animals strike curious poses

April 23, 2016 § Leave a comment

One of the “perks” of being born the youngest in a family of five, nine years separating me from my sister, the fourth child, and fifteen separating me from my eldest brother, is that I had immediate access to all kinds of “age-inappropriate” pop culture from, well, birth.

I didn’t quite get “When Doves Cry” lyrically when I first heard it around the age of five or so, of course, but I liked the melody. Or maybe I was a genius and knew it well enough for what it is—a perfectly self-contained pop song. You don’t need words or cognitive development to groove to a good beat. Do you?

By the time I was in my pre-teens and this song had been firmly established in my personal canon as one of those songs, I still couldn’t quite grasp what it was saying about sexual relationships—although I knew it was about that. Sweat! Bodies! Kisses! But then there were the birds, and that confused me. In retrospect, I see that confusion can sometimes be a good thing. I took it literally to mean that maybe humans and birds copulated in courtyards and I don’t know what effect that had on me in the long run. Did it help to make me a more imaginative person, a weirdo who was willing to sit down with weirdness for a bit, to see what it was about, and didn’t automatically judge? My wishful thinking is that maybe it did, a little bit. It was a strange and captivating fairy tale, and in the tradition of the best kind of fairy tales, menacing and scary as adult emotions and sexuality are likely to be to someone aged ten or so.

But mainly as a child who didn’t have words to articulate what it’s like to be in a family—this screaming family, in particular—what it’s like to explore the dark recesses of all those feelings and the way in which your father and mother loomed in front of you, flawed and impossible, minor gods you couldn’t quite conquer, I could definitely get something out of

“Maybe I’m just too demanding
Maybe I’m just like my father, too bold
Maybe you’re just like my mother
She’s never satisfied
Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like when doves cry”

I hadn’t heard that in a pop song before. At ten, it seemed astonishing to me that Prince, too, had my father and my mother. As I grew up—and came to terms with the fact that Prince was not a sibling—I realised it summed up, in a few perfect lines, the legacy of your parents’ union. How, if you grew up with your parents, it is likely to play out again and again in the “I” and the “you” of every relationship you will have, in different registers.

A nightmare, in many ways. Trust Prince, the poet, to have made it sound so good.

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