I have lately fallen prey to a song called ‘My Skin’ by Natalie Merchant. It is sung with a sort of hopeful despair, if there can be such a thing. And it tugs. My God, how it pulls at you, her voice. It has a quality of the undeniable. It makes you want to listen, to believe, to hold, to give, to give in… to stay. And never leave the side of the person who would have said these words to you:
‘… I need
A lullaby
A kiss goodnight
The angel sweet
Love of my life
I need this
Is it dark enough?
Can you see me? Do you want me? Can you reach me?
Or I’m leaving
You better shut your mouth Hold your breath
Kiss me now you’ll catch my death
Oh, I mean it’
This sort of stuff coming from a woman who has said, “I’d rather dig a ditch, you know, do hard, manual labor than write lyrics.”
Please Natalie, allow me to dig your ditches. You keep writing and singing the kind of songs that make me want to do hard, manual labour on your behalf. And quite happily at that.
part-broken, part-whole 