and Words
Life isn’t easy from the singular side
Down in the hole some emotions are hard to hide
It’s your decision, it’s a chance that you take
It’s on your head, it’s a habit that’s hard to break
Do you need a friend?
Would you tell no lies?
Would you take me in?
Are you lonely in the dark?
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
In my early childhood, the closest we got to personal music was a boombox. Generic gray boxes with cassette players, radios, and extending antennae filled the room with tinny sound from reels of magnetic tape. Back then, the only headphones you could get were bulky over-the-ear units that resembled the Princess Leia hairdo circa A New Hope. These ‘portable’ units had battery compartments that housed a half-dozen D-cell batteries.
Upon hitting the 1980’s, the Sony Walkman transformed how we consumed music. Suddenly, we could each listen to music individually even among others. It was a package small enough that we could reasonably carry with us. However, my family was poor, and I could not afford the price tag of a Sony Walkman. As such we often shopped at the Thunderbird Swap Shop, where we found off-brand and irregular items. The point of compromise was a knock-off cassette player that I found at one of those vendors. No warranty, of course, that vendor may not be there the following week.
Still, I leapt into the world of having my own music and listening to it at my leisure. I started working at the age of twelve, I imagine breaking a number of labor laws. Hence, I was able to afford some things and often chose to spend that money on music. Among those first handful of tapes was this one. “Don’t Say No” by Billy Squier.
I kept those tapes in case that resembled a briefcase. That case contained three columns of ten slots, for a capacity of thirty tapes. The shiny paper insert contained the artwork for the album. If you were lucky, you may also get photos or lyrics in print so small that only a teenager could read with their naked eyes. I decided to get this album based on a number of songs that got regular airplay on the radio and even some videos on MTV. Billy Squier had a distinctive swagger to his on-stage performance (and first few videos) that translated to his music. Much like early Def Leppard, his first few videos were clips of the band playing the tunes on stage.
However, the media matters. Each album doesn’t merely contain that collection of songs. The sequence of songs gives that album its feel. Artists meticulously arrange them such that they flow and complement each other. In fact, Adele successfully petitioned Spotify to remove that automatic shuffle button on the album pages. Yes, it matters.
Furthermore, cassette tapes have two sides of equal duration. The collection of songs in each side are never the exact same duration, so there’s inevitably an awkward silence at the end of one side. For familiar albums, you’ll learn and anticipate the song that follows the current song, even the duration of the silence between songs. Out of convenience, we typically played through those songs between our favorite tunes in the album — that is, we endured the songs we didn’t like as much. As we cue up the music, we’d rewind to one side and start there; this may take a couple of minutes.
Therefore, the first song on each side gets played more frequently. This is both an incidental side-effect of the media and an intentional arrangement by the artist. On this album, “Don’t Say No”, the first song on the first side is “In The Dark”. While this album remains among my favorites, this song, in particular, is exceptional.
I spent much time blasting this song through speakers or headphones. This may have been in solitude among other people as the music streamed into my ears. I sometimes played it through my stereo in my room as I drifted to sleep. Often, I listened to it while literally laying in the dark. As the music starts, this song (as most Billy Squier songs) starts distinctively. That subtle start pierced by the sharp sound of the electric guitar.
For years, ‘In The Dark’ was precisely this, the first song on the first side of a favorite album, played more frequently than I remember. First, the distinctive guitar riffs set it apart from so many other songs. Next, Squier’s vocals doesn’t merely complement the musical instruments, they almost meld into those notes, making them nearly indistinguishable. His inflection and slight slur contribute to the entire performance and its charm. And for many years, that was enough. Then I really listened to the words.
These words oscillate between observing elements of an imperfect world; first, they express both frustration and resolution. Then, it transitions to the chorus, where it fills you with both hope and longing; you’ll even get a hint of urgency. We listen as he battles loneliness and seeks intimacy. Though it’s more than that, while he yearns for that companionship and closeness, it needs to be honest and sincere. It needs to be real.
If we believe Brené Brown and that expressing vulnerability is courageous, then this song is pure courage. I still hear Brené’s words as she asserts that while none of us are perfect, we all deserve love and belonging. Squier’s words yearn for companionship, acceptance, even love. He bares his soul and takes that leap of faith without any guarantees. Humbly, he pleads for honesty and intimacy. He too deserves love and belonging.
I’ll never know precisely what he means by “in the dark”. Is it the literal lack of light? Does it imply secrecy? Even still, is it a reference to darkness as it applies to righteousness versus wickedness? In some ways, it doesn’t matter; it’s whatever we want it to be. We all have our figurative ‘shadows’. As the song ends, those questions linger still unanswered, though we can feel that passion:
Can you face the fire, when you see me there?
Can you feel the fire?
Will you love me in the dark?