“Lisa Says” (Velvet
Underground, Live, 1969 Version)
Why am I so shy? Oh
tell me why am I so shy?
You know god times
they just seem to pass me by.
Oh, why am I so shy?
There are certain songs you hear when you’re 18 that you can
immediately relate to, but are convinced that someday, somehow, you’ll learn to
outgrow when you ‘grow up,’ and “Lisa Says,” particularly this version of “Lisa Says,” is one of them.
In this excerpt, the singer recognizes shyness as an affliction
that prevents him from giving Lisa a kiss even though he wants to (and she
asked)! He’s more drawn to speculation, but he can’t figure out what causes it,
much less “cure” it. If he could answer it, would he be able to change, and
become the presumably less cruel, and more well adjusted “good time Charlie” he
contrasts himself with? Or is the shyness a salient, essential part of who he
is?
When I was 18, I and could immediately relate to this introverted
persona-- so obviously a Pisces (“made up of mostly water,” as he puts it in
“The Ocean,” another song from these sessions), but I probably believed it was
a situational mood song more than a salient identity song—not just because of
Reed’s later music, or the “rock and roll animal” persona he never felt
comfortable with, but because even in 1969, he was on stage singing a song
about being so shy. There’s a difference between being shy, and being shy about
admitting your shyness in public in a
heartfelt, yet artful, way. “Lisa Says,” in contrast to most pop songs, is not
shy about admitting its embarrassing shyness. In the process, the song becomes
an introvert anthem!
In the original meaning of “introvert,” it’s not a
judgmental term as “shyness” often is, but a descriptive term that means
“inwardly directed.” This can be evidenced in a tendency to be “always staring
at the sky” (as Lisa puts it). But it can also be social, and lead to a deeper,
more profound, kiss than what the
extroverted “Good Time Charlie,” able to live in the so-called present, is
capable of. It’s not just a soliloquy or confessional poem, in which the singer
pleas for understanding. The heartfelt melody (and even the campy, music hall
middle) shows it understands its shy listener, without condescending. In this
sense, the “I” of this song becomes transpersonal--and Reed, as a Pisces
Introspective Hero, helped me embrace it, at least for the record.
Looking back on his early songs in 1975, Reed writes:
Passion--REALISM--realism was the key. The records
were letters. Real letters from me to certain other people. Who had and still
have basically, no music, be it verbal or instrumental to listen to.
The song may not be the letter, but the record is. The record,
rather than the live performance, is the key that brings people together
(especially in this increasingly fragmented society). It’s not just a “finished
product,” but a highly personalized ‘form letter’—written for certain other
“inwardly directed” people. Of course, the letter analogy may not have as much
meaning in the 21st century, during the internet era, when the
contemplative medium of letter writing has become supplanted by a glut of
tweets and transient “kiss” of texts. It’s easy to forget that as late as the
90s, it was standard to write a letter, and wait a few weeks for a response.
This may have lacked the “immediate gratification” of electronic culture, but
certainly allowed the words to sink in, for both the writer and reader. Yet
Reed’s emphasis on the record, rather
than the song itself (let alone the
video), emphasizes the intimate
relationship that happens between the recording studio and the solitary
listener who may not experience music in traditional club settings.
The records are “not for parties/dancing/background romance,”
but are an introvert media. Like most VU fans, I first discovered them through
college radio, rock and roll history books, and/or records. Part of this was
due to necessity—living in a small town where none of my favorite bands played,
and no ‘underage clubs’ that I was aware of, made me value recorded music over
the live show (and in some ways the medium of recorded music—for better or
worse-- may have a lot to do with why
so many of us are so shy; as if the
record is where it’s happening more than the ‘actual present,’ which it was
easy to feel as a kid).
Only later, did
that lure me to see Reed in live performance, which in many ways was less
intimate, and even disappointing---at least if one was looking for that kind of
connection one could have in solitude. Yet, even in live performance, Reed was
able to make many of us feel part of a community
of introverts in a way most music could not. And, in a way, Lou himself never
did “outgrow” this Piscean, introspective, persona. That may also explain the
dark sunglasses more than “the future’s so bright I got to wear shades,” and
why Lou Reed abandoned the version of the song that emphasizes all the lyrics
about the shyness (he could pull similar theme and music-hall feel off in a
more campy way with Moe Tucker singing on “After Hours”), but for those who
find Lou Reed usually to be “too cool” (if not quite as ‘cool’ as Leonard
Cohen), “Lisa Says” may be one of his most honest
songs.
After all, shyness is also a professional workaholic stance:
some people like to go out dancing/ and other people they have to work---just
watch me now! (as one version of the “cool” rocker “Sweet Jane” puts it),
and certainly, just because you’re an introvert, doesn’t mean you can’t rock. In fact, dancing to Lou Reed
(or other music) live, and at parties, allows one to be “inwardly directed,”
and in a zone, and appear less shy than one really is. A lot of people who knew
me, or think they knew me, as a “class clown,” or performance poet, or rambling
verbaholic teacher, are surprised when I tell them I’m “shy.” —for some people,
it’s easier to talk to the world than it is to one particular person you’re
attracted to…and it amazes me how few people understand that.
The record, like the letter (or even the virtual reality of
the internet, in theory), is the art that allows the introvert to compensate for his or her “failure” in
the social present. I experienced this
first hand, when I recorded “Lisa Says” for Jeff Feuerzeig’s “Piano Van
Sessions” recently. As I sat in a Ford Econoline with a piano in it, rehearsing
the song for a recording, I peered through the little sliver of light and see pedestrians
who “are dancing and having such fun” (“Afterhours”). You can say I’m bringing
music to the masses, or at least random people who would never hear such a song
in a smokeless bar, but I’m wearing my “game face,” in a zone as they say, paying
more attention to practicing the song for the recording than to the pedestrians in the immediate social moment.
The future is more present than the present; the record more
social than the live performance. I feel isolated by the transient “kiss” of
the present that the “street musician” is supposed to thrive on. I feel shy,
but—equally—I can understand why Lisa would say, “You treat everybody so cruel!” It may not be my intention, but
by the time I realize I came off cruel when she flirted, she’s gone (first
thought, worst thought)! I didn’t outgrow it--even if I thought I did for a
while with my lady by my side for all those years.
But the recording, by contrast, gives me hope, and it makes
me glad to hear that many others consider “Lisa Says,” their favorite cover
song video Jeff Feuerzeig and I have made. The responses I’ve received from
people all over the world may be cold, “wire mesh mother” comfort in the
present—but they keep coming in long after “the night like this” in which I was
offered a transient kiss has passed, as if it might eventually compensate for
the affliction, and allow me, like Lou, to make a virtue of something I can’t
change.
But enough about Lou and myself; what about Lisa? Of all the
“says” women (or trannies), Caroline, Candy and Stephanie (and even the Lisa on
the VU version of this song), Lisa is
the most forward; she’s charmingly making the first move: “On a night like
this, it’d be so nice if you gave me a kiss.” She’s not just kissing the guy;
she’s using words to get him to do it. And all her rebukes, that might seem
nags to someone else, are not really judgmental; she’s just trying to get him
to kiss her! When I got into Shakespeare years later, I realize she’s kind of
like the Shakespearean comic heroine (Beatrice, Rosalind, Portia, etc.) in
that. I could easily fall for Lisa, and probably have a few times; sometimes
she’s a tease, but sometimes she’s genuine! She has to tease to please.
Here’s the link to the video on YOUTUBE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=npjH4FVqNNk
Chris Stroffolino, March 2013
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