A Weblog by One Humble Bookman on Topics of Interest to Discerning Readers, Including (Though Not Limited To) Science Fiction, Books, Random Thoughts, Fanciful Family Anecdotes, Publishing, Science Fiction, The Mating Habits of Extinct Waterfowl, The Secret Arts of Marketing, Other Books, Various Attempts at Humor, The Wonders of New Jersey, the Tedious Minutiae of a Boring Life, Science Fiction, No Accounting (For Taste), And Other Weighty Matters.
Andrew Wheeler was Senior Editor of the Science Fiction Book Club and then moved into marketing. He currently works for Thomson Reuters as Manager, Content Marketing, focused on SaaS products to legal professionals. He was a judge for the 2005 World Fantasy Awards and the 2008 Eisner Awards. He also reviewed a book a day multiple times. He lives with The Wife and two mostly tame children (Thing One, born 1998; and Thing Two, born 2000) in suburban New Jersey. He has been known to drive a minivan, and nearly all of his writings are best read in a tone of bemused sarcasm. Antick Musings’s manifesto is here. All opinions expressed here are entirely those of Andrew Wheeler, and no one else. There are many Andrew Wheelers in the world; this may not be the one you expect.
"This Year" is a series of weekly posts, each about one song from one year of my life. See the introduction for more.
Another quiet, sad song - another one about something broken or not working right.
You're makin' a mess Is that what you do best? Is madness just a hand-me-down?
My song for 2003 is B.P.D. by Over the Rhine. The title probably refers to Borderline Personality Disorder - probably. It's plausible, at least.
The song itself isn't that specific, though. Broken-ness can always be more general and less specific, and it is here.
I'd make it alright But I wouldn't get it right I'm leavin' it alone
It's about someone else, someone specific. That person is having problems - maybe asking for help, maybe just obviously in need of it.
This is clearly not new. The singer cares, but she's hit the point of clarity, of realizing that she can't fix this person, and that trying to fix other people is futile and counter-productive. All you can do is be there. All you can do is watch.
The chorus is largely the word "Yeah" stretched out - that sound of acceptance, finally, that "OK, sure, right" feeling that you've done what you can do, and this is it.
And the sound is mostly quiet: a single strong voice over piano most of the time, repetitive, the same few plaintive chords again and again - like this person asking for help, or needing help, again and again and again.
Cryin' out loud
Cryin' out
You're cryin' out
It's a song of acceptance, another song about that moment - about being there, and knowing there's nothing you can do but just be there. But, you hope, that can be enough.
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