Only Skin by Joanna Newsom Lyrics Meaning – Unraveling the Deeply Woven Tapestry of Songwriting
Lyrics
That night, black airplanes flew over the sea
And they were lowing and shifting like
Beached whales
Shelled snails
As you strained and you squinted to see
The retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry
You froze in your sand shoal
Prayed for your poor soul
Sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl
And when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke
My sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke
And there was a silence you took to mean something
Run, sing
For alive you will evermore be
And the plague of the greasy black engines a-skulkin’
Has gone east
While you’re left to explain them to me
Released from their hairless and blind cavalry
With your hands in your pockets, stubbily running
To where I’m unfresh, undressed and yawning
Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking?
You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking
It was a dark dream, darlin’, it’s over
The firebreather is beneath the clover
Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever
A toothless hound-dog choking on a feather
But I took my fishingpole, fearing your fever
Down to the swimminghole, where there grows bitter herb
That blooms but one day a year by the riverside, I’d bring it here
Apply it gently
To the love you’ve lent me
While the river was twisting and braiding, the bait bobbed
And the string sobbed, as it cut through the hustling breeze
And I watched how the water was kneading so neatly
Gone treacly
Nearly slowed to a stop in this heat
In a frenzy coiling flush along the muscles beneath
Press on me, we are restless things
Webs of seaweed are swaddling
And you call upon the dusk
Of the musk of a squid
Shot full of ink, until you sink into your crib
Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes
I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it!
Smell of a stone fruit being cut and being opened
Smell of a low and of a lazy cinder smoking
And when the fire moves away
Fire moves away, son
Why would you say
I was the last one?
Scrape your knee; it is only skin
Makes the sound of violins
And when I cut your hair, and leave the birds all of the trimmings
I am the happiest woman among all women
And the shallow
Water
Stretches as far as I can see
Knee-deep, trudging along
The seagull weeps “so long”
Humming a threshing song
Until the night is over
Hold on!
Hold on!
Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn
I have got some business out at the edge of town
Candy weighing both of my pockets down
‘Til I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
And knowing how the common-folk condemn
What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm
Being a woman, being a woman
But always up the mountainside you’re clambering
Groping blindly, hungry for anything
Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?
I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain
Little sister, he will be back again
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain
Spiders ghosts hang soaked and dangelin’
Silently from all the blooming cherry trees
In tiny nooses, safe from everyone
Nothing but a nuisance gone now, dead and done
Be a woman, be a woman
Though we felt the spray of the waves
We decided to stay till the tide rose too far
We weren’t afraid, ’cause we know what you are
And you know that we know what you are
Awful atoll
Oh, incalculable indiscreetness and sorrow
Bawl, bellow
Sibyl sea-cow, all done up in a bow
Toddle and roll
Teeth an impalpable bit of leather
While yarrow, heather and hollyhock
Awkwardly molt along the shore
Are you mine?
My heart?
Mine anymore?
Stay with me for awhile
That’s an awfully real gun
I know life will lay you down
As the lightning has lately done
Failing this, failing this
Follow me, my sweetest friend
To see what you anointed in pointing your gun there
Lay it down, nice and slow
There is nowhere to go, save up
Up where the light, undiluted, is weaving in a drunk dream
At the sight of my baby, out back
Back on the patio watching the bats bring night in
While, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white
Wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped
Last week our picture window produced a half-word
Heavy and hollow, hit by a brown bird
We stood and watched her gape like a rattlesnake
And paint and labour over every intake
I said a sort of prayer for some sort of rare grace
Then thought I ought to take her to a higher place
Said “dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you
And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view”
Then in my hot hand
She slumped her sick weight
We tramped through the poison oak
Heartbroke and inchoate
The dogs were snapping
And you cuffed their collars
While I climbed the tree-house
Then how I hollered
Well, she’d lain, as still as a stone, in my palm, for a lifetime or two
Then, saw the treetops, cocked her head and up and flew
While, back in the world that moves, often
According to the hoarding of these clues
Dogs still run roughly around
Little tufts of finch-down
And the cities we passed were a flickering wasteland
But his hand in my hand made them hale and harmless
While down in the lowlands the crops are all coming
We have everything
Life is thundering blissful towards death
In a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness
You stopped by, I was all alive
In my doorway, we shucked and jived
And when you wept, I was gone
See, I got gone when I got wise
But I can’t with certainty say we survived
Then down, and down
And down, and down
And down, and deeper
Stoke without sound
The blameless flames
You endless sleeper
Through fire below, and fire above, and fire within
Sleeped through the things that couldn’t have been if you hadn’t have been
And when the fire moves away
Fire moves away, son
And why would you say
I was the last one?
All my bones they are gone, gone, gone
Take my bones, I don’t need none
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on
Suck all day on a cherry stone
Dig a little hole, not three inches round
Spit your pit in a hole in the ground
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me
‘Till up grow a fine young cherry tree
Well when the bough breaks, what’ll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee
What’ll I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who’s gone to the west
But I’m starving and freezing in my measly old bed
Then I’ll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head
Come across the desert with no shoes on
I love you truly, or I love no-one
Fire moves away
Fire moves away, son
Why would you say
That I was the last one
Last one
Clear the room! There’s a fire, a fire, a fire
Get going, and I’m going to be right behind you
And if the love of a woman or two, dear
Couldn’t move you to such heights, then all I can do
Is do, my darling, right by you
Joanna Newsom’s ‘Only Skin’ stands as a masterful beacon of modern songwriting, an opus that beckons listeners into its mysteries with a pied piper’s charm. The spellbinding Harpist has, with this song, woven a tapestry so rich, it makes for an ornate aural brocade that demands unriddling. Fans and critics alike have attempted to translate the dense and allusive poetry that makes up ‘Only Skin,’ a song that exceeds 16 minutes and operates more as a short story than a traditional ballad.
This lyrical leviathan swims through a sea of thematic currents, from the intimacy of human connection to the existential dread of loss, wrapped up in the grander cloaks of life, death, and the natural world. As we dive deep into the verses of ‘Only Skin,’ we shall attempt to uncover not just the hidden meanings within its verses, but also peer into the soul and the creative genius behind Newsom’s harp strings.
A Melodic Mosaic of Myth and Memory
Newsom creates a cosmos of her own in ‘Only Skin,’ intertwining mythological references with visceral human experiences. The imagery evoked spans from celestial bodies and nautical vignettes to flora and fauna in a stage of metamorphosis. This lyrical labyrinth is an exploration of the cycles of life and death, and the oscillation between profound connection and searing loss.
The song’s ebb and flow are felt not just in its narrative arc, but in the undulating cadence and tempo of Newsom’s voice, accompanied by her signature harp. It’s a voyage through soundscapes that mimic the natural world, with verses that expand and contract with the rhythm of waves upon a shore, making for an immersive listening experience.
Exploring the Terrain of Human Intimacy
Beyond the veils of metaphor and fable, ‘Only Skin’ is unafraid to delve deep into the human heart. The song traces the contours of an intimate relationship – its passions, its challenges, and its transformative power. Newsom navigates through vulnerability and strength, touching upon the beauty and terror of giving oneself over to another.
The interplay between lovers, as depicted in the song, is not only about the personal and the emotive; it is also a representation of how we come to terms with our own identities within the spheres of such intimate unions. Newsom uses conversations between these characters as vessels that carry the universality of human desires and fears.
Disentangling Newsom’s Lyrical Gordian Knot
One of the most intriguing aspects of ‘Only Skin’ is Newsom’s penchant for dense, almost impenetrable, lyricism. The song is a puzzle, with allusions that range from the mythic to the personal, verses that require decoding, and metaphors that bridge the expanse between the concrete and the abstract. Each stanza represents a piece of an elaborate riddle that the listener is invited to solve.
It’s a testament to Newsom’s prowess as a poet and a storyteller. Every line is not just a string of words but a thread in a much larger tapestry, laden with symbolic meanings which listeners must untangle to appreciate the song in its entirety. The challenging nature of her words invites repeated listens, each promising new revelations.
The Haunting Refrain: ‘Makes the Sound of Violins’
Certain lines in ‘Only Skin’ echo long after the song has ended, and ‘Scrape your knee; it is only skin / Makes the sound of violins’ is one such memorable line. These lines juxtapose the physical with the spiritual, the bodily harm with the emotive output. It is characteristic of Newsom’s ability to turn a simple observation into a profound commentary on the human condition.
This refrain is a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the resilience of the human spirit. It captures the innate poetry found in our everyday lives and elevates it to something ethereal. The ‘sound of violins’ becomes an evocative metaphor for the beauty that can be born from pain, the music that emerges from our scars.
The Cryptic Prose of ‘Only Skin’: What Lies Beneath
While the tangible interpretations of ‘Only Skin’ revolve around its visible thematic veins, there lurks a subterranean layer of significance. Newsom’s magnum opus is not merely a song but a philosophical inquiry, questioning the very fabric of existence. The skin, in its literal and figurative sense, symbolizes the superficial layer beneath which the raw truth of experience resides.
The art of ‘Only Skin’ is not to provide answers, but to articulate questions that have no easy resolution. It prods the listener to contemplate notions of reality, identity, and the passage of time. The veil between the known and unknown, the seen and obscured, is where ‘Only Skin’ operates, inviting listeners to peel back layers and to explore the vistas it lays bare.
