"Experience, though noon auctoritee, Were in this world, is right ynogh for me To speke of wo that is in mariage"
The first line from the Wife of Bath's Prologue in "The Canterbury Tales". I studied this text for over a year in college in Middle English and was tasked with memorizing the entire prologue and then stand up to recite it in class. Being an English Literature class in New England there were few men in the class, actually I was the only one. It was a tupperware party wrapped up in a bachlorette limo and I was always on the fringe. At the same time it wasn't a terrible way to spend an afternoon as a college sophmore especially because the reputation of English Literature girls (nymphos and overtly romantic) held true and was at times an easy score.
Like the woman in the Wife of Bath's story there was a woman in my class named Alison. She was dark haired and a notch above average looking with mannerisms that sent her over the 60th percentile into the hot realm. She sat across from me and we'd read lines to each other with a tense sexual subtext. But never to be fulfilled.
Between her and Costello's song the name has haunted me at times and has been put into the category of names that if possessed by a woman grants her significantly more wiggle room than the average. In short when I meet a woman named Alison (and three other names) they can almost do no wrong.
Krauss is no different although she has little to make up for, many a car ride I have spent listening to her voice serenading me through the long nights and roads. In an album widely heralded by critics this song of Gene Clark's stands out like the gapped front teeth of the Wife of Bath. The menacing subtle quality of the lyrics sung in such an unassumingly pacifist voice hinting at violence, the fade out of the outtro only to come back in to finish it off, all done in 3/4 Waltz time is magical in its terse, thinned out composition.
All of which would be lacking if it wasn't for Plant's versitility, dropping the leather pants and overt sexual pathos, trading them for a pair of overalls and an engineer cap in a rocking chair overlooking the Appalachians. His background singing adds a finishing draw of light smoke to Alison's strong tobacco aftertastes leading to the full bodied finish that begs for another glass.
This song reminds me of the much overplayed "Long Black Veil" in some aspects, there's a sense of dread in the narriative arc that will eventually lead to a judgement. In my own mind I don't believe a second of the line:
Believe me when I tell you
I will try to understand.
Believe me when I tell you
I could never kill a man.
That man will be dead, the overt emphaisis of "Believe me..." is much like the phrases: "It isn't about the money..." or "With all due respect..." We know damn well it is about the money and there is not respect involved. Just as we know there will be a dead man, shot down in bed with his lover. The lover surely will have the same fate.
This song is much like a suicide note, a manifesto, an explination written alone in a room with a mind fully intact and cognizant before the mayhem ensues. At face value it is beautiful and serene but when delved into deeper becomes even more beautiful and right. For some reason that five letter word will not escape my mind. It makes sense for it all to transpire and one would be disappointed if it did not. If there is one thing the studies of 14th century literature combined with modern day sexual tension has taught me is that these forces, while fluid and constantly moving through us are not only instinctual but inherent and timeless.
