Are Swans Deceiving Us All?
Sometimes it’s a photo, sometimes it’s a song. Sometimes it’s just that one line (but I’m not afraid to have an eloquent boy at my door.) It’s hard to explain, exactly, just that it’s a sudden reminder, shocked awake by images and senses of a world that just can’t exist.
See, to describe it, capture it, is nearly impossible. But it’s this song, played a hundred times, and the enthusiasm that dazzles from its opening lines, the dance and smile that it requires, but then: no surprises in the record collection, you must have thought I was someone else. As with any Camera Obscura song, sentimentalism, loss and a heart tender and offered on pretty melodies and Tracyanne’s voice, that hint of mournful regret, dripping from this seemingly cheerful clash of instruments and delight. But it’s not, just the song, because it never is just the song.
It’s the way she sings, so you wanted to be a writer, fantastic idea, that half sweet, half mocking tease in her last words. It’s the refrain: a deer, a deer, a deer, my dear. My dear. It’s that world I so desperately strive for, the one captured on film, clothes that drape just right, soft slouchy cotton and faded colors, faces that mirror my own. Books in clever stacks on just right carpets, oh why can’t it be real! Sitting on swings and watching trees overhead, front porches with stories that play out in front of your eyes, this unattainable notion of…what? I wish I knew. I wish I could touch it and hold it and tuck it in my pocket.
For now I’ll settle for this song. And the silken pockets, soft hair and hidden smiles it reassures. Fantastic idea.