Through her music and with several glasses of wine, I intend to embark on a quest of memory and discovery.
The Latin phrase In vino veritas, meaning "in wine [there is the] truth" shall serve as a compass for this journey.
Phil The Fan
I was sitting at the computer that Saturday night in late August 2004. As a certain sad song from 1983 begins, “I could hardly believe it,” when I read the words at a news page online, “Singer Laura Branigan, dead.”
It seemed that the world stopped at that moment: my favorite singer for over twenty years had died. Seven studio albums, three Top Ten hits, numerous greatest hits compilation albums released worldwide; she had not had a Top 40 single since 1988.
For me, Laura Branigan had the voice of heartache.
How does one describe a singing voice? Sometimes they are associated with birds, e.g, opera singer Jenny Lind was described as “the Swedish Nightingale”. Other times, the singers are given a lofty status due in part to their voice: Aretha Franklin as the Queen of Soul or Donna Summer as the Queen of Disco; Elvis Presley as the King of Rock and Roll and Michael Jackson as the King of Pop.
I prefer a rather psychedelic challenge: I liken voices to the other senses. Sometimes a voice can be silky and sleek; others can be barren and cold. I find that male singers, especially from boy bands, exhibit a warmth: I think of the British group Take That and how they seem like golden sunshine after an afternoon rain shower—this especially suits lead singer Gary Barlow in “Reaching Out” and Howard Donald in “Beautiful World”. In contrast, Australian singer Darren Hayes, formerly of Savage Garden, has a voice that is silvery and shimmering, like moonlight over mist and steam, alternating from arid to sultry.
Such sensations need not be analogies of only sound and sight, but also to taste. I find that listening to some singers is like imbibing a beverage: Dusty Springfield is a cold martini in a night club laced with elegant perfume, virile cologne, and smoke from expensive cigarettes; Vanessa Williams, the soothing and comforting sweetness of mulled wine; while Karen Carpenter and Olivia Newton-John have in turns the buttery smoothness of a California Chardonnay or the dulcet clarity of a German Riesling.
I found that my favorite singer, the late Laura Branigan (or, as I sometimes call her, “the Legendary LB”) had a voice like red wine. Deep, dark, haunting with passion and sorrow, hers was the voice for broken hearts and “women on the edge of a nervous breakdown”: in fact, she herself described her last studio album as “music to slit your wrists by”. Fittingly, Branigan had said that pain was an emotion that everyone understood; technically speaking, pain is not an emotion, but how we respond to it is emotional.
Tonight I want to honor the Legendary LB with several red wines, along with a surprise guest. Of course, one ought not drink too much without food, and how better to enjoy red wine and music but with some good hearty dishes. This is a journey of theatre, crossing through worlds of drama and intrigue of the senses, of discovery and spectacle, fear and pity, by which Aristotle in his Poetics suggested one is cleansed: we navigate by Branigan’s voice, and, one is hopeful, leave with a wiser perspective.
Now for the music. From her first released album Branigan, I’ll start with the singer's very first single to make the airwaves: the gentle and ignored “All Night with Me”. I remember when I first heard the song on the radio in summer 1982: it didn’t turn heads and its pleading wasn’t clinging or demanding: it was seductive, without being overly devious or vulgar.
I wish I knew what you were thinking
Sometimes with you it’s hard to tell
You lay beside without speaking
The words are hard to find
And better left behind
See, it’s practically one of those country-pop songs, similar to what Sylvia and Barbara Mandrell released in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s.
It’s a long night
There’ll be time for playing
Never felt so right
Just to hear you saying
that it’s all right
and you feel like staying
All Night with Me
(Well somebody’s feeling a bit feisty.)
If it feels good
If it feels right
Why don’t you stay
All Night with Me.
True, this song didn’t change the world and it has only appeared on two of her greatest hits albums (South Africa’s The Best of Laura Branigan Volume 2 and the UK’s The Platinum Collection, released in 1992 and 2006 respectively). The mild “All Night with Me” is always overshadowed by the single that was released after it, and you can guess who that was.
(And yes, I said “who” because you know who she is.)
No, I will not spend a lot of time on “Gloria”: yes, it’s the song for which LB is best remembered (although any Branigan fan worth his salt will tell you, “Self Control” was a bigger hit) and its tone definitely seems cheerful when in fact the lyrics are taunting a woman named Gloria who is not on the edge of glory (no Gaga, she’s not) but on the verge of a nervous breakdown (think Britney Spears from 2004 to 2008 and Lindsay Lohan since 2005). In interviews, Branigan said that the song was actually quite dark and the lyrics, with the advice to “slow down”, bear out the truth of the matter. Such sentiment is in contrast with the song in its original Italian, where it is a simple love song.
Given the garlic I’ve just ate (back off, Lestat, Damon, and Edward!) and the black gamay, I’m up for something a little darker than what struggled with (and lost to) Toni Basel’s “Mickey” for the number one slot on the charts. By “darker”, I mean a little sadder: Branigan’s husband died in 1996, around the same time that her label did not renew its contract with her. Two years later, she appeared as the last guest on The RuPaul Show. While her voice is fine, you might sense from her demeanor that she is sad: in later years, she admitted that her husband’s death devastated her.
(On the plus side, LB spoke to RuPaul about her song "The Challenge" and then got to share the stage with Lynda Carter, the episode’s earlier guest: my favorite women from the Seventies and Eighties, on one stage!)
Well, that head banging made me dizzy. I pause here to mention that while I am aware that some people on Glee did a cover of "Gloria" and that Rhianna sampled "Self Control", I have no in interest in either of those.
(Unless you consider contempt a form of interest.)
And now for the music. Here I have to go to Branigan’s third single and second top ten hit, “Solitaire”, taken from her second album, Branigan 2, released in Spring 1983. Originally a French song, but the English lyrics of the LB version were done by a then-unknown Diane Warren.
Starting softly, barely above a whisper…
I still remember how much I used to need you
I tried so hard to please you
But you didn’t need me
Well, there is a good crust on the beef and fat does add flavor, and sure enough, the Cabernet Sauvignon cuts the fat while it buttresses the meat. Oh the senses…
All those nights I sat alone
Staring at the telephone
Wondering were you ever coming home?
Oh, that’s right—we have the horseradish sauce. Well, a little smear of that and oh wow! Yeah, horseradish is so bitter; my scholarly self has just reminded me that Ashkenazi Jews often use horseradish as a bitter herb for their Seder. Well thank you, scholarly self, but I’m not eating roasted lamb at a Feast of Unleavened Bread and celebrating the deliverance of the Chosen People: I’m eating beef and drinking red wine remembering a singer that died 10 years ago, so sit back and limit the observations, ok?
Still, the bitter herb reminds me of the bitter sentiments that underlie the anguish of the broken hearts of which and to which LB sang.
Solitaire it got so lonely
Solitaire no one to hold me
Where were you when I played Solitaire?
Well, I’m right here downing a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon after several bites of a damn good ribeye steak. Ooh, the seasoning and the horseradish blending symphonically with the dark notes of the wine; LB’s voice is carrying the song to operatic heights and carrying the bitterness with her.
Solitaire see what it’s like now
Solitaire to cry all night now
Solitaire see how it feels to pay
“See how it feels to pay!” You’re damned right you better see how it feels to pay. So you go, LB, you sing like you’re an actress chewing the scenery and I’ll chew the fatty meat and down some more wine.
Solitaire it gets so lonely
Solitaire you wanna hold me
Don’t wait up ‘cause babe, I won’t be there!
Solitaire!
Chewing the flavorful meat, its center still pink and tender with the fat melting on my lips, I take another drink of the Cabernet Sauvignon to wash it down. With the synthesizers and studio production, this song is so 1983, and like most of LB’s songs, they are creatures of a time capsule: the majority of her music is timely rather than timeless. However, stripping away the artifice as the tannins of the wine cleanse away the fat clinging to my mouth, we are left with her voice, aching and dramatic, passionately wailing and embittered by the realization of time we lose in our longing for those incapable of returning our attention and affection (or worse, unwilling to return them). I smear some more horseradish on a bite of steak and wash it down with another draught of wine.
Few would think a medium rare ribeye with Cabernet Sauvignon to be a mild meal, but I’m ready for something real bold and adventurous. It’s time for a trek to the Subcontinent, for a dish from the former Portuguese colony of Goa. Hot peppers, cloves of garlic, onions, ginger and other spices drenched in vinegar and then mixed with coconut milk, it is in this sauce that pieces of lamb and potato are cooked: it is that volcanic curry—vindaloo.
What music would go with this pungent and violent dish? Much of LB’s songs are dramatic, as befitting her voice, but something especially strong is needed for vindaloo. My memory takes me to Christmas 1984,
In stark contrast, the album’s followup single “The Lucky One” would be LB’s last song to make it to the Top Twenty. However, there were other treasures to be found on this album, among them, the closing track, “With Every Beat of My Heart” which like vindaloo, took some time for me to “get” but now remains an addictive favorite. A plate with a heaping helping of Basmati rice is served and I carefully ladle the curry sauce over it, making sure that enough pieces of lamb and potato are represented in this generous serving. “With Every Beat of My Heart” begins (now, don’t be so silly as to confuse this song with the 1989 single of the same title from Taylor Dayne: Dayne also has a distinctive voice, but LB she patently is not), taking us to an urban night setting.
As I look out
Of my window
I see your face in a shadow
On the street below me
So, we’re being courted by someone who’s some stalker siren prince of darkness ex-lover. I can work with that, imagining that I’m in a small apartment in New York City, with a fire escape close to my window. It’s a sweltering summer night and the air conditioning isn’t working so of course, I have to have the window open.
Is it easy to see
That every time you touch me
Wait a minute. The heat from outside is nothing compared to what’s going on in my mouth. It’s like hell itself has set my mouth on fire and the very Inferno Dante descended is bursting in that pathetic cave of tongue, teeth, and lips that was my mouth.
With Every Beat of My Heart
There’s thunder inside
Every Beat of My Heart
I need you tonight
Every Beat of My Heart
I’m reaching for you
I need you now
With Every Beat of My Heart
And I need something to wash this down and cool my mouth. Usually I have an amble supply of mango lassis, those yummy yogurt shakes that Indian restaurants have on their menu, since, being sweet and dairy, they are a perfect foil to the heat and spice of vindaloo.
No such luck now. Well, I don’t think Cabernet Sauvignon would taste well here and poor Beaujolais-Villages, I doubt she’s up to the task either. Well, let me grab some other red wine.
As I lay down
In this dark room
I hear your voice like a soft tune
Echo all around me
However, 1993 was not the first time that Branigan visited South Africa: she had been there five years before and did shows at the notorious Sun City in 1988 and in 1989. Condemned in the 1985 protest song by Artists Against Apartheid, Sun City was essentially a tourist trap that an opportunistic mogul developed by exploiting loopholes innate in the inarguably unjust South African racist system. Recommended to LB by Tina Turner (who had toured South Africa in 1979), Sun City was located inside a bantustan (or black homeland) which the South African government (but no one else) claimed to be an independent country and therefore a place where gambling and topless dancing were permitted. It was a world class destination where Cher, Frank Sinatra, Queen, Elton John, Black Sabbath, Sarah Brightman, Dionne Warwick, Rod Stewart, Julio Iglesias, as well as Tina Turner and LB had performed, but it was also a pariah location and subject to an international boycott. Aware of that situation and witnessing the stark poverty in the area, Branigan donated money to schools and to the charity Operation Hunger, which had been established to combat the injustices of the apartheid system and while it continues to fight against malnutrition, it has included fighting against diseases such as cholera, malaria, and HIV/AIDS. Given that her career had been in decline long before she went to Sun City, it’s difficult to say how career-damaging her gigs there were (although it certainly didn't hurt the careers of Cher, Elton John, or Rod Stewart).
And as I feel the cold wind blowing
I wonder will you be showing,
Or forget you ever found me?
Still, LB was apparently well loved in South Africa and not one but several greatest hits albums of her music were released there, in 1988 (which was re-released as Remember: The Very Best of Laura Branigan in 2004 after her death), 1992, 1999, and 2010. Like the French love Jerry Lewis and Germans love David Hasselhoff, I argue that South Africans loved Laura Branigan.
I think, will you turn away?
Do you wanna say it’s over?
Will you really come?
Was it just for fun? I wonder
Sadly, I cannot say that this Pinotage is even up for the job with the vindaloo, but the sommelier has recommended another red wine, the 2008 Clos Saint-Jean Vieilles Vignes Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Made from mostly grenache grapes, this blend from the Rhone region of France, near the palaces of the Avignon Popes, is a powerful (at 14.5%) and luscious wine suitable for red meats and curries, even vindaloo. I finish the lamb curry and rice with about a third of a bottle of the Rhone blend.
Is it easy to see
That every you touch me
With every beat of my heart
There’s thunder inside
Every Beat of My Heart
I need you tonight
Every Beat of My Heart
I’m reachin’ for you
I need you now!
With Every Beat of My Heart
A French wine? As noted above, “Solitaire” was originally a French song and the Diane Warren version highlighted LB’s voice better than most other productions. Branigan had also said that she “wanted to move people like Édith Piaf did”, and similarities between her voice and Piaf’s were noticed by Johnny Carson.
Yet, I recall that LB had another connection with France: she recorded “Heart of Me” with Cerrone. The video shows the song being performed on the Seine and fireworks blazing over Paris; given that the song was done in 1989, one wonders if said fireworks were part of the Bicentennial celebration of the French Revolution. That could be the case, and while the French Revolution was not my favorite series of events in Western history, I do enjoy this song so I will take a few more sips from the French blend before the next course.
One might have expected that I approach this like a seven course meal, with fish, salad, soup, etc., but I find that too limiting for now. Let’s see, I really do like lamb, so even though that was the protein in the curry, I think some lamb chops from Down Under, accompanied with a glass of Shiraz from Australia, is what I need.
Mmmmm…lamb. Growing up in cattle country, lamb was essentially an exotic meat (also, my mother hated it), so I very rarely had it before college (and still rarely have it now). To me, it has an almost gamey sweetness to it, gentle but wild. Fixed medium rare, which is how I prefer all my red meats, the fatty meat is succulent.
As I wash down a bite of the delightful lamb, the peppery notes of the Shiraz highlight the savory seasonings with which the meat was prepared: a perfect pairing. Branigan paired with a few singers in her career, such as with Luis Miguel, Joe Esposito, even David Hasselhoff. Myself, I thought that her duet with Rex Smith on Solid Gold was a fabulous piece of ‘80’s cheese.
It was in Australia, this same country from which the lamb and wine
One might regret LB’s role in Backstage, as it is an admittedly dated movie. The film’s premise is that an American singer wants to branch into acting, but the only acting job she can get is in an uninspired revival of a British play in Australia: the singer’s performance is panned by a critic and at a cocktail party, she throws a glass of wine into his face, thereby instigating a love affair between the two. Given today’s global market and social media, it is unfathomable to think it difficult for an American pop singer to become an actress, but with some tweaking of the script and a location change (say from Australia to Cape Town), I think it could be a promising vehicle for Alicia Keyes.
Perhaps I’ve indulged too much in eating such wonderful cuisine, so I will take a break and clear my very limited palate. I remember when I worked in retail, a coworker told me that when she used to work at a nightclub in the Twin Cities where Laura Branigan (among others) would perform, and that LB was known as “Laura-Bring-Me-Another-Gilbey’s-Branigan”. While that’s not an especially flattering memory, I think a stiff drink is just what I could use and how better to do that than with that "surprise guest" I mentioned earlier: a Gibson composed of Gilbey’s gin, dry Vermouth, and pearl onions as garnish (again, I’m not getting lucky tonight).
I think of August 1993, when I discovered that LB had a new album (it would be her last full studio album). After a summer of disillusion, rejection, revelations, this album, produced by South African-born Phil Ramone (who also produced the then-unreleased Karen Carpenter album of 1979), had a few classy gems of elegance and sorrow, so fitting for Adult Contemporary radio but unfortunately so ill-fitting at a time when Seattle reigned the market with grunge and Kurt Cobain had yet to make his exit: songs like “The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye” and the title track “Over My Heart” were played over and over in my efficiency apartment; the album also featured the Spanish Sapphic song “Mujer Contra Mujer”, Branigan's affirming nod to her fans in the LGBQ community.
Several months after the album’s release, I read the lyrics of the opening track to a friend who was going through a breakup (as he was a fan of voices like those of Sarah McLachlan, he would have been unable to appreciate LB’s elemental power); he would tell me later how his mother heard the Patty Loveless version of the song (something which I will not do).
(I chew the onions
But will not cry
For they are pickled
And so am I.)
I ponder possible duet partners she might’ve had: big voiced Rick Astley comes to mind, and I think the gravel of Chris Daughtry would have made an intriguing possibility, but then there’s also Michael Bolton, who owes his career in part to LB, as she was the first to record a song that he wrote.
They said you were leavin’
Someone swept your heart away
From the look upon your face
I see it’s true
So tell me all about it
Tell me ‘bout the plans you’re makin’
Then tell me one thing
more before I go.
Tell me How Am I Supposed To Live Without You
Now that I’ve been lovin’ you so long
How Am I Supposed To Live Without You
How am I supposed to carry on
When all that I’ve been living for is gone?
One of the reasons why her death saddens me is because I wanted for her to sing a song for the soundtrack to a movie based on that great novel which I have yet to complete: perhaps her death alone is enough to keep me from completing it, as there is no one who can replace her.
Didn’t come here for cryin’
Didn’t come here to break down
It’s just a dream of mine is coming to end.
This song always reminds me of those unsatisfactory relationships with people that I call “foul weather friends”: people who cling to you when life has them down, but the moment that things go well for them, you are ignored, as the foul weather friends are oblivious to how they have drained you or how much you need for your comfort and affection to be returned.
How can I blame you?
When I built my world around
The hope that one day
We’d be so much more than friends?
True, it is unhealthy to seek any depth of comfort and affection from those unwilling or incapable for giving it. When we indulge in such silliness, it is our responsibility to leave. However, that realization does not pardon the foul weather friends of their patent insensitivity, shallowness, and toxic apathy, or the bad attitude with which they insulate themselves.
You try to me it’s all right
Say you’re gonna change your ways
Oh baby, I know you never will!
Such creatures generally have no guilt because while they might be nurturing to others, when it comes to how they treat their hosts (for in a sense, foul weather friends are parasites), they get very defensive, and the hosts, in turn, are as moth to flame, despite the obvious truth.
And with an arrow through my heart
I watch your image fall apart
True colors blinding me
I’m not impressed with what I see!
When it comes time that their hosts need loyalty, foul weather friends can show less character than the collectivist cyphers that pose as villains in Ayn Rand’s fiction, but then defend themselves as the repressive characters that pose as heroes in those same works. These tenuous traits ought to inspire one to be a knight against such powers of darkness.
I fight the night
To be alone has never frightened me
Behind the light
The shadow of your memory
Oh, who are you to turn the knife
I am not your sacrifice
Who are you when I can get you out of my life?
I remember that bit of LB lore in which she flew to London to record with Stock, Aitken, & Waterman (SAW), the triad behind Dead Or Alive's "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)" and Bananarama’s “Venus”, as well as the early hits of Rick Astley and Kylie Minogue. After taking a power nap, Branigan reportedly recorded four songs in England before she flew back to New York, spending at most six hours in Britain: two of those songs, one of them being “Whatever I Do”, made it to the Touch album.
Bet you didn't know
That I would pack away my things and go
And know it's true
Gonna get along in spite of you
Don't want to hear your alibis
Don't want your part time compromise
Who are you when I can get you out of my life…
I stand alone
Another victim of your fantasies
I face the world, ooh
I'm searching for my destiny
Oh, who are you to tie me down
When you were not always around
Who are you when I can get you out of my life?
As my head spins and my eyes swim in sorrowful salinity, the air smolders in my nostrils as I sneer with contempt. Foul weather friends may have drained me, but I’m alive, whereas the Legendary LB was ignored by her industry: granted, few fans will know what sort of exchanges happened behind closed doors in offices of moguls, producers, and agents, where slights are remembered as insults and in time spun into grudges that last for generations.
Still, even that possible scenario reeks too much of high school, thereby reminding me that much of life remains a popularity contest.
Well, to hell with that. High school may have been as unhappy a reality for me as for others, but many people found comfort in friendships. While that option was limited while I was in high school, things were better in college. In fact, on the very night that I read about Branigan's passing, a friend from college called me to offer his condolences. Several months after LB’s death, her fans were invited to gather in New York on the anniversary of her passing. Thanks to the internet, I read of this gathering, and when I mentioned it to another friend (again, a friend from college, not high school) over the telephone, she said “You have to go to this, Philip.” Of course, I knew that she was right.
Over the course of that weekend, hearing stories from others and watching footage from television, LB’s love for cooking became evident, and another way of connection was made, for while I didn’t have Branigan friends in high school, I could find some relief at home, and home had the kitchen, where I would sometimes help, either by chopping nuts for baking or by browning the ground beef for spaghetti, goulash, pizza, or lasagna. I may have lacked the talent for cooking which my mother and grandmothers had, but I remained enchanted by the magic of the kitchen, and to know that the Legendary LB had an affinity for it as well gave me more cause to smile.
Perhaps in life we are doomed to be in high school forever. As horrendous is that seems, one can still find comfort with friends and at home as we still dream of freedom. Sometimes sharing memories of dreams and loss with real friends, not the foul weather kind, can lift one’s spirit and invigorate a sense of youth.
While life is for the living, the grief for our lost ones can be overwhelming, just as Branigan's grief over her husband's passing clearly overwhelmed her. However, as an artist, she found a creative outlet and recorded an aching cover to "I Know You By Heart", a song that probably will always be associated first with Eva Cassidy. Unfortunately for Branigan fans, the only LB recording to "I Know You By Heart" that is currently available for sale is a substandard mix found on compact discs issued by a German label: we hope that in time a release more worthy of her legacy will happen.
I see your sweet smile
Shine through the darkness
Tracing its line in my memory
So I’d Know You By Heart
Mornings in April
Sharing our secrets
We’d walk together
‘Til morning was gone
We were like children
Laughing for hours
The joy you gave me
Lives on and on
‘Cause I Know You By Heart
Sometimes reflecting on rejection and sorrow with someone that doesn’t mean us harm can foster smiles despite the pain. Sometimes being there for someone whose heartache we don’t understand but the fact that we understand that his heart aches demonstrates for ourselves that grief is a pain that instigates an emotion which is universal; this was the cornerstone to LB's artistic approach.
To live and to love is to know heartache: any LB fan understands that. But a heart that remembers love and friendship can find some comfort in those.
I saw your sweet smile
I heard you laughter
You’re still here
Beside me
Everyday
‘Cause I Know You By Heart
Yes, I Know You By Heart
Yes, I do still ache that LB is not appreciated by her peers and others in her industry. While music isn’t dead to me (I remain a Belinda Carlisle fan and some singers of the latter generations, like Adele, Michael Bublé, and Bruno Mars, have impressed me), my perspective on it has soured.
Yet, I want to turn aside from bitterness. Not like Pollyanna just faking happiness with an insipid “glad game”, but like the Charmat process giving a secondary fermentation to wine in bulk tanks, taking sad memories with a new perspective, adding glints of gold and silver through dazzling little bubbles of carbon dioxide, bringing to it a levity of effervescence and a floral sweetness.
The gods may throw the dice
Their minds as cold as ice
So the Legendary LB was human and she violated the Frank Sinatra rule about never recording a bad song: big deal! Madonna always has at least one filler song on each and every one of her albums. Actually, to be fair, Branigan did not record any bad songs so much as too many forgettable ones, so while Madonna, with her myriad transformations and self expression that danced over the line, pushed the envelope, and jumped the shark into a vat of self-parody, has become a female Marlon Brando of pop music, Laura Branigan has become the shadowy figure of a female Montgomery Clift of pop music, always on the brink of a comeback in interest but still overlooked despite the obvious talent and dedication to craft.
So I’m not drinking from a bottle of Petrus from Pomerol in Bordeaux: I’m enjoying myself and being true to who and what I am and what I love. This red bubbly is frothy, almost creamy, but with a sufficient and crisp bite. As one review says, the aroma evokes rose petals while the taste hints of raspberries: I welcome all of it as I consider some final tracks.
Remembering the heroic defiance of “Whatever I Do”, I must honor another song which LB recorded in London: “Shattered Glass.” As with most of her other songs, LB sings about hurting from a breakup, but here there is a cheery tone that actually matches with the lyrics:
I gave you everything I had
You took my heart and broke it bad
I’m not the kind who can take it alone
I’ve got nothing more for you
I want somebody who needs me too
I’m giving up, boy
I’m chasing my joy
And you can make your own
You’re not the only one
‘Cause my time will come!
There is such an energy and a joie de vivre at play here. Rather than taunting a pathetic party girl or a reminiscing in regret, LB is practically dancing in her new freedom. One can believe that she has left a lover who was no better than a foul weather friend: this is an anthem of a newly liberated self worth.
You can shatter glass
With your heart of stone
But you won’t get far on your own
You keep running hot and blowing cold
And everything you hold
Just falls apart like Shattered Glass
Not only an anthem, this is a confident testimony against the ex-lover, dismissing his apathy, his miserly contributions, and overwhelming lack of worthwhile engagement and reciprocity.
It really doesn’t matter to me
Where you’re going and who you see
I know that I can make it this time
It doesn’t matter any more
Since you’ve gone and walked out that door
I made a new start
I found a true heart
I’m gonna make it mine
Go out and have your fun
‘Cause my time will come!
Here, she’s not blasting him with her regrets; she is bubbling with her self-declaration as a new person ready to give and to receive love, a tone that matches well with the sparkling Rosa Regale with its soft petals and sweet berries.
Looking further back, before it released “Gloria” or even “All Night With Me”, Branigan’s label had her record a whole separate album in the late months of disco. As I observed before, most of LB’s songs are for the time capsule, and by the time that pre-"Gloria" album was completed, the music scene of the early 1980’s was not eager for the tracks that were recorded. Called Silver Dreams, the album was put back on the shelf and was never released: Branigan herself reportedly did not even have a copy. Thanks to the internet, with eBay and Napster and YouTube, those tracks can be heard, and the title song, with its funky sound, seems to my imagination an inspired piece for a drag number, with go-go dancers and strobe lights, the disco queen decked in a glittering gown, her face framed with powder blue eye shadow, mascara, and cherry lips, her arms gesture emphatically to tell a story not unfamiliar with the self-induced insanity of “Gloria” and the nocturnal sex world of “Self Control”.
Speaking of dreams, I used to dream about being a television actor: a working but well-paid thespian, perhaps in a sarcastic but supporting role, like one that David Hyde Pierce, Sean Hayes, or Neil Patrick Harris would play. I was able to release that dream when I took an acting class in college. While in terms of grades, I did well (I got an A+ for the course that semester), but I realized that however theatrical or “hammy” I was, an actor I was not. Still, I smile remembering that for a lip synching assignment, I was the one and only male student that “sang” a song from a woman (I even let the class determine if they wanted me to "sing" Bryan Adams, Crowded House, or Laura Branigan: for the first time in years, I witnessed LB win a popularity contest, as she won that vote by a landslide). Set with the ambiance of yet another bedroom crowded with the memories of a broken heart, I "sang" the opening track of that favorite album Touch.
My head touches the pillow
Dreams of us come rushin' through
They light the dark like fireflies
Slowly fillin' up the room
And everywhere I look tonight
I can see how I cried
Over love, over you
Over love
There was nothing I could do
Over love, over you
Now does that paint a picture or what? What struck me when I first heard this song was that she was not over love, but there was nothing she could do. She was hurt, but determined to let the pain make her strong, or short of that, let it make her cold and impervious to more pain, like some glacial monument. I’ve always loved this song and can certainly see the appeal to being a glacial monument, but I question the long term effectiveness to that approach: as Aphrodite got her revenge on Hippolytus for the prince’s rejection of her, I cannot believe that she would permit us to remain cold and indifferent for very long, since love is so demanding.
I believe in magic
It clouds the mind like sweet perfume
It almost made me crazy
I could've died from the pleasures of me and you
Until the magic drifted away
I never thought I'd say
I'm over love, over you
I'm over love
And there was nothing I could do
Over love, over you
And so I'm turnin' on the light
Don't want to lose another night
Over love
Look how Aphrodite (by which I call that primeval force of lust, affection, desire, and need) has wrecked havoc! In order to maintain a love-free asceticism, one must embrace a Spartan lifestyle devoid much that is sensual, for the senses are the sorcery by which man has been lured away from his quests, whether quixotic or pragmatic.
Not gonna hurt anymore
Not gonna do what I did before
Not gonna feel like I felt till I fall again
Over love
More powerful than Aphrodite is the Truth (whether you view Truth behind a veil pierced by the wine god Dionysus, or the music the wolf god Apollo plays on his lyre to represent a cosmic harmony, or the staff by which Jesus as the Good Shepherd guides us, or some syncretic symbol of light) and while our pain of rejection stems from Aphrodite and her wiles, we must realize that we cannot repress our pantheon of emotions. Aphrodite may well put us in chains, but those chains do not simply enslave us: they also unite us.
I have some more wine left in the bottle and with it, we listen to the fourth track to her 1984 album Self Control, "Heart," which presents a world haunted by memories and loss.
It's the hour of the night time
When the demons come to call
And the shadows seem to whisper
And I'm wishin' I could crawl inside a dream
That would free me from the pain
But I'm smothered by the silence of a heart gone insane
So poetic and practically mythical, we are still in the territory of a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown, which, we have seen, is a very melodramatic place.
Oh, heart, are you still beating?
Is there enough of you left to break?
How could he take you and tear you apart?
I never knew somebody would do it
I never knew somebody could do it
Never dreamed anybody would do this to my heart.
Now the wine has
worked its wonder
It sure has. Between that and the gin.
and it's makin' me forget
But the memories
lie awaiting
The pain we don't like to remember, but the love (or that which we call "love"), we don't want to forget.
like an uncollected debt
That must be paid
Yes, there is always a price for love, especially when we expect it to give us happiness.
at the fadin' of the stars
By a heart
that is already wearing
one too many scars.
Still, it has been well established this evening that the foul weather friend must be kept at a distance and his value must ever be subject to scrutiny; the worthless lover must simply go. The gods, with minds as cold as ice, perhaps sent them teach us a lesson. Before pondering that, the dessert course is here, and since LB made much of being a New Yorker, I think that a slice of cheesecake would be appropriate. With a graham cracker crust, topped with strawberries and raspberries that have been macerated in balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with a shavings of dark chocolate, it is a dish that is both rich and simple.
The bittersweet dessert comes with a stinging lesson: about the boy who cried wolf. Tonight's last song is the final track of the Touch album (that is, if one discounts “Statue in the Rain”, a song which was not included in the original vinyl or cassette releases of 1987 but was added at the end to the compact disc as a bonus track; in iTunes I place this latter track in the middle, after "Power of Love" and before “Shattered Glass”), “Cry Wolf” is arguably the most timeless (or least timely) of Branigan’s songs: set with piano, drums, and guitar, the usage of synthesizers restrained.
You couldn't wait for answers
You just had to try those wings
And all your happy ever afters
Didn't mean a thing.
Released as the album’s third single, this is another lamentation of a broken heart, but the passion is reined in, guided and governed by reason, as if following the example of Plato’s chariot, symbolic of a well-ordered soul. The music video itself appears to be inspired in part by the works of Maxfield Parrish.
So, I'm not gonna try at all
To keep you from the flame
Just remember not to call
My name
When you cry wolf
Once too often
When you cry wolf
No, I won't come knockin'
When you cry wolf
I won't hear you anymore
Of course she is hurt. Of course she has been angry. However, she is pleading in a sober tone, one which expresses disappointment and reminds her new ex-lover, be he a substance abuser or someone simply cut from the same cloth as a foul weather friend, of the consequences for his actions. While she seems rather businesslike, almost pristine, we are still very much aware that she has the strength of her convictions, and they are as powerful as the ocean that her blue eyes evoke, and should she choose to unleash them, oh what a rage he could face.
If you start to stumble
If you start to crack
And if you're ever feeling humble
Don't look back
When you cry wolf
Once too often
When you cry wolf
No, I won't come knockin'
When you cry wolf
I won't hear you
She has set boundaries and those limitations have defined what she considers acceptable behavior. As far as she is concerned, the chapter is over and the door is closed. This is not the bitterness of a harridan ex-wife, but the expressed regret of a composed, sensitive, and caring woman who has been crossed too many times and must make sense of her life without her reprobate lover.
You can try but you can't get me
Into the fire
'Cause I'm out of sympathy
And I can't walk this wire
So find yourself somebody new
To catch you when you fall
'Cause I got just one thing to say to you
And that's all…
No I won't hear you
Anymore
I marvel at that sort of quiet strength. It’s not belligerent and it’s not petty: for much of the song, LB judiciously keeps her trademark epic bombast in check, underscoring her talent and craft. This almost muted reflection and expressive assertion balance each other, just as the berries and vinegar accentuate each other and the sparkling wine cut the dairy denseness of the dessert. This is a delivery that blazes while the eyes sting with tears, tears that in part are shed out of pity for what was lost and for what now remains. These are purgative tears, for catharsis.
Admittedly, this multi-course voyage of vintages and vittles has been a form of navel gazing: I'm trying to make sense that ten years ago, someone special to me died. And yes, she was special to me, but I did not actually know her. I never met her. I never saw her in concert. Still, her music mattered to me and from what I have read about her and heard about her, she was, as demonstrated in that final decade of her life, much of it spent at home in her garden and kitchen, caring for her dying husband and then her ailing mother: Laura Branigan was a loving and earthy woman. Thanks to the internet, I have met others who shared a passion for her music and for the unique human being that she was.
So, to Laura Branigan's memory, I raise tonight's final glass of wine, and I say thank you, with ABBA inspiration, thank you for the music.
And for myself, I have a glass of water ready: morning will not be kind to me.
Oh, you have a problem with water?
Then clearly you are not aware that while some say only In vino veritas, others conclude it with in aqua sanitas, i.e., "in water there is health." Jesus may have turned water to wine, but I must turn from wine to water: LB would want nothing less.
