I hear your voice
It’s like an angel sighing
I have no choice, I hear your voice
Feels like flying
I close my eyes
Oh god I think I’m falling
Out of the sky, I close my eyes
Heaven help me
I used to listen to Frank Sinatra and Madonna a lot. The former was chosen for me by my parents, and the latter I picked from a music catalog myself, my very first music bought for myself without input from my parents. This occurred about three years into college, to give you an idea of how tightly my parents controlled what I experienced, long after the age of 18.
Anyways, they were the primary artists I was listening to while I worked for the couple who would later act as moles, handing University-suppressed information to my parents and reporting on my every move (this I found out from the husband, who only told me because he had the hots for me, and it’s just as creepy as it sounds, and it didn’t stop him from leading my parents to me one day).
As you can imagine, I can barely listen to any of these songs now. If smell can bring back vivid memories, so can music.
So like a fool, I watched the Superbowl Halftime Show last night.
Madonna dives into “Like a Prayer” as the finisher. That and “Vogue” reminded me of how much I really did like her music, and what a shame it was that they only brought back pain these days. Except that the show was such a chaotic, nonsensical piece of performance art, incorporating the modern-day LMFAO, MIA, and Cee Lo, that there was a modern vibe even to these old songs.
I actually bought “Celebration”, Madonna’s modern version of her “Immaculate” album, shortly thereafter, and listened to “Like a Prayer” on loop until I was nearly asleep. The song cleaves close to one of the character arcs of Seal Tales, and for the first time I fell asleep contemplating my imaginary characters. (I usuallly embroider fan fiction in my head to fall asleep.)
When I woke up, I felt capable, instead of confused and frightened. I’m heading into work and I find that I want to, not simply because I need company to stay sane.
It was weird, y’all.
Of course, I’m not out of the woods yet. Sometimes the nightmares like to marinate before they spring themselves on me in their full glory, but I’d like to think Madonna’s performance as a goddess who celebrates her time in the mortal realm briefly before returning to the ethereal plane has utterly wiped out the bad memories through sheer WTF.