Skip to main content

The Chair Song

I am I cried.

I am, said I.

And there was no one there – not   even  the  chair.

Neil Diamond.  Ahhh.  When my parents invited us to go to a Neil Diamond concert with them in the early 90s, that’s the song that played in my head.  “THE CHAIR song” I called it, and the lyrics above are how I heard it.  Of course, I also hummed “Coming to America”, but it was "The Chair Song" that drew me in.  It was the one I remembered playing over and over on the 8 track player in the big wooden record player/8 track player combo piece of furniture in our formal living room.  So, while Neil Diamond wasn’t on the top of my age 20-something playlist, I figured it would be a fun night and a good adventure with my parents.

So all night we sat with them in the auditorium, which was packed with “old people” their age, as I secretly waited for the song I found so funny and unintelligible.  Was it a love song to a chair?  A chair anthem?  What WAS it exactly??  My parents didn’t know that I quietly looked down on “The Chair Song”;  that I thought it was a ridiculous tune with even more mock able lyrics.  I was young and cocky and somehow “above” “The Chair Song”, but I tried not to let it show. 

Neil sang his catalog of classics, “Love on the Rocks”, “Cracklin’ Rosie”, etc, but NO “CHAIR SONG”.  As the night grew on, I needed to use the restroom but didn’t dare.  What if the moment I excused myself was when he pulled out all the stops and plunged into “I AMMMM I CRIED!!!!”?  But after a while I simply HAD to go to the restroom, so my boyfriend walked out in the hallway with me.  And as I stepped out of the bathroom, I heard it.  THE ANTHEM.  THE BALLAD.  “THE CHAIR SONG”!!!

We literally ran back into the auditorium.  I remember we didn’t have time to get to our assigned seats, so we listened to the song standing at the top of an aisle.  Neil sang it in all its’ glory.  And while I planned to mock, I couldn’t.  Because it was lovely.  There was a huge sea of humanity all intently listening to a song about a chair.  And he was singing it with all his heart even though he had surely sung it a million times before.  So instead of mocking, I cried.  Just a tear or two.  Maybe I understood at that moment that this was my mother’s music.  And I made it mine.

That was before the internet – where we could watch YouTube videos any time of the day or night and pull up song lyrics and see what exactly the singers are saying.  I guess now that I CAN, I should.  I hope it doesn’t ruin the magic of that night.  Thanks Neil – and thanks Mom and Dad.

Video of live performance with lyrics as subtitles:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xf1S9U2ghrI&feature=related

Lyrics:  “I Am…I Said” by Neil Diamond

L.A.'s fine, the sun shines most the time
And the feeling is 'lay back'
Palm trees grow, and rents are low
But you know I keep thinkin' about
Making my way back
Well I'm New York City born and raised
But nowadays, I'm lost between two shores
L.A.'s fine, but it ain't home
New York's home, but it ain't mine no more

I am, I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still

Did you ever read about a frog who dreamed of bein' a king
And then became one
Well except for the names and a few other changes
I you talk about me, the story's the same one

But I got an emptiness deep inside
And I've tried, but it won't let me go
And I'm not a man who likes to swear
But I never cared for the sound of being alone

I am, I said
To no one there
An no one heard at all
Not even the chair
I am, I cried
I am, said I
And I am lost, and I can't even say why
Leavin' me lonely still


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Damn Skin

I honestly don’t know how long it has been there.  David and I both have this sort of weird disassociation with time – him much worse than me.  But both of us really don’t have a handle on how long things are, how far in the past they were, etc.  It is like time blurs or something (which is why neither of us can ever, for the life of us, remember what anniversary we are on until we count back). So, filling out the blank on the processing questionnaire that asks “How long has this issue been there” is sort of impossible.  But how do you explain to medical professionals that you DON’T KNOW?  So I lie.  “Around a year, maybe a year and a half…”.  I could just write “Your guess is as good as mine”, but that would be even less helpful and harder to explain, so I assign a number.  So yeah, I have this “bump”.  That’s what I called it.  A “bump” on the right side of the bridge of my nose, very near my eye.  It has been there “for...

The Girl Who Can't Ride a Bike

I am “the girl who can’t ride a bike”. I guess to be accurate, I should say that I WAS “the girl who can’t ride a bike”.   But it was such a big part of my identity growing up, that the never formalized (but often teased about) nickname stuck in my psyche. You know how most kids love to jump on their bikes and pedal around the neighborhood once they have figured out how to balance, brake, and GO?   Yeah, that wasn’t me.   I wasn’t that kid. I am not sure WHAT really happened. The one thing I do remember is being on a bike in my family’s garage in Omaha, Nebraska trying to ride my bike.   It must’ve been winter, otherwise, why wouldn’t I have been outdoors??   But I think my foot slipped off the pedal and I know for sure my knee hit the handlebar.   It hurt.   I remember crying. But I am guessing that it hurt my pride more than it hurt my knee.   I think I was already past the age where kids were “supposed” to ride a bike. ...

Firsts. And Lasts.

I have been thinking a lot this past week on what seems to be an over-emphasis on FIRSTs in our culture. The first steps. The first tooth. The first born. The first time to have sex. The first haircut. The first word. The first car. The first time to roll over. First.   First.   First.   We photograph them.   We brag about them.   Heck, we even make BOOKS about them. And I have wondered why the lack of acknowledging the LASTs… Is it because the LASTs are so scary?   Too frightening to confront? The last time to drive. The last time to speak to your loved ones. The last smile The last time to walk.   To run.   To jump. The last time to shop. The last time to kiss.   To hug.   To make love. The last vacation. The last meal. If we could embrace the LASTs as much as we do the FIRSTs, would that make them more meaningful?   More tender?   Might...