The Wily Filipino

1987: 10,000 Maniacs, "The Painted Desert."

Back in 1987 my world was ruled by the 10,000 Maniacs' album In My Tribe; that was one worn-out, dead cassette tape long before my romance with that album was over, though it never really ended. (Then it became one of my very first CD purchases, in the fall of 1995. The Philippine version of the tape didn't even have lyrics, so it was a revelation to finally figure out what Natalie Merchant was saying most of the time.) In My Tribe, in any case, was my lone exposure to anything resembling American folk at the time, and for me it was a fresh breeze blowing from nowhere. (I was a little wiped out on "new wave" at the time, and I was about to enter a brief -- and embarrassing -- interest in horrible lite jazz.)

Merchant will probably always be seen as being 10,000 Maniacs, and with good reason: her supernaturally beautiful voice, combined with her distinctive pronunciation, elevated their music from an earthbound folk rock to something more ethereal. But for me it was always the late Robert Buck's lyrical, swooping guitar -- much in the same way that Johnny Marr, and not really Morrissey, was the true voice of the Smiths -- that anchored the band.

I suppose a good number of 10,000 Maniacs songs could have easily been my selection: the effective, if somewhat didactic "What's The Matter Here?" (along with Suzanne Vega's "Luka," easily one of the jauntiest songs on child abuse ever written), the moving "Gun Shy" ("And now does your heart pitter-pat with a patriotic sound when you see the stripes of Old Glory waving?" she asks her "baby brother" returning from boot camp), "Like the Weather" (which benefits from that irresistible guitar riff), the uncharacteristically furious "You Happy Puppet" from Blind Man's Zoo, and two songs from the Candy Everybody Wants ep: a haunting cover of the Horse Flies's "Sally Ann," and a cover version of "Everyday Is Like Sunday" that's even better than Morrissey's.

But I chose "The Painted Desert" instead. It's not one of their storytelling songs; this one takes the form of what looks like letters (never) sent out to some unknown addressee. It begins:

The Painted Desert can wait till summer. We've played this game of just imagine long enough. Wait till summer? When I'm sure the rains have ended, the blooms have gone, everyone killed by the morning frost.

Cactus, stars, ruins, sand, tumbleweed: there's a nice evocation of images here that the narrator will never see. Amidst Buck's chiming guitar, the song builds to a crescendo:

I wanted to be there by May at the latest time. Isn't that the plan we had or have you changed your mind? I haven't read a word from you since Phoenix or Tucson. April is over will you tell me how long before I can be there?

It's not a semi-operatic, "Jungleland" conclusion for sure; just the muted sound of a deep but ordinary futility, of an endless longing and waiting for some regeneration from the desert.

(I was inspired to return to my list and write about the 10,000 Maniacs after meeting Aimee Nezhukumatathil the other day; she teaches at SUNY Fredonia, which I had always associated with the Maniacs, though Aimee tells me they were from another town 20 minutes away.)

Posted by the wily filipino at October 6, 2003 12:36 PM