Song #39: Suzanne Vega - Marlene on the Wall (off Suzanne Vega - 1987)
I haven’t featured any of my five ringtones yet. I’m one of those dorks who uses snippets of real songs to identify individuals and groups when they call. I featured the wrong Marie-Mai and Joel Plaskett songs and haven’t even mentioned Sam Sparro or the Flaming Lips. Today, though, I’ve chosen the ring tone I’ve heard at least twenty times a day since I bought my phone two years ago - the one that plays when I receive a text message. It’s a testament to the song that I can listen to a snippet so often and still feel the irresistible urge to listen to the real deal. Sometimes, I feel like it’s the most applicable song to every guy I’ve ever liked.
Suzanne Vega is a singer-songwriter from New York. And I love her. I’ve loved her music since 1995 when my stepmother made me a mixed tape (yes, a physical tape!) of Jewel, Sinead O’Connor, Sarah McLachlan and Suzanne Vega. While my fascination with Pieces of You-era Jewel took precedence, it was only because it took so long for me to develop the life experience necessary to full appreciate Suzanne’s lyrics.
She sings about loving where you are, why we stay in unhealthy situations and those little encounters that go unnoticed as they happen but mean so much in retrospect. She gives voice to inanimate objects and silenced individuals who would otherwise have gone unnoticed. She brings life to city nights, logic to war, humour to heartbreak and strips love and infatuation down to the barest bones. If her music was louder, it would be revolutionary.
Instead, her demure lyrics are most often remembered in her two most famous songs, “Luka” and “Tom’s Diner.” When I tell people that I went to see Suzanne Vega, people only ever comment on these two songs. (“Oh, I know Tom’s Diner! It’s what I start singing whenever I want to get a song un-stuck from my head!” or “That Luka song was so sad!!!!!!,” usually.)
Marlene on the Wall is literally about a poster of Marlene Dietrich that she had hanging outside of her bedroom. She continually made mistakes in her love life, and felt as if Dietrich (who was always so glamourous) was watching her. That picture was the one constant. Men will come and go, but we need our Marlene on the Wall to hold us accountable.
