Protecting What Is Kept Inside

From the moment I first felt the impulse to write, which at this point accounts for more than three decades, I became acutely aware of my limitations in doing precisely that. It’s been a struggle from the very beginning. I struggled mightily with English as a student, and seldom, if ever, attempted to learn the rules of proper grammar and sentence structure, nor made any effort to expand my vocabulary, which will no doubt become evident as I continue. And even though I grew up in a household full of readers, I read only tepidly. At the time I simply had no interest, and certainly no interest to write. If you had placed a blank sheet of paper in front of me, with pen in hand, I would have been absolutely dumbfounded. I simply had nothing to say. There were simply no song birds chirping in the wilderness that was my mind.

Then five shots rang out on December 8^th, 1980 and a paridyme shift occurred in what felt like an instant. I’ve spilled a lot of ink over the years describing how Lennon’s death impacted my life, so I’ll shelve that impulse here. It’s enough to say that an entirely different version of me suddenly stood up and took firm control of the steering wheel, as it were. I immediately began reading about Lennon, and the Beatles by extension, and quickly discovered that I fostered an insatiable desire to learn, and to learn about everything, and with all the new books, articles and lyrics that began pouring in, a kaleidoscope of ideas hit me from all directions, and for the first time in my life, a distinctive “I” emerged……and it had something to say.

Initially, I fought hard to play catch up with all the lessons I willfully ignored in school, but it didn’t take long before realizing that I simply lacked the ability to express my thoughts and feelings with any level of competence. As much as I wish it were different, I have learned to accept that I was born what I call a “tweener”; meaning that I was born ‘between’ two lives. One that has a poet’s aesthetic sensitivity and profundity, while the other lacks the ability to get anywhere near to expressing it, and because of that limitation, I often rely on artists and poets to speak for me.

With that said, I want to discuss a song, one that uniquely demonstrates the creative intuitions that an artist can bring to bear when their imagination is ignited. This is a song that I’ve enjoyed for a number of years now, but just recently, a single line stood out and suggested a compelling new way of consider the songs intent.

The song is “Crossroads”, written by Tracy Chapman, and is the opening track to her second album, which is important distinction to note since her first album, the self-titled “Tracy Chapman”, was an enormous commercial and critical success. It had even crossed over into mainstream pop radio with her remarkable single ‘Fast Car’. It even won her a Grammy for the best Contemporary Folk Album of the Year. What I found shocking was that a year earlier she was a complete unknown, singing in small coffee houses on college campuses.

With that first album striking gold, it doesn’t stretch the imagination to assume that her follow up album was eagerly anticipated by her record company. And because it is a business after all, I’m sure they saw her, at varying degrees, as a product that needed to be properly groomed and packaged. Marketing plans were no doubt devised in order to craft and mold their new star for maximum commercial appeal….and profit. Being a young dreadlocked black woman singing folk music for a largely white audience, it’s an easy calculation to reach. I’m sure there were discussions revolved around making just a few small compromises here and there, all in the hope of securing a larger piece of the economic pie; all with her best interest in mind, of course.

Yet what I find so incredibly poignant about the song is not only that it directly confronted the pressure to conform and compromise, but that it was deliberately placed as the opening song on this follow up album. It was as if she is telling everyone, right up front, “before we go any further, there’s something you need to know about me.”

Here are the first two verses.

All you folks think you own my life
But you never made any sacrifice
Demons are on my trail
I’m standing at the crossroads of hell.
I look to the left, I look to the right
Hands that grab me on every side.

Mmmm… Mmmm

Mmmm… Mmmm

All you folks think I got my price
At which I sell all that is mine
You think money rules when all else fails
Go sell your soul and keep your shell.
I’m trying to protect what I keep inside
All the reasons why I live my life.

Mmmm… Mmmm

Mmmm… Mmmm

Defiant lyrics to be sure, but her words are not necessarily the reason for this note. With this new insight leading the way, the meaning and interpretation of her lyrics offers far less interest to me than her humming the bridge of the song. There simply are no words; only a sweet, carefree melody hummed. I had assumed for years that it was nothing more than a lyrical device; just an interesting way of connecting the verses, but with this new intuition, a deeper, far more significant meaning suddenly presented itself.

The humming, far from simply being a creative way to sing the bridge, signifies a much deeper aesthetic meaning than I first imagined and is essential to the message that I believe Chapman was trying to convey. Seen in this new light, humming the bridge reflects her primal reaction to the pressures being placed on her. With each verse describing her frustrations at the thought of selling herself out, turning herself into a “brand”, a business model, it seems to me that her humming has an alternative motive, one where she seems to retreat into her own private refuge; one that offered protection from all the demands. The lyric that gave me the clue appears in the second verse, “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside.” That was all I needed.

The effect to my ears is unmistakable. While each verse details her defiance, it is her humming that comes from another place all together; a primal reflex, one that transcends anything the world may demand of her. Instead of simply connecting the verses with a typical bridge with more words that must then be interpreted and digested by the mind, Chapman instinctively hums a sweet melody; as if to herself, seemingly with eyes closed, completely engulfed and protected within a world all her own. It’s there that her humming can be seen as armor; a protective, impenetrable shield against the mounting pressure to relinquish what she holds most sacred. I finally recognized her humming for what it truly is…because it’s the same place that I have inside of me.

The “place” that I am speaking of is an impossibly difficult thing to describe to anyone who is not on intimate terms with it themselves. The vocabulary needed to adequately define it simply isn’t offered up by Webster, so I’ll save myself the embarrassment of attempting to. The attempt to wrap a language around it reminds me of a line from Saul Bellow’s “Henderson the Rain King”, when his protagonist, Henderson, stated:

“…..it was like the question asked by Tennyson about the flower in the crannied wall. That is, to answer it might involve the history of the universe.”

That effectively sums it up for me. There simply are no words to describe what is essentially undefinable, which may be why Chapman chose not to use words; words would only serve to obscure her intent. The most elegant expression of this most elusive of places comes from the great Joseph Campbell, who described it as; “that still point (inside), with a firmly burning flame that is not rippled by any wind”.

I believe that is precisely what Chapman’s humming is meant to convey, and by exposing herself so honestly, I believe it offers us all an invitation to face our own vulnerability to relinquish what we hold most dear, and to remind us not to give ourselves away so easily to the concerns of others. With this new insight, I have found myself humming a lot more. In fact, it has become a mantra of sorts. At any number of moments during the day, I will simply give myself an affirmative hum…. just to be reminded of the flame that burns inside.