The Humpty Dumpty Love Song

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king’s horses,

And all the king’s men,

Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

On a whim today I decided to listen to some old compilation CDs a friend made for me years ago. Well, not for me, but for himself, and decided I should have them too. (They’re EWR CDs for those of you who know what I’m talking about.)

I’ve had this song for years and the past hour I find myself listening to “The Humpty Dumpty Love Song” by Travis on repeat. The narrative for the song isn’t as strong as the other song analysis I did, it’s more of a verse-by-verse, vignette-by-vignette piece, but no less cohesive. Perhaps it strikes a chord with me moreso now then it did when I first heard it, but I thought I would share some thoughts with you all.

The lyrics build off the childhood song, Humpty Dumpty, in a clever and touching extended metaphor. It begins sparsely, with a soft beat and an acoustic guitar riff, borrowing the first two lines from the nursery rhyme verbatim, evoking the mood of an intimate bedtime story.

All of the king’s horses

And all of the king’s men

Couldn’t pull my heart

Back together again

All of the physicians

And mathematicians too

And failed to stop my heart

From breaking in two

‘Cause all I need is you

I just need you

yeah, you got the glue

So I’m gonna give my heart to you

What always makes me take a breath is when I hear “my heart” instead of Humpty Dumpty. When I think of grown-up versions of nursery rhymes, I think of something like this—building on childhood lessons. We all know Humpty Dumpty fell off a wall, and nobody in the kingdom could put him back together. When told to a child, the story typically includes, but is in no way limited to: fancy china, glass vases, your little sister, etc. Then as one ages, one realises that none of that compares to the fragility of the human heart, which requires the most careful handling of all.

I had a premonition

a movie in my mind

confirming my suspicions

Of what I would find

It followed me to L.A.

Down to Mexico

Came in through the back door

At the start of the show

With the next verses, you can hear the strings begin to build, as if you’re slowly being lifted off the ground. The fluidity of the strings give it a floating, dreamy feeling, like you’re being transported into the place where this is happening, be it in a memory or in L.A. or in Mexico.

Still all I need is you

I just need you

Yeah, you got the glue

So I’m gonna give my heart to you

The addition of a regular beat comes in with the second “all I need is you,” the pulse of a heartbeat.

It was a perfect day

In a perfect way

You know something had to go

You left me high, you left me low

Now, as I lie in pieces

I wait for your return

the sun upon my forehead

It burns, baby, burns, baby, burns

The singer sounds so sheepish, like “everything was wonderful, I should have known it would all go wrong,” which I both loathe and empathize with. I am not going to pretend this is the most sophisticated songwriting, but there’s a very poignant simplicity to it, and borrowed phrases like “movie in my mind” and “burns baby burns” give it a more quotidian feeling—unpretentious, if you will. I love that image of lying in pieces, waiting for “you” to put him back together again. It’s no doubt Humpty Dumpty felt this as well, but put into the context of a song like this, it provides some fantastic double voicing (if you’re into dialogics like me).

An eye on all my horses

You’ve slept with all my men

I’m never gonna get it

Together again

These lines recall the nursery rhyme once again, only “all the horses” and “all the men” as different signifiers. There just little modifications–the lyrics are already so concise, and yet with switching one or two words “you’ve slept with all my men, I’m never gonna get it together again” resituates the whole song. I don’t think much of the lady the singer is pining for, but I do identify with him. To me he reverberates the helplessness of having no choice who he falls in love with, no matter how unworthy she is:

Still all I need is you

I just need you

Yeah, you got the glue

So I’m gonna give my heart to you

Yeah, you got the glue

There’s nothing I can do

Yeah, you got the glue

So I’m gonna give my heart to you

And every time the singer repeats “I just need you,” you can hear the ache in his voice—that’s all he wants. He can’t think of anyone else, and from his point of you only she has the “glue” to put him back together and make him happy again. But until that happens, he remains hopeless and heartbroken.

I disagree with much of this song on principle, but Travis wins on emotions for sure. For instance, I do think love is a choice—it just may not be the correct one. Perhaps you can’t choose who you are attracted to, but love implies some conscious emotional action, whereas infatuation may not.

Personal, by Stars

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! That’s right, I’m far too awesome to be a cynic this year. Valentine’s Day isn’t just about romantic love, even if it is an arbitrary day where couples spend inordinate sums of money on each other for no apparent reason. Actually, as I was walking to class today, I heard someone on the street wish a girl a “Happy Birthday,” and thought about the lovely day her parents must’ve had. Though I wonder how she got along in her depressed teen years mixing her birthday with a commercialized non-holiday.

So in celebration of love, I’d like to share one of my favourite love songs. I have an allergic reaction to anything overtly saccharine, so this one is bittersweet. (”Samson” by Regina Spektor is also one of my favourites.)

DOWNLOAD: Stars — Personal

It is difficult to begin talking about this song wihout first talking about the band, Stars. After hearing their newest album last year, I’ve come to a conclusion: if Claude-Michel Schönberg and Alain Boubil were Canadian and in an indie rock band, they would have written In Our Bedroom After the War instead of Les Misérables. Stars are a bunch of Romantic revolutionaries—Romantic and revolutionary in the 19th-century sense. Their storytelling bleeds through to their instrumentation, vocals, and lyrics, so that listening to them—even seeing them in concert, which I had the privilege of doing last semester—is pure theatre.

“Personal” is as much poetry as it is song, and not merely because of their loyal metre. Like many of their tracks, it features alternating male-female vocals. Torquil Campbell, the nameless male counterpart, wistfully sings out a personal ad:

[wanted:]
single f, under thirty-three
must enjoy the sun, must enjoy the sea
sought by single m, Mrs. Destiny
send photo to address, is it you and me?

Written in the typical format of personals, the word “wanted” flows into the rest of the stanza. It did not surprise me at all to learn that Torquil Campbell is also an actor. On a radio show he explained he sang this song an octave lower to emphasize his character’s darker personality. His words are annunciated with the precision of a miracle razor; resulting in a clean-shaven husky man. Although smooth, his voice is disjoint compared to Amy Millan’s, who sings the next verse:

[reply to single m:]
my name is Caroline
cell phone number here, call if you have the time
28 and bored, grieving over loss,
sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost
heavy is the cost.

Amy’s voice is so ethereal and fluid she will forever be known to me as “the voice I wish I had.” Fragile, vulnerable, yet fraught with meaning, Caroline replies to the personal ad with “sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost.” Here the double entendre is evident: the word “heavy” can either mean she’s overweight, or “heavy” in personality à la The Unbearable Lightness of Being, signifying emotional baggage and desire for a serious relationship. I’ve read some responses on SongMeanings arguing between the literal and figurative meanings. It would be just like Stars to intend for both. more »