Music Monday | hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have – but I have it – Lana Del Rey (Aaron Darc Remix)

Six days ago, Lana Del Rey released her newest song.

I’ve been tearing around in my fucking night gown 2/47 Sylvia Plath

It’s a sheer, luminous ballad with her perfect voice echoing in a wash over barely-there piano chords.

Writing in blood on the walls ’cause the ink in my pen don’t work in my notepad

The sparse, elegiac lyrics pierce the hard shell I require in place in order to function at the moment.

Don’t ask if I’m happy, you know that I’m not but at best I can say I’m not sad

But they can’t crack it.

‘Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman with my past

A friend remixed it into a deeper orchestral version with a percussion beat. A feeling of foreboding in the verses is emphasised by the addition of cuts from Marilyn Monroe’s last interview. A repeating piano melody makes melancholy look good.

‘Cause I’ve got monsters still under my bed that I could never fight off

This is the most extreme depression I’ve battled in some years. I am empty.

Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
But I have it

And yet, there is hope. Because history tells me it will pass.

 

If you want to listen to the original, here it is.

Musicless

Many Mondays have passed without music. As have all the Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays. There is little solace and much grief. I’m trapped inside a free-falling elevator plummeting to the bottom of the shaft and I don’t know when it is going to stop.

The heat of the day has been swept away by the storm. Light rain is spattering on the roof. And I am going to bed, again, to not sleep.

 

 

Music Monday | Meet Me in the Middle of the Air – Paul Kelly

I cannot find a reference for the following verse, so if anyone knows who to credit for the below words, please let me know. I’d appreciate it.

“The Measure of a Man”

Not “How did he die?” But “How did he live?”
Not “What did he gain?” But “What did he give?”
Not “What was his station?” But “Had he a heart?”
And “How did he play his God-given part?”
Not “What was his shrine?” Nor “What was his creed?”
But “Had he befriended those really in need?”
Not “What did the piece in the newspaper say?”
But “How many were sorry when he passed away?”
Was he ever ready with a word of good cheer, to bring back a smile, to banish a tear?

These are the units to measure the worth,
Of a man as a man, regardless of birth.