By Baby Tuckoo
It is not strange to me that rain in pop music represents the breakup.
From Del Shannon’s Runaway, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Led Zeppelin, Elliot Smith, Jesus & Mary Chain, The Ronette’s, The Shangri Las, all the way to Guns n Roses’ November Rain… the examples are innumerable of rain being the spectral symbol of the dreaded “breakup”.
The rain cleanses. The rain washes. It wipes the slate clean so you can write on it again. There’s something symbolic about the rain and its ability to cleanse. My last major breakup in its final throes included me sitting on our second-hand couch at my ex-house with my ex talking about our mutual agreement to end an almost eight-year relationship; a marriage. As we talked and as the finality of the words that were almost incomprehensible to me at that point became concrete in the stillness between us, the rain began to fall outside. It was November the something’th, but alas it wasn’t cold November Rain. Nonetheless, as we spoke the rain came down and still the sun shone. And as we finished talking the rain almost immediately ceased. It was the same the day we married. A monkey’s wedding. And now a monkey’s ending. Yeah, the rain came down. I cried hard after that, after I left.
This brings me to now, and now, in this age of ubiquitous, bullshit technology, we are confronted with the ability to be in constant touch with our loved ones and others from dawn ‘till dusk… Ahem, hmmm, BBM. Bastard Breakup Machinery (by “BBM” I refer to any texting or IM service). We’re now able to be in our significant others’ “mind-space” on a permanent and lasting basis. This is not a good thing. One needs to exercise care and restraint with the amount of information you express to another. There is a limit. The mind is a terrible thing to taste and one should ensure that that which you allow others to taste is both palatable, chewable and in suitable portioning. Don’t overdo it kids.
And now come December, a year later; yeah you guessed it: the rain is falling again and I’m in that same place. I wore out a lover. I made too many confessions too early; I made too many mistakes to count; I was a fool ‘till the end; and I regret so many moments. But then there are others I’ll never forget.
I’ve made my mistakes in two’s and three’s, fours and fives, sixes and sevens … and still I’m learning.
In the cold, cold night a boy was birthed. A flash of white noise; nearby televisions sparked; then returned to normal. Viewer’s wrongly put it down to electrical storm interference. The boy entered the machine. He’s been trying to escape ever since.