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melodyofthevoid · 5 months

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A Deep Dive of The Crane Wives: Foxlore

(Lmao it rhymes) Alright folks! Last full album (for now), just the singles still left to go!

The most recent album not including the live release, Foxlore thrives on the lively and quick, trickery as devious on both ends as the fox itself. It’s about outsmarting your enemies, outsmarting your demons, and avoiding getting tricked yourself. There is a brighter quality to the music, even in the quiet moments. Biblical references are scattered throughout, often a rejection of common thought in favor of independence.

Nothing At All

Warnings can take many forms, sometimes they’re haunting tales, voices in the dead of night crying their tale out into the mists. Other times they’re howled, bared teeth and claws displayed for all to hear. And sometimes, sometimes a warning can be gentle, a hand on a shoulder that guides you to sit for a moment and listen. A bright guitar that carries something heavy alongside it.

The singer speaks of happiness first. Pursuing happiness, chasing that elusive dream, it’s what makes life happen, is it not? Day in day out there’s a never ending stream of options all claiming to help you be happy, to find happiness, bottle it, drink it, capture it. But true happiness, the man who wants nothing at all, well that’s a state that no one can keep forever. Distancing and letting that fire die, it’s easier than chasing after it. Isn’t it?

The singer asks the one listening if they want nothing at all, replying that they do. They’re without desire and… perhaps without direction.

A short confession, this is one of the songs where I for a long time misheard the lyrics, and this opening verse is no exception. Instead of “So long as the fire, getting weak, contained” I heard “So long as the fire can be contained”. A warning of temperament and realistic expectations for life. In keeping a level head, you can find happiness where you’re at, at least, in this version.

The singer then speaks of the other end, of pursuing and end to pain. Longing to dull the ache that haunts them, longing to “feel nothing”. That endless void of distant emotion where nothing can hurt them ever again. But again, this is nothing more than a fallacy, feeling nothing means cutting out the joys in life too, never opening up. Pain does not define a person, to only be what hurts you is such a limited view of a person that reduces them, however the contrast of joy and pain, giving the highs a low to tower above.

The misheard lyrics here change “handle pain, doesn’t define a man, it sure lends a hand getting measured in the sweeter parts of life” to “I know pain does indeed find a man, it sure lends a hand in measuring the sweeter parts of life”. Painting pain as an inevitable part of life but one that can be overcome and accentuating the blessings that life brings as well.

Singing a new chorus, they ask if the listener feels nothing at all, again stating that they do. They feel nothing, and the anguish bleeds into every note until they break and say that they’d never wish that on the singer. Warning them to avoid their fate.

Refrains of “Do you ever feel nothing at all” and “Do you ever want nothing at all” echo in a round, as though the singer is speaking more to themselves than to their audience, trailing off as they seemingly come to a quiet realization that they can’t continue like this.

Now, normally I wouldn’t include misheard lyrics, as they’re not the author’s intent and this is no different, however I think they speak to the themes of this song on a personal level. To me, the song was a helpful and gentle guide, not a warning of a similar fate. But in the end, does that matter? If the message to not shy away from life, from all of its possibilities rings true, then isn’t that enough?

I Talk In My Sleep

Sleeping alongside another, finding that long sought after companionship, it can make the long nights softer, for having someone there to share it with. Unless, of course, there’s more between the two than simply pillows. The singer talks in their sleep into the darkness, the only one who’s listening to their plight as their partner sleeps beside them unaware. Dreaming of everything but them. Maybe their partner did dream of them once, maybe they were closer, but not now. Now they speak their troubles only to that which cannot respond.

Trouble plagues the singer, demons of the past, twisting their words and leaving them haunted. Their partner has no clue, whenever they leave for whatever reason, the demons come in closer, grip them tighter. And they won’t tell their partner, out of fear, out of shame. It’ll be easier if they keep it to themselves… won’t it?

Even if their partner did listen to the things that they said in their sleep, would they even understand? Would they understand their problems and worries? Or would they simply turn over and go back to sleep, ignoring the hurt and anguish that echoes in the room. A cloud of regrets that looms over the both of them as they try to pretend that everything is alright.

But that won’t solve the issue, won’t make that dark cloud disappear, and in the end, it gets to be too much. And they finally confess that they’re not alright. That there’s so much weighing on their mind. Maybe it won’t fix everything, and the distance between them might win out, but it’s better than pretending that nothing’s wrong at all.

Down the River

Sometimes, you want to give second chances to those that hurt you, in spite of knowing better. Wanting to believe that the person you want, that you hope they could be will come through in the end. But that isn’t the case, is it? Because this isn’t the first time, or the second.

The singer ruminates on the fact that they keep holding out for this person, waiting for evidence that they were wrong about them. That they’re going to own up to all of the damage and make amends. Then again, why would they? If they’ve still not changed their ways by now, they’re never going to.

What fun is there in sticking around to see the results of the damage done? After all of the entertainment of the betrayal, there’s nothing else to do. They’ve lost the trust so, better to find a new fool to pull the wool over.

Then that leaves the singer and all of the previous victims to handle the hurt on their own. The deceiver free to live and act as they please without the weight of guilt but them? They’re left with those scars to handle. They can’t run from that, they can’t simply shake off the years of trust shattered.

The singer was, as they put it, sold down the river, an euphemism born of the American slave trade. The Mississippi and Ohio rivers were common routes of transporting slaves, and to be sold down that route, typically meant being sold to a cotton plantation in the deeper South. A deep betrayal, and one that came at a steep price. Over the years the saying has lost much of its deadly connotations over the centuries but is understood as a betrayal at its core. Selling out someone else for personal gain.

The con-artist, the liar, the cheat, they’re going to skip town and find some new sucker to hurt because that’s the easier solution. Never content to let the dust settle around their feet lest the consequences catch up to them. They’ve got enemies after all, and those enemies probably want blood. With such a collection of names in their wake, one almost wonders if there’s somewhere that they hide away to keep their secrets safe, or if they leave it behind and never think about it again. It doesn’t look like it affects them in any way, doesn’t haunt their actions, so why assume that will change?

In the end, when it comes to people like this, who use and discard as they please, there’s not going to be a cathartic ending. No ending confrontation that sees them getting their due. It’s no use waiting for them to come around and change, it’ll only drag you down. Better to curse their name and walk away, be better in spite of them. And maybe, privately, wish for their downfall. It’ll come by their own hands eventually.

Ribs

The biblical tale of Adam and Eve, the giving of a rib to create a perfect “companion”, is a familiar tale to many in the United States and in other Christian majority nations. God making woman second, making her, in some eyes, “lesser” because she’s born from man rather than her own being. This is a rejection of that premise, that the tales of old define who one is now. The narrator may not be so removed from the narrative, however.

Marrow from Adam’s rib may have made Eve, made to be a companion and servant, but that isn’t the case for the singer. No man gave a piece of them to make her, not in the biblical sense anyhow, she is independent and free, of her own. Her heart may be battered by the elements, all of life’s hardships, but it is a burden she takes on herself. How lucky, she remarks, that all of her ugly and human organs are her own. No man dictates her actions, plays with her free will. She is the master of her own fate, however flawed or messy it may be.

Lilith is, in some texts, the first woman, crafted by God independent of Adam and expelled from Eden due to her refusal to submit to either of them. Building a life, a kingdom of her own both around her heart and away from the eyes of history. Her name has faded generally from public consciousness, untold by further translations of the Bible and being relegated to the role of a demon, a temptress by the sources that still mention her name. Her legacy today is a mixed one, for some a wicked morality tale, and for others a source of inspiration.

Yet this is no matter for the singer, be she Lilith or simply someone inspired by her story. Her empire, the world around her is untamed and unmoved by the words of liars and those who’d seek to chain her up.

The dark, the night, forces that frighten others are embraced by the singer, she chose to close her eyes to the light, to live in the darkness. Often, God is portrayed as the light, and she shuns it, embracing a life without on her own terms.

As time has gone on, the origin of humans has shifted (at least generally) from the dust of the ground, the forming by Godly hands to a more scientific origin. Views of women have changed (...somewhat) over time, and the singer implores that young girls not buy into any armor, any claims that she needs to change herself to be stronger, be tougher to survive. That she has to conform to someone else’s idea, her ribs are her own. Her body is her own.

And that is all they need.

Can’t Go Back

Sometimes, we fuck up. Badly. We make mistakes that we can’t take back no matter what we do and have to live with the consequences. It haunts no matter what you try and do to mend it, regret pulling on your heart and imploring you to sink deeper into your misery. Because it’s comforting to sit in that hurt forever, isn’t it? To feel like a monster, or a failure, reliving that moment over and over again. There’s an element of self-flagellation to it, as if that suffering makes you more righteous, and yet.

Sometimes someone comes in, wipes the tears from your face and tells you it’s okay. The singer guides you to try to forgive yourself. Yes, you might’ve sinned, but there’s a lesson to be learned in there, something to take away and move forward with. It’ll hurt, sure, but the rest can be left behind. It doesn’t serve a purpose to sit in self-loathing, there’s more life out there to live if you reach out.

Because you can’t go back to fix it. What’s done, is done. It’s time to move on, stop trying to dig up the past. Bringing it back to the surface won’t bring catharsis or relief, only reveal the rot that's set in as time wears on. All there’s left to do is carry on living as best you can. There will be a whole life ahead of those moments, whether you move on or not, so better to try, right?

And it may not be fair, it may not be within your control, but when has life ever been fair? For anyone? Maybe it’s not alright now, maybe it won’t be for a while, but all things change, including this. All times end eventually, including the bad times. One day, this will all be a distant memory that maybe you can look back on with fondness, maybe not. It doesn’t matter, you’ll be different, for better or worse remains to be seen but it’s up to you.

In the end, this is a soft lullaby, comfort at a low point, much needed. A hand through your hair as the last sobs leave your body. Ending in a sigh, and exhale of the weight on your back.

Curses

Before going into the meat of this song, let it be known that from a musical standpoint I’m not sure how anything could be improved. The clarinet solo at the beginning took me out and it’s such a bright and cheeky lick that hints at a little mystery. It almost carries the same tone as the main singer really. It makes me smile hearing the warm wooden tones dance in and out throughout the song. Anyways, onto the content.

In the midst of a crisis, there’s always some other crisis about to happen. All of it builds on itself, kindling on a wildfire blazing out of control. Each word compounds the panic, everything going wrong. So wrong in fact, that all methods of extinguishing the fire have failed. The well’s run dry, methods of fixing the problem exhausted. Leaving the walls to start to crumble under the weight of the damage.

But then someone else comes, a breath of fresh air clearing away the haze of the smoke. Sure, the fire’s still smoldering, intensifying, but at least you’re not alone, right? The singer pleads for the other to stay with them in the rubble.

When the house isn’t ablaze, it’s a testament to who they used to be. Giving an elegy for someone who no longer exists. Full of ghosts and cobwebs and regrets. Perfect fodder for another fire, especially when it’s no longer a home. Simply a place of residence.

And like that prayer said at a funeral, all will return to nothing, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, spelling doom for the singer as they try to outrun their problems, their “devil”, with their lover in tow. They hope that maybe, if they run far enough, fast enough, that their lover can give them a sense of peace, put their curses to rest and grant them some small mercy. Make something beautiful out of them.

Though this is a song and dance that they’ve done before. Many many times before, the well worn machine growing tired and sluggish as the singer tries to keep it from revealing her secrets. Too many details slipping through the cracks in their facade that they’re struggling to keep up. They’re on the verge of breaking down entirely. They just want someone to stay in spite of it. To say that there might be something worth saving amongst the wreckage.

That this curse doesn’t define them, even as they struggle. The tragedy and cry for help almost unrecognizable beneath the lively music. It’s a wonderful contradiction, hiding in plain sight. As if making the call for help fun will lessen the sting.

Turn Out the Lights

A quick little tune for the anxious, stating upfront what it’s about. “You don’t have to believe every single thought that tumbles through your head just ‘cause it sounds like you talking.” Sometimes (oftentimes) our minds are unreliable narrators for any number of reasons, jumping to conclusions, exaggerating fears and dangers, intruding on our lives with unwanted impulses or distractions. It can weigh down and make someone feel like they’re the problem, that they are their thoughts. Or someone can get trapped in that loop of negativity because well. It sounds like you.

There’s no quick fix to this, often those demons take many forms and constantly find new ways to badger and berate. All you can do sometimes is just… put them to sleep. Say “not right now” and find some other way to occupy yourself. “Turn out the lights” so to speak.

Even during the daytime they’ll weigh on your shoulders. Occupying your mind as you try to go about your day, constantly distracting… and for what?

In the end, honestly what good comes of endlessly examining your own failures and faults, drowning in anxiety? It doesn’t fix them. It doesn’t make them go away. Worrying that you’re a bad person for this that or the other, regretting past decisions, what does it matter? Taking actions for the future will give you results, not this. Turn off those lights, the singer shrugs, and figure it out.

Pretty Little Things

What’s the saying, words are cheap? Any string of the right phrases and insinuations and you can promise just about anything. Construct a lovely artifice of grand romantic gestures if you add the right actions to it. A bouquet of flowers, some chocolate, etc. Then what happens though? What happens when those words turn sour? When the sweet words and promises ring hollow? When the cycles repeat?

The singer’s first love gave his affections liberally, all lips and hands. Then those affections turned, with the cracks showing, turning to rough callused hands by the end. Implying that the hands that once held and caressed used their strength for… something else entirely. Leaving marks that she can still feel to this day. Touches against skin unseen but very much felt. A phantom limb.

She gets straight to the point from there, telling the one currently wooing her that she doesn’t believe any of what they’re saying. She’s heard them before, and while they’re pretty, they don’t mean much in the long run. Flowers, that common romantic gesture, are compared to those “pretty little things”, it hurts to watch them wilt away into nothing, losing their color, their meaning, until they’re nothing but reminders of what used to be. A lovelier time now long past.

The culmination of her previous relationship left a bitter taste, the trust she put in her partner betrayed and taken advantage of. Trust that she no longer simply allows others to have. It’s a right that is earned, and can be lost just as quickly. Just because someone is handsome with lovely eyes and a quick wit, it doesn’t mean that they deserve to be let in. Red flags often disguise themselves as roses, after all.

At the bridge, she reveals how she pulls them out, by denying what a man wants and watching as he reacts. Is he calm and accepting of her feelings? Is he somewhat hurt but reproachful? Or do the pretty words turn to ash in his mouth?

Now the tables turn, she concedes that perhaps she has been “ruined” as some put it by her previous relationship. Her better parts torn from her, her heart used up (although, not the only thing “used” in some eyes). Such that no one after can possibly enjoy a relationship with her.

Or maybe, and hear me out, that’s all bullshit, and are talking points used to badger and belittle people dealing with trauma from previous relationships (or in some cases having any previous relationships at all) into feeling guilty enough to agree to sleep with them. Or simply as a means to make her feel like shit for turning them down.

Well, in this case it’s not working. The hostile reaction only serving to prove why her distrust exists and why she keeps her barriers high. No pretty little thing is worth the costs, not long term. Even if there’s a lingering sense of loneliness as she repeats the chorus again, as if hoping that maybe next time, they’ll prove her wrong.

Know How

It’s easy to say that things will change, isn’t it? The logical part of the brain can come up with scenarios and plans all it wants, see the end goal at the end of the tunnel… but how to actually get there. How to gather the courage to go out and take that first step, to accept the risks and possible pitfalls that may come and do it. There’s so many questions that it can leave you paralyzed with indecision.

Keeping themselves safe, that’s the priority. Bravery is for other folks, those who can take risks. The singer focuses on the present and the boundaries, keeping themselves sheltered from harm. But their partner is different. Something’s changed in their relationship, the rules redrawn and they’re left scrambling to pick up the pieces. Maybe the change is a move, an ask for separation and space, either way it redefines what they know and well. What now?

They know what they have to do, their heart is telling them in no uncertain terms what it wants, even in spite of them ignoring it in the past. It’s insistent, pushing for change, and they understand it.

They know what they have to do.

They just don’t know how to do it.

They’ve been pulling the wool over their own eyes and blinding themselves to the fact that their relationship is changing. A love once freely given is now retreating and they’re left picking up the pieces attempting to understand what they’re supposed to do now that their constant is gone. Trying to cut themselves free of the net that they wrapped themselves in thinking it’d never strangle them.

Something needs to change. Complacency won’t save them at this point and it’s not as though things will simply go back the way they were. They may not be brave now, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be in the future. Fear is a constant in life, one has to act with it, in spite of it, and do what has to be done.

Not that it’s always clear how.

Not the Ghost

What makes a haunting, really? What is it? A presence lingering in a place after the resident is long gone? A collection of memories that refuse to leave, infused into the very wood of a home? Or perhaps, not a home, a person. Who isn’t haunted by something, or someone. A lover, an ex friend, a family member, whose physical impact on your life has ended but remains regardless. Maybe it’s not even a single person, but a collective. Decisions, events, accumulating over the years. A haunting presence.

The singer beseeches their lover to turn the lamps down low, to dim the lights so only the two of them are visible. Focus only on them, and not the endless dark that surrounds. Not on the future, never to the future. For a moment, they can exist together without any fear… ideally. They warn that there are demons here, that they’ll carry them home. Whether that means alone, bearing the full weight of their mental problems on their back, or that the demons will make themselves known within their home, it’s unclear.

It then shifts into a lament, like the ghosts of many a work of fiction, wishing to break the chains that bind them tight to their burdens. Not of an unfair or unjust death, but of disappointment and of self doubt. Whispers of warnings when their lover is gone, false omens of future woes. They want for more, and that in and of itself does not scare them. All of their burdens, all of what they carry keeps them afraid, though not of the past itself. It’s the fact that it’s still there that haunts them. The fact that it trails after their steps like a shadow that they cannot shake.

That fear that they’ll always be like this. No matter what they do.

Taking a step back, they look at the life they’re living, tied down to their regrets. An anchor forged in anguish and harboring guilt. So long as they sit there, so too will their past, tied and never able to move along. Collecting more mistakes as life continues on, bringing them home to sit and linger.

And maybe one day it'll change, but for now, they sit in that fear until the break of day, hoping their lover stays beside them.

The Garden

Relationships can be a beautiful thing. Trust, companionship built between two people, a life no longer lived alone. However, not every form of love is smiled upon by society. In fact, there’re those who are quite adamant that there is only one true way that love can exist, and anything else is blasphemy. Is sin. Disgusting, a crime, something to be shamed and any who deviate shunned and mocked. Or worse, depending on the community. This leaves any person living in these societies to walk along an eternal tightrope, both trying to stay true to themselves while staying safe.

But that balance can’t last forever.

The singer is frantic as they tell their lover to tear down all the evidence of their love. To bury it beneath their bed in shame. Hide it away, try to keep it hidden. The Crows, they say, are laughing at their expense. Carrion birds that pick at the decaying rot, at the easy victim. They sit within the Garden of Eden, on their high perch. Drowning out any possible excuse the singer could give in mockery.

Despite this, the singer pleads with their lover, their better half. Calling them their shield, their stone, their steady hand. They seek protection from the mockery even as they attempt to hide away. Their lover is their better half, the light in their darkness. It’s closing in as the potential repercussions creep closer too, and there’s nothing that they can do. Feelings torn between wanting to indulge in comfort, or let their lover take them out. The thin line of passion and vulnerability that could be so easily taken advantage of. Still, it’s something beautiful to them.

Something they can hold even as others scorn them, seeing only the bloodstained clothes, the sinner’s garb on the outside. The devil knows their name, they’ve transgressed against God, and it’s only a matter of time.

After their previous indecision, they resolve to remain true to themselves, and their love, laying down in the bed they made together, content to go, let the crows have their way if it means that they’re not separated. The persecution they’ll face, the hammers and nails that will be driven into their skin, they’ll have each other.

Then the mood turns, that quiet acceptance turning to rage as they decide no. They’re not going to simply lay down and let the crows do as they please. This garden is not paradise if there’s so many rules in place. They deserve better, and this place does not deserve to be. They get on their knees and start to tear into the garden, rejecting its promises, its so-called safety and welcome. Cutting down the apple tree. If this is a sin? Then they’ll accept it.

#my writing #the crane wives #whew #finished this one up in about... 2 weeks give or take?#still have about 7 songs to go for the singles #honestly out of all the songs Curses gave me the most trouble #any time I'd think about it I'd bop too hard to the music to actually analyze it #it simply goes too hard #overall really happy with how this turned out!#foxlore

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