song,” imply to you?)

While the chorus alone points to it being a conventional-enough love song, so much of the context of this song (almost too much) seems to point to where it could transcend the trappings of a love song. Still, of course, this is my analysis of it, written through my personal lens and my biases (although that is individually true of everything anybody ever writes…). I mean, just because the songwriter, Stuart Adamson, was a heterosexual man and intended this song to exclusively be sung to/written for a woman does not actually mean that everyone can and will possibly hear it that way (plus, the song’s narrator never specifies the gender of his partner – the person he’s singing to/for), not to mention the fact that not everything a person writes is about themself, even if everything they write or say is a reflection of themself (and at least, to me, those are two separate ideas which I believe can apply to this song). Personally, I think the less specific a writer is, the more opportunity there is to embrace many diverse ideas about the subject of their writing. So, this is just one of those ideas among, I would hope, a sea of ideas.

With that said, I intend to analyze how this song remarks upon more than just a type of love restricted by the conventions of a simple love song, and, to a lesser extent (being my analysis), to exhibit why I think it’s one of the greatest songs ever written. (And no, I do not lightly bestow that concept/title on just any song.)

The first 25 seconds of this song makes it more than worth it to hear on repeat 30+ times in a row: the light percussion and the ringing guitar riff (played by Bruce Watson), followed quickly by that HUGE drum sound courtesy of good production choices (thank you, Steve Lillywhite) and Mark Brzezicki on drums that is just so exhilarating (and, from my listening perspective of Big Country’s first five albums, a rather trademark sound for them), and then that hard rock guitar riff (played by Stuart Adamson)…literally what better way is there to bait and hook a listener who loves rock music? Oh, and then of course Adamson comes in with that BEAUTIFUL “Woah-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ooooh” semi-screamed/yelled opening that is so full of admirable effort that you can forgive the scream (if, like me, you’re not a fan of hearing men screaming in music) and the brief little crack in his voice which I actually find so endearing…I’m sorry, but how was I not supposed to immediately love this song?

Musically, Watson’s guitar riff and Tony Butler’s bassline work together startlingly well to emulate the sense of wonderland – something vaguely dreamy or dream-like – that underscores everything more aggressive and subjectively overwhelming like Adamson’s guitar riffs and Brzezicki’s drums. It’s an incredible balance of ‘Here’s what the ideal (also known as wonderland) sounds like’ versus ‘Here’s what reality is/sounds like,’ and it’s displayed quite effectively in the arrangement. You can also hear this idea even better in the 12″ mix, as all of the instrumentation is far less restrained and the volume of the vocals is also turned up to better hear the harmonies punctuating the hopefulness of wonderland. (Not to mention that the 12″ mix offers the opportunity to hear Butler’s genius bass playing more isolated, and Brzezicki’s drums sound positively WILD! The outro also incorporates Adamson’s lively guitar lick that often introduced “Wonderland” in Big Country’s live performances.)

When it comes to the verses, I will analyze what role love plays in wonderland, and how the verses present evocative, thoughtful impressions to illustrate wonderland.

So for the first verse we are introduced to:

“If you could feel how I must feel
The winds of quiet change
If you could see what I must see
Still hidden in the rain
But when the thunder rolls
It comes and covers up my soul”

With lines like “If you could feel how I must feel –/The winds of quiet change,” and (my favorite, even though it’s conceptually a bit muddied) “But when the thunder rolls/It comes and covers up my soul,” the narrator clearly has an idea of what wonderland could be like (the former lines), all while voicing the reality of…well, reality (in the latter lines). Because not only is he certain he feels “the winds of quiet change” and that he sees what is “still hidden in the rain,” his idea of wonderland is someone not just believing these things, but knowing (feeling and seeing) them as confidently as he does. To quote the marvelous, beloved writer James Baldwin in proving how that idea relates to love, “If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.”2 As for the meaning of the line “But when the thunder rolls/It comes and covers up my soul,” I have immense gratitude to a friend for suggesting that he probably means the sound of thunder drowns out his soul – or, analyzed further, his environment that is represented by weather (thunder is usually conceptualized as scary…considering that it’s sounds that occur beyond human control) drowns out his introspection/his ability to hear and thus understand his soul.

The next two verses continue to reinforce what the narrator’s version of wonderland looks like and works the hardest to subvert the typical love song (and, as I hope to prove, it succeeds!).

“If you could hear what I must hear
Then nothing would replace
The fifty years of sweat and tears
That never left a trace
But when I look at you
I see you feel the same way too”

The first part of the verse is one of my favorite lyrics in the song: “If you could hear what I must hear/Then nothing would replace/The fifty years of sweat and tears/That never left a trace” because it is clear here that what the narrator means is ‘I don’t want this reality of fifty years of sweat and tears not leaving a trace – I wish this had made its mark actually, and I wish everyone acknowledged it!’ If it wasn’t already clear from the first verse what he meant, we come to understand that the narrator’s idea of wonderland is not needing to wonder about the future (because of the way the past was neglected); in his version of wonderland, the past was never neglected – it was properly acknowledged, felt, seen, and heard, and that knowledge and those feelings were built upon to create the future that wonderland represents. If you’re following me here, you may start to understand that, unconventionally, this is not just a love song to a person, let alone a singular person (but I’ll explain more later on). Finally, not only does the narrator evoke empathy through the lyrics “But when I look at you/I see you feel the same way too,” but it continues to reinforce what his idea of wonderland is like and how love fits into that – through empathy.

In the final, heart-achingly beautiful verse, we get:

“You still remember other days
When every head was high
I watched that pride be torn apart
Beneath a darker sky
With innocence within ourselves
We sing the same old song”

Most interestingly, the perspective in the first line of this verse abruptly shifts to narrate “You still remember other days when every head was high” before switching back to first person, “I watched that pride be torn apart beneath a darker sky.” The first line makes me ask: ‘Who remembers other days, when every head was high?’ We’re led to believe via the following line that the perspective in the first line is someone of a previous/older generation, and the narrator asserts that it is people within his generation who has witnessed the fall of said pride. The final lines of the verse beautifully illustrate his generation’s hope (and the hope he has for himself and his partner through wonderland): “With innocence within ourselves/We sing the same old song”. By relating to each other through a child-like optimism (the stage of life everyone goes through, when they’re as innocent as can be, and the ironic use of “we sing the same old song,” which is recognizing that everyone once knew that feeling of innocence and optimism and that it can and should be harnessed again, now), he hopes it will rally their motivation to create their ideal future or wonderland. (ALSO, to get meta for a moment, I used the term “rally” very deliberately, because musically, during the duration of those lines in the song specifically, Brzezicki strategically plays a militaristic-like drum roll there!) I also think it’s important to point out that the beginning of this verse deals with literally such dark, adult realities – “You still remember other days/When every head was high/I watched that pride be torn apart/Beneath a darker sky” – and it’s resolved by this mobilizing offer to return to (or more like: to bring back) childish innocence in order to break the cycle of these dark realities. Technically, that’s also what he’s asking of the person he’s singing to, like in the second verse, and who he’s ultimately asking to escape to wonderland with. Additionally, the childish connotations in the final two lines from the pre-chorus were also necessary, “And you will take my hand/And make believe it’s wonderland”, considering that ‘make believe’ is most often referred to as something that children play at (and, generally speaking, children tend to play make believe unrestrained, with very little inspiration needed – they create their own inspiration). And yet that all reads as very naïve – like ‘Yeah, so, if we all just pretended to have the same innocence we once had as children we could get along better and make more progress creating the future/reality we want instead of refusing to learn from or acknowledge the past so that our current reality is in some cases worse than ever before’ – but it’s also rather meta because it could also, therefore, still not be taken seriously (like, how often are children taken seriously to begin with!?), and I definitely think Adamson intentionally wrote it that way. (And what a great, legitimate example of when and where men should be asked “So how does fatherhood affect your music/writing ability?” the way music writers/interviewers always assume motherhood affects the work of women songwriters! But *coughs* that might be a rant for another post…or many other posts…)

To give you all a break after that very long, meandering commentary of a paragraph, my point, especially proven by that verse, is that the love meant to be found via wonderland is ultimately not meant for just a single person/lover/significant other/beloved/etc. – wonderland is his vision for the future as much as it is a place to escape to amid the everyday horrors of reality (amount of privilege not considered in the level of those horrors at this time…), and it is not meant for just one love but to be a loving place in general, for all.

Reaching what I will refer to as the pre-chorus, I will analyze them here separately from the rest of the chorus.

In short, in the pre-chorus “And you will take my hand/[and be with me in/make believe it’s] wonderland,” ‘wonderland’ acts most overtly as a method of escapism, although, based on all of the verses (and where I mentioned ‘reality/what is‘) prior to the choruses, we understand why that escapism is so necessary. To reiterate what I said two paragraphs ago, ‘wonderland’ is not just a place to escape to, but a place to dream; a place to escape to, in this case, for the narrator and the person (and people, overall!) he’s singing to, where they can imagine (dream) and thus build a loving, thoughtful, and respectful future that supercedes the present (a current time, therefore, which he is also implying is not loving, thoughtful, or respectful).

Finally for the chorus where I absolutely, shamelessly swoon:

“I am an honest man
I need the love of you
I am a working man
I feel the winter too”

To state what this chorus illustrates through a meme: it’s called vulnerability. Look it up. Maybe you’ll discover something wonderful. *coughs* Really, the chorus is simply a display of vulnerability, WHICH – YES, I’M GOING TO SAY IT – IS NOT POPULARLY SHOWN BY MEN, particularly vulnerability that is not demonstrated manipulatively (aka receiving benefits that are not mutually shared by the demonstration of vulnerability, such as men who think that being emotionally vulnerable with women entitles them to sex), and from the pre-chorus alone (at least I would argue that “And you will take my hand/And be with me in wonderland” is not a demand but a gentle, polite suggestion) we can absolutely infer that reciprocity is expected, so YES, it does bear acknowledging. In the rhythm of the chorus, supported by the unmistakably skipped drum beat and the bass that punctuates each line, the chorus sounds a lot like a list of how he describes himself – ‘I: am an honest man, need the love of you, am a working man, feel the winter too.’ It could also be understood as the ways in which he pursues the ideal world of wonderland (being honest and utilizing love in order to actively work toward the future he dreams of in wonderland) while admitting the barriers or cycles of negativity that exist to stall his efforts. The reason why I see the line “I feel the winter, too” as a barrier is because, to put this idea into context with the rest of the song, which I feel is also supported by context present in many other Big Country songs (easy context to find, though, such as in “In a Big Country”), it is a metaphor for depression and anxiety – “the winter” represents a state of being (mentally, emotionally, and physically) that freeze one’s endeavor to create the ideal world/state of reality that is sought after through wonderland. I also see the last line possibly being read ambiguously, as though mutually acknowledging that he and whoever he is singing to (particularly in the line “I need the love of you“) both “feel the winter”. Regardless, the last line works perfectly as the final line in the chorus because it acknowledges that progress is often not linear, as though to say that if one looks back at where one has been (and remembers all of the motives that keep one moving forward), it actually is easier to see where one needs to go; it is as hopeless a line as the rest of the song is hopeful, which is a reminder that the rest of the song is hopeful. (And that, I feel is necessary to add, is a devastatingly beautiful, unique attribute of Adamson’s songwriting, especially with Big Country.) I will say again that, in its entirety, the chorus acts as a display of vulnerability, which, therefore, must mean that vulnerability is also an expectation of wonderland, and if it is to be a loving place, it must also be a place to freely express that vulnerability. (NOW is this song on your list of, I don’t know, “Greatest Love Songs of All Time”?! Me, it’s just on my list of “Greatest Songs of All Time.” Love doesn’t need to have anything to do with it, although it could be a benefit…)

To return to the idea of conventional vs. unconventional love songs, overall, the most unconventional aspect of this love song is that, while the narrator’s love is clearly intended for one person (like a conventional love song), his hope represented through wonderland illustrates a more universal, shared and cultivated love that is not restricted to only himself and his partner. I actually specifically suggested that his hope for love extends to generations, which is broad enough to include everyone, anyway, but most importantly (I hope I’ve argued) for the future and future generations.

To sum up the perceived goal of this song in one sentence, I hear it sounding like this: We will learn from the past, dammit, and we will not stand for a future without love…and it will start with us, but we are not the only ones.

If I’m in the minority of people who appreciate even their favorite love songs to be a little political (hi, that’s the first time in this analysis I’ve specifically called it ‘political’!), that’s fine. I’m grateful to dream within “Wonderland” as much as I intend for it to inspire me to manifest my dreams outward, just as, I believe, Stuart Adamson hoped for through this song. As far as love is concerned, “Wonderland” is simply a song to hope with as much as a song to hope for.

  1. Big Country. Wonderland, jfng, bigcountryinfo.com/originals/wonderland.htm. Accessed 28 Jan. 2024.
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  2. BALDWIN, JAMES. “THE BLACK SCHOLAR INTERVIEWS: JAMES BALDWIN.” The Black Scholar, vol. 5, no. 4, 1973, pp. 33–42. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41065644. Accessed 29 Jan. 2024. ↩︎

“Hey Bulldog”: Who Did it Better?

In truth, I’ve posted and written about Fanny’s version of this song, “Hey Bulldog”, so much already, but I’m writing this new post because I’ve found that I actually do have something different to say about it, and I want to do so by intentionally comparing it to the original version.

If you aren’t already familiar with The Beatles’ version of this song (the original version), 1) you’re lucky, and 2) I would actually like to ask that you check it out for the purpose of this post (and I am embedding it here for your convenience).

When I listen to The Beatles’ version, I hear the end of the band. I hate to say that, because The Beatles’ material among their last three/four albums are my favorite from the band’s entire career, but I’m being honest. I hear their no-longer-togetherness in the production, of so many important parts of this song being recorded literally separately and overdubbed. And maybe my comparison for the sake of this post won’t land quite the same way because, in this case, I’m comparing Fanny’s live version of this song to The Beatles’ studio recording of it (since they never played it live), but trust me when I say that doing this is better…because if I compared The Beatles’ version of it to Fanny’s studio version of it, my comparison would be so much worse than it already is (for The Beatles; not for Fanny).

Listening to The Beatles’ version of this song, besides sounding detached, it strikes me how clinical it sounds. Maybe part of it is the production, but it sounds sterile – way too sanitary and overly polished for the lyrical AND musical thematic content of the song. It just doesn’t work quite as well as it could have, had it been more of a group/team effort in recording it.

Now, to finally address the version of this song that I posted and mentioned first – Fanny’s version of this song – I’m going to try to avoid reiterating my favorite thing about their version of this song (the extra verse they added in, which they got permission from the ex-Beatles themselves to add). Focusing on this particular live version of it, let’s talk about the way it opens – slowly, with Nickey Barclay’s piano not quite touching the main riff that opens The Beatles’ version, and June Millington’s fuzzed out guitar building toward the first verse.

Not only do Fanny purposefully choose not to introduce the song with its recognizable intro riff (which most people, whether they’re familiar with The Beatles’ music or not, can probably acknowledge as something they’ve heard before at the very least), but by letting its intro build slowly, they literally give the song space to distinguish itself from the original version. You’ll probably also notice that the pacing of Fanny’s live version drags a little bit, but that’s only a critique afforded to this live version. In spite of that, you know what else I hear in this live version that’s far – vastly – different from The Beatles’ version? Life. By god, I hear life. This song is living, breathing! Don’t you know the slower pace is just its heartbeat, steady and patiently willing to fulfill its lyrics’ very promise: “If you’re lonely, you can talk to me”?

And in that vein, something I believe I have talked about before, is that is how and why this song succeeds (far better than The Beatles’ version ever did) – because the way Fanny plays this song is honestly, graciously, and openly inviting discussion. “If you’re lonely, you can talk to me,” because “I know just what it’s like to listen to my fears,” and “You think you’re going/But you haven’t got a ride” (bolded lyrics and last quoted lyrics are Fanny’s revision and Fanny’s original verse, respectively); in spite of John Lennon’s dark and unsettling lyrics, Fanny’s version is championing empathy. Even Barclay’s adorably ad-libbed “Come on, bulldog! Dry your feet now!” is offering space for patience and empathy.

Somehow, too, I find that June Millington’s guitar solo is more vivacious, more realistic, and in that regard more interesting thematically for the song than John Lennon’s George Harrison’s whichever Beatle actually played it the original version’s solo which is fittingly volatile but only underpins what we already know and understand about/in the song. The lively nature of Millington’s guitar solo seems to indicate this idea that, ‘in spite of all of this paranoia and self doubt and also maybe the dark, vaguely threatening tone of my guitar, I’m open-minded.’ The riff with which it fades into the outro works similarly, but as a steady reinforcement that it’s true – that it’s being honest. Maybe that sounds crazy and unrealistic, because how the fuck do instruments sound like they’re telling the truth versus lying, but surely it also comes down to musicianship. And there is little to no dishonesty in June Millington’s guitar playing ever. And I would be remiss not to mention that the rest of the band’s musicianship reflects similarly, and if it didn’t, this version would sound a lot more like The Beatles’ version than it does, so: Fanny’s “Hey Bulldog” would certainly not succeed as well as it does without the essential rhythmic melody of Nickey Barclay’s piano (the piano riff, which this song was originally built around), nor the steady and groovy support of Jean Millington’s basslines or Alice de Buhr’s unwavering timing and straight-ahead, badass drumming, without which this song’s heartbeat would have very little heart, let alone a beat! Simply stated, if it were not for all of these elements working together honestly and empathetically (and also: joyously! You can tell in the performance that they’re all having fun! Try not to judge de Buhr, though; that’s just her usual intense face of concentration, which I love), it would not have that necessary tone of a collective effort. And that’s the tone that was missing from the original version all along: the tone of collectiveness!

Fanny’s version of this song is everything the song should have been. And if you haven’t heard Fanny’s studio version of “Hey Bulldog” off of their astounding album Fanny Hill (1972), I say to you: good luck. I find it difficult to restrain myself from listening to it on repeat for four hours minimum. Aren’t we lucky that it had the consolation of existing, after all!

“We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee” Song Analysis

A screenshot from my other blog: Anonymous asked: Hi! Just saw your post about Redbone and wanted to say I’d really love to hear your detailed thoughts on “We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee” and Redbone in general 💙
For reference, and so maybe you can listen to it while reading this analysis, here is a video of the studio version of the song that I base my analysis on!

The first time I heard “We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee” by Redbone in May of 2020, I wondered where the song had been all my life. I knew Redbone’s [greatest] hit “Come and Get Your Love”, which is on my anti-depression/happy/upbeat songs playlist, but it took me a long time to finally discover much more of Redbone’s music. But the first time I heard “We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee”, I thought, ‘Oh, what the fuck! A song about the TRUTH, finally!’ Yeah, maybe my finally! thought was nearly 50 years too late, but I thought that even if I’d had the chance to hear that song while I was in public school, learning about the full breadth of colonization’s harms when America was ‘discovered’ (which I didn’t learn until college) would have prepared me so much earlier for learning that later on – and yes, the knowledge of the real, honest history of America is painful, but at the same time it gives me hope that I can do better, with this knowledge of the past – I can make choices that are properly informed so that we do not repeat history, and I can only hope that the choices I make serve as an example of how to encourage a more respectful, less oppressive future for the country (people, land, water, communities) I call home.

That being said,“We Were All Wounded At Wounded Knee”, a song so politically and musically important [that it was blacklisted by the U.S. basically before it was ever even released as a single] deserves historical context before I delve into any sort of analysis of it. So please respect the journey through American history that is necessary to embark on in order to best understand what this song is all about!

Now, we will get to the historical context of the song right after this, but to keep the historical context fresh right before I get into the analysis of the song, I’d like to present some background information on the creation and release of “We Were All Wounded at Wounded Knee” first – background information on it as a single, and as the final song on side one of the album Wovoka (1973). I found this Youtube video where Pat Vegas [this song’s primary songwriter from the band] talks about the story behind this song: “I got together with a friend of mine named Sandy Baron, and we set up, and in five days, we wrote the lyrics, we put the music together, got the record pressed, and got it out. … But in [the U.S.], CBS says, ‘Nope, we don’t want it, we will not release it, we won’t touch it.’ I said, ‘Fine.’ So I snuck in to the Santa Ana plant where CBS prints the records, and I had 500 [singles, and paid for them to be] made, and I carried the 500 [singles] under my arm to Europe, ’cause I felt, you know, maybe Europe will feel different. And sure enough, it became the biggest record of the year!” Furthermore, “We Were All Wounded At Wounded Knee” was ONLY EVER on the U.K. version of Wovoka; no other released versions of Wovoka include the song, and I infer that is because the song was already successfully released as a single in Europe, and because the record company (CBS, which was originally Columbia Records, was bought by Sony in 1990, and then CBS was renamed Sony Music Entertainment in 1991; Sony Music Entertainment then split European operations into two separate labels – Epic Records and Columbia Records – so Wovoka and the single were originally released by the label that is currently known as Epic Records) had already refused to release the single in the U.S. (or anywhere, honestly – Pat Vegas singlehandedly did the work of promoting the single by taking the pressings to Europe, meaning that if he or the band hadn’t done that, the record company would have never done ANYTHING to release, let alone promote, the single, so the record company wasn’t about to include the song on an official album release, either). In my research on Discogs.com, it appeared that the ONLY publishing company that enabled the song to be released on Wovoka was April Music Ltd. (which was the same U.K. company that published the single), a company in the U.K. (that was renamed CBS Songs Inc. in 1983, then re-incorporated as a separate entity in 1996, then renamed in 2019 to ‘Universal Music Neighbouring Rights Limited’; which is to say, that all happened well after the release of Wovoka) so it’s almost singularly thanks to April Music Ltd./EMI April Music Inc. for its inclusion on ANY album release of Wovoka at all.

Now for the historical context of the song, the title of “We Were All Wounded At Wounded Knee” evokes two separate incidents in American history, both called Wounded Knee but with each of their own, historically specific titles – the Wounded Knee Massacre (1890), and the Wounded Knee Occupation (1973). Most importantly, the song is about the Wounded Knee Massacre, but with the very recent incident of the Wounded Knee Occupation (which started on February 27, 1973; the single was released in May, 1973, and Wovoka was recorded in June and October of 1973 and released in November, 1973), the band capitalized on the incident’s press being in the public’s consciousness to call back to the original event at Wounded Knee, which I’d suggest was a way to reinforce how history repeats itself. The song is, of course, mostly about the Wounded Knee Massacre, and if you don’t know anything about it, I’ll try to sum it up briefly before you go on to do your own research about it: the Wounded Knee Massacre (also known as the Battle of Wounded Knee) took place on December 29, 1890, near Wounded Knee Creek on the Lakota Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in South Dakota. The Battle is better known as a Massacre because it wasn’t much of fair battle between the combined group of Miniconjou and Hunkpapa Lakota and (as the song names specifically) the U.S. 7th Cavalry Regiment – when the 7th Cavalry went in to disarm the Lakota during a forced confinement to Wounded Knee Creek (the disarming of which was preceded by the ignorant troops witnessing the Lakota performing the rituals of the “Ghost Dance,” which was started by Wovoka – hence the album title! – and perceived it as a threat [of violence by the Lakota]). When a deaf Miniconjou Lakota man, Black Coyote’s, gun allegedly went off as the troops attempted to take it, the Regiment opened fire on the Lakota (many of whom had already been disarmed – as I mentioned, it was not a fair fight). About 250-300 Lakota were murdered, with 51 injured (some of whom died later), and 25 soldiers were killed with 39 wounded (6 of whom died later – critical thinking moment: why is there a specific number of “later on” deaths of [presumably white] American soldiers, while there isn’t a specific number of later deaths for the Lakota?). The Ghost Dance also deserves some additional context, which might also explain some other lyric references: briefly, the Ghost Dance was started by Northern Paiute spiritual leader Wovoka, who claimed that the ritual of the dance (which blended a messianic form of Christianity with traditional Native beliefs) would end settler colonialism, reunite the living with the spirits of the dead, and that in doing so, the dead would fight on behalf of the living; and apparently the Lakota’s version of the Ghost Dance was more millenariastic than Wovoka’s original version – the Lakota’s Ghost Dance, in addition to including Wovoka’s original teachings, appeared to more specifically promise that the colonizers would vanish and that the bison would return. But overall, the general idea of the Ghost Dance was to bring peace (to all), prosperity, and unity to the Native people throughout the region (x). And I would like to stress that, overall, the Lakotas performed the Ghost Dance as a method of survival.

For my critique and analysis of the song, I will: share my thoughts on the structure of the song, contextualize the lyrics when and where necessary (or refer back to where I already did), analyze the lyrics, and of course talk about the music itself!

To begin, let’s talk about the way the song opens – right away with the chorus! And, in fact, right before the lyrics of the chorus starts, the song is introduced with a light piano and drum combo which tapers off into a steady drumbeat (employing techniques of traditional Native drum music) as the vocals come in with: “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me/We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me/In the name of Manifest Destiny/You and me/You and me/You and me…” It’s so noteworthy to mention when the instrumentation and vocals come in exactly as they repeat the line “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee,” as though to reinforce the togetherness of the statement (“all”) with the full force of the band (instruments and ALL of the glorious harmonies!). The hot-as-hell funky electric guitar riff coming in during the intro chorus, then pausing during the drum break toward the end of the chorus (the drumbreak was also a very good choice as the classic drumroll musically evokes a march) for “We were all[/not] wiped out by the 7th Cavalry” and coming back in after “Cavalry” to support the statement of the lyric is also a really great choice musically and definitely shows off a major characteristic of the Wovoka album overall! Onward, I wouldn’t want to gloss over “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me/In the name of Manifest Destiny/You and me”. If you don’t know what Manifest Destiny is, it is simply the whole basis/justification that the U.S. used for western colonization and expansion. I think: honestly, Redbone could have said anything about Manifest Destiny, but you know what they did instead? They highlighted the harm it caused TO “YOU AND ME”! And while I do believe that Redbone are talking to each other and/or other Native people specifically when they sing “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me,” I don’t think they would have been so general in their word choice of “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee” – because non-Native people (colonizers, in fact) were involved in the Wounded Knee Massacre and the Wounded Knee Occupation, too, weren’t they? (Yes, yes they were.) And when Redbone sings “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me”, I will point out that they’re singing to an audience – an audience (the “you”) which they were aware of, and probably ideally HOPED (if I may insert my own colonial assumption there) – that was not all Native. This might also be my own colonial judgment and assumption, but considering the very general/broad word-choice for their audience, I get the sense that, in this chorus, Redbone intentionally propose that colonialism (what Manifest Destiny justified) harms EVERYONE, and it works overall as a chorus to suggest that colonialism is the root of how and why [American] history repeats itself – an idea made all the more genius considering the inherently repetitive nature of a chorus in the first place.

Now, if the chorus as the intro didn’t pack enough of a punch, the second verse comes in with plenty of groovy instrumentation but just Pat Vegas singing lead as he continues to present the real history – the truth – of the Wounded Knee Massacre (and beyond that one incident, too; another genius credit to them, and an F, zero credit to the American government): “They made us many promises/But always broke their word/They penned us in like buffalo/Drove us like a herd/And finally on the reservation/We were going for our preservation/We were all wiped out by the 7th Cavalry”. The first two lines do not just discuss past history, but proof of the current and ongoing colonial project that the American government STILL enacts to this day (see: ICWA & Haaland v. Brackeen), so in that way, I’m sorry to estimate, the song aged poorly. The similes in the third and fourth lines are great to showcase two different historical references, one being the U.S. Military’s unofficial but active attempt to force the Native populations (who relied on the buffalo) into assimilation by murdering the buffalo into extinction (assimilation tactics which also included displacing, or “penning in” the tribes to government-specified reservations), and I would theorize that the other reference is to the Ghost Dance that the Lakota performed pre-Wounded Knee Massacre which the Lakota hoped (in performing the dance properly) would bring back the buffalo (among other reasons I mentioned earlier). The rest of the verse, of course, explicitly refers to the Wounded Knee Massacre, including pre-massacre, and the Lakota tribe’s attempt to evade the U.S. Military’s enforcement to confine the tribe to their government-appointed village on the reservation.

The next verse presents a hopefulness that, I feel, deeply permeates the entire song as a whole and transforms it positively from a song that arguably just admonishes the harms of colonialism (not that, I personally feel, that is a bad thing! It is a worthy topic of discussion, probably more so now than it was then and the band even makes a great argument for that!). “Now we make our promises/We won’t break our word/We’ll sing, sing, sing out our story ’til the message is heard/There’s a whole new generation/Braves who dream of veneration/Who were not wiped out by the 7th Cavalry/You and me, you and me”. With this verse, the band [as Native people] promise that they’ll keep singing and telling their story – the message of the song (which is, arguably, that colonialism harms everyone) – and that they have hope, too, because new generations of Native people will ideally experience the respect they greatly deserve, and they will not be actively colonized and slaughtered en mass. The fact that this verse also ends with the repeated “You and me, you and me” lyric seems to imply that “you and me” are also meant to be part of that “whole new generation … who were not wiped out by the 7th Cavalry,” which begs the question again of who is the audience of this song? With the inclusion of the specified title for Native warriors “who dream of veneration,” I would assume that they are specifically talking to and about Native people here, but is that then the case for the rest of the song? Contextually-speaking, I think it’s safe to say that the band’s #1 intended audience are Native people – an example of “by us, for us” – but as a nationally and, at that point (with the release of the song as a single and its particular success in Europe), internationally-known band, their audience needed to expand in order to impart their message to as many people as possible, including people who need to hear it for different reasons (Native people, for representation and to hear their experiences reflected in a widely-heard song, and non-Native people, for awareness of the harm they may directly or indirectly have a hand in). In other words, yes, this song was written specifically with Native people in mind, but to pigeonhole it as a piece of media that only concerned Native people would grossly neglect all who have ever been and are involved in issues which [negatively] impact and exacerbate “Native issues,” and to impart and exemplify what that means, I include myself as a non-Native person who needs to hear this song and understand its thematic scope so I may apply that understanding to my interactions with my community (people, land, animals, and water). Continuing on with the lyric analysis, I also feel it’s important to point out that with the role-reversal of the lyrics “Now we make our promises/We won’t break our word” – which is, as a means of turning the table, aimed at the government – we, as the audience, of non-Native and Native people alike, are not meant to take that as a threat, and if any member of the audience who is not part of the government feels threatened by such a line, those threatened feelings inherently come from a place of privilege; if one (who was not part of the government) were to hear or read it as a threat, it would be because one’s government which has made promises to one and failed to keep those promises has not been a threat to one [ultimately, one’s way of life]. Finally, I want to point out a difference between the studio version that I listened to and based this article on and the live version that can be heard elsewhere, when the distinctions between them lyrically happen most obviously during this verse: on the studio version, the (heard – not usually written) lyrics remain as “We will sing, sing, sing out our story ’til the message is heard,” but on the live version (and apparently in the single’s written lyrics), Pat Vegas specifically sings “We will sing … out our story ’til the truth is heard,” and I feel these distinctions desperately deserve to be addressed! The difference in the lyric “’til the message is heard” on the studio version, to me, sounds softened; the impact of it is literally softened because – stay with me here – a message can be anything, which is to say that a message does not inherently have to contain or include a fact, or the truth. The live version’s lyric revision of “’til the truth is heard” is much more impactful, because the truth must always contain a fact, as a fact must always define the truth. So, my primary criticism for the whole song (the studio version), I must say, is that they did not initially go full-impact on what they recorded versus what they performed live, and I think it’s a bit silly that they didn’t sing “’til the truth is heard” all along considering the fact that the record company refused to release the song as a single or on the album in the first place and the U.S. blacklisted the song regardless – if the band wanted the full breadth of this song’s impact to be heard and felt and recognized in the first place, since Pat Vegas specifically went out of his way to get this song played anyway, it would have been better to name the point of the song in the studio version all along as he did in the live version anyway.

As for the final chorus, this is what allows the song to follow through with its effective structure, and it is also arguably the most ‘controversial’ part of the song because it appeals to the idea of truth as as a belief now instead of what is factual as the rest of the song accomplishes. Again, it goes: “We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me/We were all wounded at Wounded Knee/You and me/We were all wounded… By Wounded Knee”. In case you forgot the shimmering vocal arrangement, and the all-at-once beautiful and funky instrumental of the chorus, they weren’t about to let you down in the outro…nor would they forget the intention of their message TRUTH! or let you forget it, either. The instrumental of the song fades as the harmonized vocals sing the final “We were all wounded” and poignantly ends with a delicately slow guitar strum as Pat Vegas finishes the line with an important revision: “[We were all wounded]…by Wounded Knee,” followed by the characteristic steady drumbeat that basically opened the song as well. This subtle revision does so much for the song, not to mention how it literally ends with this (forcing the listener to remember it most clearly), because it’s as though Pat Vegas asserts his earlier promise to “sing out our story ’til the message is heard” – the message TRUTH here is, finally, that they were not all just factually wounded at Wounded Knee (also known as a historical example of genocidal techniques and persecution justified by colonialism), but that they truthfully suffered because of it – that they still suffer from knowing it happened and, MORE IMPORTANTLY, that conditions (promises! Treaties! Land and water rights and protections! Adhering to the law? How many other ways can I describe it?!) have not really improved since then, seeing as, specifically at the time of the song’s release, history had repeated itself in the name of the Wounded Knee Occupation (or, aptly, Second Wounded Knee).

When considering everything they managed to fit in this song, it’s so admirable to me that they contained so much truth in this fairly short (under 3 minutes and 20 seconds) song. In my estimation, if this song is about anything – history, or Native rights or Native activism, or colonialism, or truth – I think it’s overall best defined as a song about truth. To be purposely subjective here now, that’s what some of the best art is – truth is one of the most qualifying, deserving, worthwhile subjects to explore in art, particularly as an artist, but it can be that way for the audience/consumer, too. Redbone showed us what the art of the truth sounds like.

I also reference “the live version” of the song in my analysis, so I also wanted to share the video of the live version that contains a lyric revision different from the studio version!

Happy Black History Month!

In honor of Black History Month, acknowledging the area of music I most like to listen to and learn about, I collaborated with a friend to curate a playlist made up of music by the Black women (as frontpeople, musicians, and songwriters) of classic rock1. It is very much meant to represent the history of Black women in rock, as it is organized in chronological order by the dates that singles or albums were released. Do understand that this is an inexhaustible list – no artists or bands within the parameters of the playlist were left off intentionally, and if you alert me to any who I forgot or if I learn of more artists/bands on my own, they will be added in time!

Which leads me to one other note I must make: while this playlist was curated in honor of Black History Month, it’s important that these artists/bands AND contemporary Black artists/bands ALL be appreciated and recognized for their talent and contributions to music throughout the entire year! (Which is also why I think it would be appropriate to continue adding to the playlist through the year – but that’s just my thinking.)

If you check out this playlist – which I sincerely hope you will – you may think it’s long, or depending on who you are you might think it’s too short. (I think it’s too short.) If you believe the latter, then don’t fear – the playlist is actually incomplete from how I originally compiled it because a few artists could not be found on Spotify. Luckily, I’ve added the missing artists to a Youtube playlist2, so you can either rediscover some artists/bands you once heard and forgot that you enjoyed, or you’ll get the chance to learn of some new-to-you artists and bands! Either way, I hope you’ll find these playlists enjoyable, because I certainly do.

Continue reading “Happy Black History Month!” →

Why Fanny Should Be the First Band of All Women To Be Inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame

I’ve been meaning to post this article since I wrote it earlier this year, and I finally posted it! I don’t know if I’ve posted it in time to make any difference at all for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, but who cares – it’s important to know of and think about at any point.

It’s here on Medium.

Finally I fulfilled my goal of writing about Fanny and why they’re so important. But one day, still, I would like to write about things I didn’t mention in this article – like the blatant, inherent sexism that has plagued bands of all/mostly women, perhaps starting with Fanny, and which has literally affected their music. If you think sexism is just a thing subtly thrown at [women] via phrases and means of marginalization…well, as far as music goes and how much I know about it, just consider the fact that sabotage has also come into play. That’s what I’m going to write about eventually. So look out for it one of these days!

Trouble Human-ing and an Artist that Gets It

Today, even though I woke up with L7’s new song “Stadium West” stuck in my head I got to wish Suzi Gardner a happy birthday on Instagram last night and tell her that she’s one of my favorite guitarists and she replied to me!, the first thing I listened to after I got up was ‘Til Tuesday. I also did a quick search on Aimee Mann and discovered a wholly compelling article by Mann on Salon.

Recently, I also discovered that Mann’s most recent album, released in 2017, was titled Mental Illness. When I heard that title, I immediately went to Spotify and listened to it (despite ‘warnings’ that it was sad, and acoustic. I didn’t care about either description; I just wanted to hear whatever was summed up with a title like “mental illness.” Call it morbid curiosity or the need to feel validated). I realized, after listening to the whole album once, that I liked most of it. My appreciation for Aimee Mann’s songwriting and artistry increased.

While I’ve always liked “Voices Carry,” a few years ago I decided to listen to ‘Til Tuesday’s discography, and I ended up liking them as a band a lot. (I still can’t believe they only ever released three studio albums. THREE! I totally wish they would’ve stayed together and released more, although I also appreciate Mann’s solo career.) At one point while I was in college, I became obsessed with the song “Everything’s Different Now” – the title track of their last studio album. The point is – their music, and Mann’s songwriting, is great, dare I say underrated as hell.

While I have not listened to all, or even most, of Mann’s solo discography, I’m still fascinated by her songwriting and what she’s said about it. With her latest album, and evidenced by the song I shared above via Spotify, the point of this post was just to say…I feel like she gets it. And I appreciate that, and respect it. I endeavor to listen to more of her solo work, which is good because I could use some goals (they’re difficult to keep sight of when you suffer from mental illness, you know what I mean?).

Today is a ‘Til Tuesday/Aimee Mann kind of day. That is all. Okay, and probably some L7, specifically Scatter the Rats.

Happy Birthday, Howie

Today would be one of my favorite musicians’ birthday, so happy birthday to Howie Epstein, a fantastic bassist, talented multi-instrumentalist, awesome producer and songwriter, and incomparable backing vocalist with a voice like an angel.

I’m sharing this video because, though he isn’t on bass as his usual role in Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers went, it’s yet another example of what a wonderful musician he was, and that’s my favorite thing to celebrate about him.
But if you want great basslines, this is my favorite TPATH track with Howie on bass. (Also, this is one of my favorite TPATH songs, period. Not to get salty on Howie’s birthday but there is NO EXCUSE why this song wasn’t freakin’ on Southern Accents! I blame Jimmy Iovine, the king of making dumb suggestions like leaving perfectly good tracks off of albums especially where TPATH was concerned.)

Is Your Pearl My Pearl?

Swinging her body wildly
Enduring reality

Paints a blue picture
Framing pink horizons

Reckless, or steady?
Vulnerable, or tough?

Surviving a world that settles
For what she wouldn’t

Her legacy, though watered
Sustains my passion
Under the sun

End note: I don’t write poetry often but this came to me suddenly and I figured it would be appropriate for this to be my first post on this blog. It is inspired by Janis Joplin, whose nickname was Pearl.