Please don't cry for the ghost in the storm at night

[Clarksville]

But on the other hand, sometimes a truth is a thing that must be moved towards.

I'm glad you started this thread, Crystalgeezer.

 

[CrystalGeezer]

Bleh.

 

[Comtesse]

I wasn't aware of that version.

I found this:

"...You're, you're mine and your mother, she just never knew.
Oh, your mother, as long, as long, as long..."

(Are you sure it's "she must never know"?)

Quite sure. It's this early live version - from the 3rd Smiths show, when Johnny was still singing backing vocals:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zllibDQleJ0

 

[Dave]

If you wanted to read deeper into it, you could wonder if he
was making reference to the fact that the child's mother was
dead and her ghost may well be outside......
there is always a melancholy feeling and somewhat feeling of
expecting a "sign"
when someone has died.
Ah, but I am probably reading way too much into it.
But remember the line:- "I did my best for her..."

He killed the mother with a cleaver and the little tyke gets it tonight. He's soothing him telling him soon there will be nothing to fear.

 

[kissmyshadestoo]

Quite sure. It's this early live version - from the 3rd Smiths show, when Johnny was still singing backing vocals:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zllibDQleJ0

Holy fecal matter Comtesse.....thank you for that link.....I've never seen Johnny sing back up vocals whilst in The Smiths.....awesome!

 

[Eraserhead]

It sounds like an older man saying he'll "look after" a younger man...

A paternal rewrite of "The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World" by William Ross Wallace, perhaps?

I think you're on to something here. If that poem was in praise of motherhood as a force for change, Morissey's interest in gender roles could be suggesting a feminine strength within a man's/father's outlook.

If this were a song about paedophilia, I think that would be a brave subject to tackle. I can only see how that would be a commendable thing. It certainly wouldn't be advocating such behaviour.

 

[Orson Swells]

I also think this song is a good example of Morrissey's use of the extended metaphor to write about something very personal to him. Here he's writing about his feelings for/a relationship with a younger man - and in many ways the theme is similar to other songs of the period, Hand In Glove, This Charming Man or Handsome Devil, for instance.

 

[Comtesse]

Holy fecal matter Comtesse.....thank you for that link.....I've never seen Johnny sing back up vocals whilst in The Smiths.....awesome!

You're welcome. That, to me, is the Holy Grail of Smiths videos. Well, okay, THE Holy Grail would be the first show with James Maker go-go dancing in heels, but I don't think video of that exists. This is truly spellbinding though. I love how after each song, about 4 people clap. They didn't know what to make of him!

 

[Anaesthesine]

And yet. I find it impossible to believe that the possible allusions to sexual abuse are entirely coincidental and unintentional, even if they are also easily missed (I for one listened to this for years before noticing). I do not think however that the most reasonable (and certainly not the only reasonable) inference to draw from this is that the whole lyric is a hyper-creepy coded tale of sexual child abuse. Rather I think, if I may speculate in authorial intention for a moment, that Morrissey mobilises that interpretative possibility without ever making it unambiguous. Turning away from authorial intention and back to what this ambiguity, this (whether by design or sheer poetic intuition) planted suspicion, actually achieves in the text, it has a remarkable effect. The most direct one is that you start listening to the narrator's constant outpouring of tender intent and assurances of protectiveness with scepticism and suspicion. You no longer trust his description of what he is offering. You start asking yourself who this person is, where he's coming from, what he's been doing, what he's aiming for. Which - also based on the second reading - there is every reason to do. In short, by committing an alarming ambiguous statement (which becomes even more ambiguous to the listener than to the character to whom it is addressed, because as usual the underlying story is implied rather than actually described which means we know nearly nothing of the narrator. We must give him shape in our own minds.), the narrator undermines what he has seemingly been building up and induces scepticism about himself.

In a more indirect sense, again if we assume the second reading, it also makes a powerful point by a sort of associative metonymy - by mobilising the possible subtext of sexual abuse, it also points intuitively by association to neglect and inability to connect as a different form of abuse - again throwing a critical light on the narrator by drawing the listener's attention in a sceptical direction and hence, stealthily, also inviting him to examine the possible faults of the narrator.

Yes, this is Morrissey's genius, and it is something that no other singer I know has the complexity to pull off. The strength of this argument lies not only in Morrissey's lyrics, but in the way he sings them. It also lies in his character as a singer, and in "Morrissey" as a persona.

Essentially Morrissey "goes there," but he does so wreathed in an exquisitely poetic ambiguity. He hints at terrible, terrible crimes, but he never names them outright. He insinuates, he cajoles, he pulls at the heartstrings, he engages, and he allows the listeners to connect the dots themselves. He elicits terrible thoughts and tender thoughts simultaneously, and gives rise to a very complex set of emotions. This is Art of the highest caliber - heartbreaking, subtle and vaguely transgressive.

Morrissey's role as pop's most flamboyantly unreliable narrator is a stroke of genius, and a curse.

Oh well, half of this hadn't even occurred to me yet when I started writing this post, so maybe I ought to stop there. At least it shows that this lyric is not an open and shut case. Alternatively that I'm a lost case who's spent too much time fiddling around with textual interpretation.

Sometimes that's the fun part.

When it comes to songs like "The Hand That Rocks The Cradle," I just let my emotions take me where they will, and free-associate. This song's emotional complexity makes it endlessly fascinating. As for "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore," it's the same trick, but his lyrics have become far less subtle (although his knack for coercive ambiguity is fully intact).

Morrissey is neither advocating nor condemning, he is observing and conjuring up some profoundly disturbing, unspeakable things. The fact that he does so in a pop music context (while referencing earlier forms) is breathtaking.

To paraphrase OW: There is no such thing as a moral or immoral song. Songs are either well written or badly written. That is all.

 

[CrystalGeezer]

Morrissey is neither advocating nor condemning, he is observing and conjuring up some profoundly disturbing, unspeakable things. The fact that he does so in a pop music context (while referencing earlier forms) is breathtaking.

Well put.

 

[Anaesthesine]

Thanks CG.

Since we're on the subject, it strikes me as appropriate to say that most other pop stars who try this nifty little trick end up looking flat-footed and artless in comparison to Morrissey (no names of course). He packs more artful venom in a gesture than some singers can dredge up in an entire costume change.

Just a thought.

 

[Qvist]

Yes, this is Morrissey's genius, and it is something that no other singer I know has the complexity to pull off. The strength of this argument lies not only in Morrissey's lyrics, but in the way he sings them. It also lies in his character as a singer, and in "Morrissey" as a persona.

Essentially Morrissey "goes there," but he does so wreathed in an exquisitely poetic ambiguity. He hints at terrible, terrible crimes, but he never names them outright. He insinuates, he cajoles, he pulls at the heartstrings, he engages, and he allows the listeners to connect the dots themselves. He elicits terrible thoughts and tender thoughts simultaneously, and gives rise to a very complex set of emotions. This is Art of the highest caliber - heartbreaking, subtle and vaguely transgressive.

Morrissey's role as pop's most flamboyantly unreliable narrator is a stroke of genius, and a curse.



Sometimes that's the fun part.

When it comes to songs like "The Hand That Rocks The Cradle," I just let my emotions take me where they will, and free-associate. This song's emotional complexity makes it endlessly fascinating. As for "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore," it's the same trick, but his lyrics have become far less subtle (although his knack for coercive ambiguity is fully intact).

Morrissey is neither advocating nor condemning, he is observing and conjuring up some profoundly disturbing, unspeakable things. The fact that he does so in a pop music context (while referencing earlier forms) is breathtaking.

To paraphrase OW: There is no such thing as a moral or immoral song. Songs are either well written or badly written. That is all.

Heh, there's not much I can add to that, other than to register my appreciative agreement, as usual. I chuckled fondly at the phrase "coercive ambiguity", which is itself ambiguous (ambiguity about coercion, or ambiguous in a way that has a coercive effect on the listener's interpretation? I assumed the latter, and liked the phrase a lot).

"He hints at terrible, terrible crimes, but he never names them outright." This is a recurring theme also. But usually, he makes a point out of not naming them, or says he will but doesn't - from "All men have secrets/and here is mine/so let it be known" through "My only weakness is a list of crimes/my only weakness is...well, never mind, never mind" to "But not for me of course, of course/I keep mine hidden". Here, he doesn't do that. Instead, there's that marvellous line about words as old as sin fitting him like a glove. Which is of course also an evasive allusion of a different kind, but unlike the others it doesn't come over as playful. Rather it seems to underline the almost primeval power of the thing he refuses to do (ie, naming). He connects to some sort of quasi-religious root as well - it's hard not to think about original sin as one connotation here. At the same time of course, he doesn't actually say so, he just speaks of words as old as sin. Then there's the imagery involved in a word fitting someone like a glove, as if it can cover a person entirely (and incidentally conceal what is underneath from view). And the obvious connect to one of the key Morrissey questions: Is evil something you are, or something you do? There is more poetic substance just in that line than most lyricists achieve through a whole career.

And a further reflection is that it's not even remotely connected to any of the things that most casual observers seem to think the Morrissey lyrical experience is all about - navel-gazing moping and narcissistic recognition of things we ought to have outgrown by now. It is, in fact, about human things beyond the range of the personal experience of any of us (at least I sincerely hope so). It's as rich and complex and rewarding as any poetry I know of - and like most great poetry it is a thing of strangeness, an entity of its own who may speak of human things but whose value is not entirely reducible to what it has to say on that point.

More and more, it dawns on me that the full power of Morrissey's lyrics (and as you rightly point out, singing and persona) only become apparent when you don't approach them from the angle of identification with personal experience or feeling. They are something much more interesting and complex than that. And at the same time, they often retain a directly accessible universality, as one layer of their meaning. Pop Art in the truest sense.

cheers

 

[Anaesthesine]

And a further reflection is that it's not even remotely connected to any of the things that most casual observers seem to think the Morrissey lyrical experience is all about - navel-gazing moping and narcissistic recognition of things we ought to have outgrown by now. It is, in fact, about human things beyond the range of the personal experience of any of us (at least I sincerely hope so). It's as rich and complex and rewarding as any poetry I know of - and like most great poetry it is a thing of strangeness, an entity of its own who may speak of human things but whose value is not entirely reducible to what it has to say on that point.

Yes, well, that's why Morrissey fans are often seen as unjustifiably fanatical by more casual listeners. Casual listeners just hear a vaguely adolescent, narcissistic moaning, but WE hear a transcendent, universal message of alienation, intimacy and defiance. Morrissey is like one long, seductive confession, a secret to be kept just between the singer and his audience. It IS elusive and strange.

Then again, we might (just might) be a bit mad.

 

[Eraserhead]

Some very articulate musings there, people. Good stuff.

 

[Clarksville]

He killed the mother with a cleaver and the little tyke gets it tonight. He's soothing him telling him soon there will be nothing to fear.

I think this reading gets leapfrogged over too easily. Yeah, that cleaver line, it doesn't seem to fit the song, but why not put it back in and have a look at it that way? It does cause the sense of menace. So is it about a father killing a mother?

"The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." That's from the original poem and it's about the power of the mother in the home. The power over the offspring.

But this song is about the father wresting control from the mother, and the whole point of the title is that he is ensuring that he is the hand that rocks the cradle, not her. "You're mine."

So I think it can be seen as containing a child's fear of his father taking over in his life, of taking control from the mother, maybe even by killing her, either literally or figuratively.

So it is an aggressive love, where it should be a nurturing one, it's all about the father rather than the son's needs, it's about being the one in charge and having power. (It doesn't have to be anything about sexuality.)

This is made worse by the fact that this father figure is clearly unreliable - he recounts his past failings which include erratic presence in his children's lives, and he also alludes to the relationship with the mother being a failure, but he rejects the blame for that, saying he did his best, suggesting it's her fault.

This is just another possiblity, to me, allowed by the fact that this song is written with all its doors and windows so wonderfully wide open.

(I don't see a reading where the father was going to kill the son, though. Just that he had, perhaps symbolically, perhaps symbolizing divorce, killed the mother, or was planning to.)

 

[Dave]

I think this reading gets leapfrogged over too easily. Yeah, that cleaver line, it doesn't seem to fit the song, but why not put it back in and have a look at it that way? It does cause the sense of menace. So is it about a father killing a mother?

"The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world." That's from the original poem and it's about the power of the mother in the home. The power over the offspring.

But this song is about the father wresting control from the mother, and the whole point of the title is that he is ensuring that he is the hand that rocks the cradle, not her. "You're mine."

So I think it can be seen as containing a child's fear of his father taking over in his life, of taking control from the mother, maybe even by killing her, either literally or figuratively.

So it is an aggressive love, where it should be a nurturing one, it's all about the father rather than the son's needs, it's about being the one in charge and having power. (It doesn't have to be anything about sexuality.)

This is made worse by the fact that this father figure is clearly unreliable - he recounts his past failings which include erratic presence in his children's lives, and he also alludes to the relationship with the mother being a failure, but he rejects the blame for that, saying he did his best, suggesting it's her fault.

This is just another possiblity, to me, allowed by the fact that this song is written with all its doors and windows so wonderfully wide open.

(I don't see a reading where the father was going to kill the son, though. Just that he had, perhaps symbolically, perhaps symbolizing divorce, killed the mother, or was planning to.)

Hi Clarksville. I wasn't serious about suggesting the child would be killed, but just going from the "blood on the cleaver tonight" line.

"There'll be blood on the cleaver tonight" sounds like an old saying or a quote from somewhere. This next part is what I find strange.

I once had a child, and it saved my life
And I never even asked his name
I just looked into his wondrous eyes
And said : "never never never again"
And all too soon I did return
Just like a moth to a flame
So rattle my bones all over the stones
I'm only a beggar-man whom nobody owns
Oh, see how words as old as sin
Fit me like a glove
I'm here and here I'll stay
Together we lie, together we pray
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine

 

[Clarksville]

Hi Clarksville. I wasn't serious about suggesting the child would be killed, but just going from the "blood on the cleaver tonight" line.

"There'll be blood on the cleaver tonight" sounds like an old saying or a quote from somewhere. This next part is what I find strange.

I once had a child, and it saved my life
And I never even asked his name I feel like these two lines are about the feelings of becoming a father, the fact of it happening being what saved him, in his mind. It is mysterious that he doesn't ask the name, but it could be literal, if he isn't married to the mother at the time it could be concievable, it could be a child born out of wedlock to another woman. Or I suspect it could be another quote from somewhere, because this song feels like it might have more quotes in it than we realise.
I just looked into his wondrous eyes
And said : "never never never again"This feels to me like the father promised himself that he would quit whatever bad ways he had got into because he now had this responsibility. This also feels like it could be a quote from somewhere, or even two quotes put together, but I don't know where from.
And all too soon I did return
Just like a moth to a flame it feels like he went back to his drinking, gambling or whatever it was
So rattle my bones all over the stones,
I'm only a beggar-man whom nobody owns These lines are a quote, it's just a way of expressing worthlessness and failure in the provider's role in the child's life. Apparently it comes via a play called The Lion in Love, but it is an older quote. It's like an old-fashioned coloquialism. You could accept that it has something to do with that play, as Morrissey is supposed to be fond of that writer, but you don't have to, because the quote exists separately. But if you do, it's interesting that the play is about the trouble of marriage. And the title of the play is from Aesop's fable where a lion gets himself de-clawed and de-toothed and beaten becase he wants to be married. And that would tie in with this man feeling sorry for himself. And also with the idea of the strength or otherwise of a husband/suitor. He feels he has been weakened, probably, by the child's mother
Oh, see how words as old as sin
Fit me like a glove I think this refers to the previous quote, because the quote is old. But adding the word "sin" is important, I'm sure, in terms of the underlying atmosphere.
I'm here and here I'll stay
Together we lie, together we pray I feel this could be a quote, too. Maybe from a hymn or something.
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine. Taking power, and refusing to leave the family home.

(Obviously, this is looking at it from the last reading I considered, the one where it's about taking power from the mother. My thoughts on these meanings do change from day to day. )

 

[Clarksville]

There’s a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot;
To the churchyard a pauper is going, I wot:
The road is rough, and the hearse has no springs,
And hark to the dirge that the sad driver sings:–
Rattle his bones over the stones;
He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns…

Poor pauper defunct! he has made some approach
To gentility, now that he’s stretched in a coach;
He’s taking a drive in his carriage at last,
But it will not be long if he goes on so fast!
Rattle his bones over the stones;
He’s only a pauper, whom nobody owns…

But a truce to this strain! for my soul it is sad
To think that a heart in humanity clad
Should make, like the brutes, such a desolate end,
And depart from the light without leaving a friend.
Bear softly his bones over the stones,
Though a pauper, he’s one whom his Maker yet owns.

(Thomas Noel, 1839)

 

[Clarksville]

Blessings on the hand of women!
Angels guard its strength and grace,
In the palace, cottage, hovel,
Oh, no matter where the place;
Would that never storms assailed it,
Rainbows ever gently curled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Infancy's the tender fountain,
Power may with beauty flow,
Mother's first to guide the streamlets,
From them souls unresting grow--
Grow on for the good or evil,
Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Woman, how divine your mission
Here upon our natal sod!
Keep, oh, keep the young heart open
Always to the breath of God!
All true trophies of the ages
Are from mother-love impearled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Blessings on the hand of women!
Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,
And the sacred song is mingled
With the worship in the sky--
Mingles where no tempest darkens,
Rainbows evermore are hurled;
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

William Ross Wallace

 

[Clarksville]

A LION demanded the daughter of a woodcutter in marriage. The Father, unwilling to grant, and yet afraid to refuse his request, hit upon this expedient to rid himself of his importunities. He expressed his willingness to accept the Lion as the suitor of his daughter on one condition: that he should allow him to extract his teeth, and cut off his claws, as his daughter was fearfully afraid of both. The Lion cheerfully assented to the proposal. But when the toothless, clawless Lion returned to repeat his request, the Woodman, no longer afraid, set upon him with his club, and drove him away into the forest.

Aesop (version) The Lion in Love