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Rating:
Grab my hand while it's open
"Days Of Open Hand". Since the first time I read this title, I have always wondered how it could be translated: 'days of open hand' or, paraphrasing, 'days when the hand is open'? Each interpretation gives me a sense of urgency, of fragility, of fragile balance. The album cover, with Su zanne appearing from the darkness in a surreal frame decorated with hands, has something mysterious, almost esoteric. The title and cover successfully convey the spiritual tone and the profound refinement of Suzanne Vega's third album. It's not an immediately accessible album; it grew on me after many listens, and most importantly, the lyrics are a hidden treasure.
Reacting and growing from the two previous masterpieces, here begins the break from the folk repertoire of the first two albums, which in the '80s astonished critics for bringing back something that seemed outdated: the figure of the singer-songwriter with a guitar, a rarity in a very artificial decade of electronics and plastic. It is with this album that Suzanne introduces new sounds (a bit late: the album is from '90) and makes them her own through a dark and entirely new use of keyboards and synthesizers in her production, creating dreamlike and dark atmospheres where time stands still, with words suspended between visions, wakefulness, and endless waits.
The opening "Tired Of Sleeping" is a mandolin waltz with a bright chorus, full of extremely vulnerable images, the voice of a child in a hurry to be born. "Men In A War" is a rhythmic rock metaphor about war amputees, which, together with the joyful and carefree fantasies of "Book Of Dreams", supports the collection's tone, while overall being much more subdued.
Thus opens the solemn "Rusted Pipe" on an emphatic organ, an abreaction to a trauma often addressed by the author: the inability to communicate, the search for meaning in words, here guided by an intense electric background and a growing two-voice choir. It's one of the pieces most influenced by '80s sounds, along with "Big Space", with its imposing synthetic sound. The long, ethereal "Institution Green" is a suite of many instruments, but each is barely hinted, the melody is a slow procession advancing one step at a time, and the theme of the lyrics is one of the most original: the dehumanizing power of public institutions, narrated through an everyday life that unfortunately seems to lack a spiritual side.
The hypnotic and obsessive "Those Whole Girls" instead stands only on reiterated arpeggios, with a disturbing otherworldly atmosphere where monosyllables appear from the darkness and fall regularly like droplets into nothingness. It almost seems like an introduction to that masterpiece which is "Room Off The Street", a gypsy ballad of a woman drunk on love, dancing alone to the sound of Latin guitars and gypsy flutes and percussion. Predictions is a mystical and smoky chant, enriched by ethnic percussion and an oriental-sounding e-bow, incense smoke taking shape in the final "Pilgrimage", a solemn praise to the infinite circle of Life.
But the focal point, of maximum fragility, is "Fifty-Fifty Chance", the story of a suicide attempt. It balances between life and death on a dramatic cello and a poignant violin. The analytical nature of the verses is disconcerting, the promises in the chorus moving, the ending, chilling: "Will she try it again?"
Tracklist Lyrics and Samples
01 Tired of Sleeping (04:23)
Oh Mom, the dreams are not so bad
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping
Oh Mom, the old man is telling me something
His eyes are wide and his mouth is thin
And I just can't hear what he's saying
Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping
Oh Mom, the kids are playing in pennies
They're up to their knees in money
And the dirt of the churchyard steps
Oh Mom, that man he ripped out his lining
He tore out a piece of his body
To show us his "clean quilted heart"
Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping
Oh Mom, the bird on the string is hanging
Her bones are twisting and dancing
She's fighting for her small life
Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping
Oh Mom, I wonder when I'll be waking
It's just that there's so much to do
And I'm tired of sleeping
04 Book of Dreams (03:23)
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Turned its tide to strength
Healed the hole that ripped in living
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
The spine is bound to last a life
Tough enough to take the pounding
Pages made of days of open hand
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
Number every page in silver
Underline in magic marker
Take the name of every prisoner
Yours is there my word of honor
I took your urgent whisper
Stole the arc of a white wing
Rode like foam on the river of pity
Healed the hole that ripped in living
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
In my book of dreams
08 Big Space (03:47)
He said you stand in your own shoes
I said I'd rather stand in someone else's
He said you look from your direction
I said I like to keep perspective
Close to the middle of the network
It seems we're looking for a center
What if it turns out to be hollow?
We could be fixing what is broken
Between the pen and the paperwork
There must be passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
There must be feeling in the pipeline
Beyond the duty and the discipline
I know there's anger in a cold place
All feelings fall into the big space
Swept up like garbage on the week-end
Between the pen and the paperwork
There must be passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
There must be feeling in the pipeline
All feeling
Falls into the big space
All feeling
Swept into the
Avenues of angles
Between the pen and the paperwork
I'm sure there's passion in the language
Between the muscle and the brain work
I know there's feeling in the pipeline
10 Fifty-Fifty Chance (02:36)
50-50 chance
The doctor said
In the cardiac room
As she's lying in bed
There's a pan on the floor
Filled with something black
I need to know
I'm afraid to ask
I hug you
I hum to you
I've come to you
I touch you
I tell you
I love you
I sing to you
Bring to you
Anything
Her little heart
It beats so fast
Her body trembles
With the effort to last
I hug you
I hum to you
I've come to you
I touch you
I tell you
I love you
I sing to you
Bring to you
Anything
She's going home
Tomorrow at ten
The question is
Will she try it again?
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