An artiste I've always admired, and have yet to review one of his albums (though that will change soon) is Dan Fogelberg. Best known for his hit singles “Leader of the band”, “Longer”, “Run for the roses” and of course the perennial Christmas favourite, “Same old lang syne”, Dan died in 2007, leaving the world just a little bit colder and emptier. He has had an impressive career in music, releasing over a dozen albums and gaining moderate success through the abovementioned hits, but a lot of people couldn't tell you who he is, or name one of his albums, which is quite sad.
Beginning his career as a sort of country/folk artist, Dan soon diversified into soft rock and pop, though he never quite lost the country element from his songs. The subject of this article is an example of how Dan Fogelberg's writing was, first and foremost, personal and intimate, concentrating on mostly ordinary people doing ordinary things. He was a storyteller, and a man of the people, and is sorely missed.
The song in question concerns that bugbear of growing old, but not the fear of our own mortality: this is a song about those times when we wonder how our old mother is, or if we should pick up the phone and call Aunt Renee, but then shrug and say we'll do it tomorrow, and somehow never do. The song, the title track from his 1984 album, tells the story of just one such old woman, as she potters through her lonely day, trying to fill up the empty hours with trivialities, hoping that the phone will ring but of course it never does, and how she remembers better times. It's a haunting, often upsetting and very relevant song for all of us, and if, after listening to it, you feel the urge to call that mother or father or granny or other old relative, or neighbour, perhaps you should trust your judgement and do just that.
Old people need love, too.
Windows and walls (Dan Fogelberg) from “Windows and walls”, 1984
Music and lyrics by Dan Fogelberg
The picture painted by Fogelberg is tragic and yet proud, as the old woman refuses to call anyone, rationalising that if they haven't the time to call, they must be busy, and she would surely be inconveniencing them by intruding upon their busy lives. She follows a routine:
”Up every morning/ Long before day/ Cooking the breakfast alone” and does her best to fill in her time
”Maybe she'll go to the corner today/ Pick up the new McCalls/ If just to escape for an hour/ From her windows and walls”. The use of the ticking clock, both as a lyrical narrative device and as an actual instrument in the song is extremely effective: we all feel the hours and minutes of our lives slipping away, and there can be no less lonely a sound than the clicking of the hands as they travel in their endless journey around the clock face.
A fragile, tragic song, and yet in its own way a triumph of the spirit, a small victory for the old woman, who still lives in the house she grew up in, and watches the days go by with quiet grace and no complaints, content to live out the rest of her life, if necessary, quiet and forgotten.
Here, as ever, is the video, along with the all-important lyric.
”Up every morning/ Long before day
Cooking the breakfast alone;
She quietly dresses /And pulls up the shades
And sits in the chair/ By the phone.
But nobody ever comes by anymore
Nobody ever calls;
Most days she sits and just stares
At the windows and walls.
Windows and walls.
Children all married/ Husband's passed on:
Nothing but time on her hands.
Most of her mornings/ Are spent in her dreams
Or making her sad little plans.
Maybe she'll go to /The corner today
And pick up the new McCalls
If just to escape for an hour
From her windows and walls
Windows and walls.
The clock on the mantel /Chiming the hours
Must be the loneliest sound.
She washes her dishes/ And waters her flowers
And afterwards has to sit down.
Sometimes she still can /remember a child
Playing with china dolls...
Now all that she's left /Are these memories and
windows and walls
Windows and walls
(day after day)
Windows and walls.”