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February 19, 2008
Numerology: Lines of Longitude and Latitude
Has anyone else noticed that as the numbers go up, the subject matter gets darker? Recently we’ve had the Milgram experiments, soccer carnage, a lethal toss of Big Ed’s knife, and now we reach 41: ‘Zounds! I had no idea that to some numerically minded Bible enthusiasts, 41 signifies the 39 lashes, the spear in the side, and the crown of thorns suffered by Christ. I can, on the other hand, confirm that turning 41 might be your first grandly depressing birthday. (Turning 40, as traumatic as it is, at least involves a big blowout; 41 is nothing but a lethal comedown.)
Bruce Springsteen - "American Skin (41 Shots)" (live)
Unlike many of the crooked numbers we’ve encountered thus far, 41 has strong footing in the rock firmament, and that’s due to tragedy. In “American Skin (41 Shots)” Bruce Springsteen lamented the death of Amadou Diallo, the 23-year-old native of Guinea who was met with a barrage of 41 NYPD bullets in 1999 when he made the mistake of being black and reaching for his wallet in a dark storage facility. Springsteen risked the wrath of the law-and-order types in his fan base by writing this stark and affecting elegy, which certainly ranks as one of the biggest songs by a major artist to go viral on the Internet without any official release. To my mind, “41 Shots” is something to be played sparingly, in the same way that even the most diehard Spielberg fans reach for Raiders of the Lost Ark more often than Schindler’s List (the soundtrack of which contains another dark 41 song: “Jewish Town (Kracow Ghetto – Winter ’41)”
So what’s in 41’s favor, you ask? Iggy Pop said he chose Sum 41 to back him on the single from 2003’s Skull Ring, “Little Know it All,” and subsequent TV performances “because they have balls.” So that’s a positive thing. The 41st Side by the rapper Lake takes its name from an unforgiving housing project in Long Island City where he, as well as Nas and Mobb Deep, grew up. My favorite specific enunciation of “forty-one” comes from Tom Petty’s “American Girl”: Yeah, she could hear the cars roll by/Out on 441/Like waves crashing on the beach.” Of course the song is ineligible to win anything here except my undying affection; I only mention it because it still catapults me into the stratosphere whenever I hear it, conjuring teenage dreams, as well as the scene in Silence of the Lambs when the senator’s daughter sings along to it in the car, in her last free moments before her memorable captivity. Although it was rumored that the song memorialized a woman who committed suicide at the University of Florida, Petty has emphatically refuted the notion that he was referring to anything more than U.S. Route 441, which begins in Miami, passes through his hometown of Gainesville, FL, and winds north to Tennessee. I’ve never been much of a map reader, but I’ve always dug the way Tom spits out those numbers. (And by the way, that map reference, far from being arbitrary, is what we numerologists refer to as foreshadowing.)
Iron & Wine/Calexico - "Prison on Route 41"
Iron & Wine merchant Sam Beam fairly caresses the same syllables that Petty spits, in “Prison on Route 41,” an evocative waltz-time tale of man who avoids the fate of incarceration suffered by his family members because of the love of “the righteous grand Virginia.” While Beam’s burnished whisper sounds heavenly wrapped in the pedal steel, harmonica, and banjo accompaniment provided by Calexico, the song is just as strong, and perhaps a bit more haunting, delivered in Beam’s usual way, with just voice and guitar. It certainly doesn’t need that overloud drum.
Why is it that one man singing and playing an acoustic guitar can convey depths of meaning, while another man, with what some might call a better voice, a more accomplished technique, and quite possibly a better guitar, says almost nothing at all? That’s how I feel when I listen to Dave Matthews’s “41” after “Prison on Route 41.” If Sam Beam is iron and wine, Dave Matthews is the masterfully constructed, utterly lightweight Triscuit cracker.
Alabama, of “40 Hour Work Week” fame, continues to stalk me, this time with its greatest hits collection, 41 Number One Hits. That’s right. Forty-one chart toppers. Would someone please explain to me how this is possible? “Reason 41” by the Alarm offers nothing in the way of an explanation for the success of Alabama, but I couldn’t even begin to consider it because a) it’s extremely trite and b) the Alarm’s big moment comes later on, when it really counts, in the late 60s. And let’s not forget “4:41 A.M. Sexual Revolution” from The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking, a concept album from Pink Floyd’s Roger Waters on which he enlisted the help of non-Floydies including Eric Clapton and the late actor and one-armed-pushup master, Jack Palance.
Some songs you love; they touch something in you and you respond by loving them. You get cozy with them and carry them around in your head. But some songs have a different kind of power; they hold you in their thrall. You can carry them around in your head, but still, you’re almost a little afraid of how good they are; you feel the way “Sopranos” heavy Bobby Bacala did when he told Uncle Junior: “I’m in awe-r of you.” “Map Ref. 41°N 93°W” by Wire is just such a song. Despite its strong hooks and soaring chorus, despite the seeming connectedness of various lyrical bits, it’s still a bit of a glorious blur, both sonically and in terms of meaning, like a rainbow in a puddle that disappears when you try to grab it. The specificity of the title and the clearly enunciated attack of the main guitar lines are at odds with the song’s overarching elusiveness. The coordinates in the title, after all, make specific reference to the terrestrial equivalent of nothing at all: a field in Iowa. That same elusiveness and the overall smeared quality of this 1979 song became hallmarks of My Bloody Valentine a good 10 years later. And as far as I know, no one else but MBV has had the guts to cover it , although I can see Yo La Tengo or Sonic Youth doing the song justice.
My Bloody Valentine - "Map Ref. 41°N 93°W"
On a final note, if this quest has taught me anything, it’s that Kenny Rogers was right about the importance of knowing when to hold ‘em and knowing when to fold ‘em. I was wise to hold on to “Rainy Day Woman 12 & 35,” knowing that 35 would be a tough hole to fill, but I’m reversing myself here, using “Map Ref. 41°N 93°W” for 41 and not 93 for no good reason other than the awe factor. But it feels right. By the time 93 rolls around, I’ll probably come up with an argument for “Map Ref” winning that spot as well. Certain songs you’re just willing to go to the mat for. When I reviewed Wire’s 154 for an online data disseminator some years ago, I got fanciful, likening “Map Ref” to “the backing music for a love song between two artificial intelligences.” While that line is clearly indicative of a short-lived Neuromancer phase, I stand by the review’s final declaration: “What can you say? A stunner.”
Numerology is our pal Dave's ill advised quest to find the definitive song for every number from one to a hundred. It's starting to creep everybody out.
Previously: No. 1, 2-4, 5-7, 7 (counterpoint), 8, 9, 10/11, 12/13. 13 (counterpoint), 14/15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26/27, 28 , 29 , 30, 30 (counterpoint), 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40
Posted by David Klein at February 19, 2008 12:00 PM
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Comments
I saw Mike Watt cover this years ago. He was opening for Sonic Youth at the Boathouse in Norfolk (Washing Machine tour, I think). We walked in late; Watt had just started his set. I started singing along with this song, knowing it wasn't one of Watt's but not remembering who did it. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Wire does it again.
Posted by: Mike E. at May 27, 2008 09:54 PM
