Darling don't you understand, I feel so ill at ease
The room is full of silence and it's getting hard to breathe
Take this guilded cage of pain and set me free
Take this overcoat of shame, it never did belong to me
It never did belong to me...
I need to go outside, I need to leave the smoke
'Cause I can't go on living in this same sick joke
It seems our lives have taken on a different kind of twist
Now that you have given me the perfect gift
You have given me the gift...
And we have fallen from our shelves
To face the truth about ourselves
And we have tumbled from our trees
Tumbled from our trees...
Annie Lennox, "The Gift", from the album Diva.
Annie is one of my Goddesses. I listened to her albums even more obsessively than usual during a dark year. At that time, I was especially devoted to the album Bare. In some strange way, her songs become true for me in deep and personal ways, this one quite recently. Other songs on Diva were my themes years ago, now this. I received an unexpected and incredibly valuable gift on my recent birthday, and this sums it up better than I can.
Now, I recognize that this trait is not always a good thing. Charlie Manson and the Beatles' White Album, for example. I don't believe Annie is singing secret messages to me. I'm not going to write "Helter Skelter" (or "Walking On Broken Glass") in blood anywhere. She simply captures, in simple words and that pure voice, an experience or emotion that reverberates with new relevance, depending on when I hear the song. An affirmation.
Do you have an artist, or a musician, that seems to speak to you consistently? Is this one of the gifts of art?