Cellophane, Mr Cellophane

         As I’m writing this, I’m on a train heading for London’s King Cross with my sister. It’s half term! It may only be four days long, but for both of us it’s a much needed break from our swamped lives. Being one of the unfortunate individuals who had to sit for the midterm exams, I’m more than happy to embrace these four days of stress free, no worries relaxation. Well, almost stress free. Damn you Tumi and Gary. Right now all I can hear in my head is their words before the break: “All you writers, go enjoy yourselves but remember, when you get back you need to think of what to write for your Column.” Alright boss, I thought. I’ll just write about...about...about....
         And I have yet to finish that sentence. Creativity is not a gift that God bestowed generously upon me when I was born. I’ve always been the logical, analytical type that is perfectly happy to write an essay about, oh let’s say, ‘Lactose Intolerance’ while struggling to think of an interesting topic for the Concord Columns. Moreover, God has forgotten to equip me with the ability to focus, and I must say I have not given this problem much thought over the past couple days.
         What to write about. What to write about.

*** 11 hours later ***

         What a day! I’m on my return train home, having left this article out of my mind to enjoy London.The big city! My hometown is tiny in comparison to this urban jungle. So many places to see and people to meet; from towering buildings that rise to the sky, to quaint two story shophouses that line the stone paved alleys. They made the way for Londoners of all colours and characters, all pursuing their own business for the day - among them was a brother and sister duo that were ready to explore. After a nice lunch in Chinatown where we got to indulge ourselves in Chinese Food (finally! And I thought this day would never come!) we spent most of the day in Westfield, a giant shopping mall on the outskirts of London centre. It has practically every brand my head could conjure up with (ah, but my friends who know where I’m from would say that not’s a lot!). There were many opportunities to draw inspiration from this bustling, metropolitan scene.
         But they eluded me.
         I have to admit though, I wasn’t very worried. Two reasons: one, inspiration comes at the least likely of moments; it’s a thunder bolt out of a blue sky that strikes you when you least expect it. Second, that night we were going to watch what I think is the pinnacle of the capabilities of human imagination, creativity, and talent. I’m talking about (entrance music please) West End musicals! Where music, dance, acting and writing converge on center stage to create the most entertaining two hours of a person’s life. We decided to watch Chicago this time. Its tag line describes the musical perfectly without giving too much away: ‘A tale about murder, greed, corruption, adultery, treachery - all the things we hold dear to our hearts.”
         It was the best musical I’ve ever seen, and I was humming the songs all the way back to my sister’s place (“Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane, should have been my name, Mr. Cellophane”). This is the thing about me, where ever I’m going there’s always a song playing in my head. Sort of like elevator music, it feels in the empty silence. Music has always been a big part of my life; I know I might not be very musically talented, but nobody said you have to have talent to appreciate it.
         The Chicago songs continued to play in my head for the rest of my stay with my sister. It should be noted that my stay was unexpectedly extended. I was supposed to return on Sunday but because there were no available trains, I had to take a 5.45 a.m. train on Monday. Why there were no trains my sister and I are still unsure; either it was engineering works or the workers’ strike. Either ways I cursed the British train services for the first time, which made me feel like a real Englishman.
         Perhaps it was a good thing that I couldn’t travel on Sunday though, because I had another great day with my sister exploring the town. This allowed the songs to ferment in my head even longer; by now I had downloaded the soundtrack of Chicago and was playing it on my sister’s computer on an almost compulsive basis.

***

         Soon, it was my last night in my sister’s apartment. I was brushing my teeth in front of her mirror, staring into my eyes that were reddened with fatigue. There was a sadness in my heart as I had to say so long to my sister, and prospects of a 5 am train and school loomed for the day ahead. And despite this still, in the background there were the Chicago songs! Its novelty had yet to wear off, and they’ve now become the soundtrack for my holiday.
         I reflected how the reason why I kept going with these songs its not just the tune was catchy beyond irresistibility; I really admired the cleverness of the lyrics of the songs, how they can be ironic, witty, meaningful and funny all in one verse. Let me show you an example from the song in italics above, titled, Mr. Cellophane:
         

Suppose you was a little cat
Residin' in a person's flat
Who fed you fish and scratched your ears?
You'd notice him

Suppose you was a woman, wed
And sleepin' in a double bed
Beside one man, for seven years
You'd notice him          

         The song is sung by the husband of the main character of the musical: he is an honest man, but rather boring and often slow. He goes unnoticed through the passages of life as if no one really sees him - in the musical, he says ‘Once, I went to school and when I came back - my parents had moved.’ Throughout the story many people (his cunning wife included) take him for granted, coming to him for help or to manipulate him, only to forget about him once he is no longer of use. In the song he sings, he says his name should have been Mr. Cellophane: cause you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I’m there. It’s a cute song that makes the audience laugh; but the audience also can detect the sadness that he feels for never being noticed.
         Song lyrics are powerful: they can convey a story, paint a picture, impart an emotion, and express a feeling. They can warm your hearts, touch the soul, give hope for a good day and offer consolation for a bad one. And though they’re just an assortment of words - the same words you may find in a boring textbook or brochure - but some gifted souls can select the right words and string them together in the right order so that they can do so much, in so little of time. It’s a shame that lyrics are under appreciated these days. Consider the following, more mainstream song:

This is why I’m hot.
This is why I’m hot.
This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot.
I’m hot ‘cause I’m fly,
You ain’t cause you’re not.
This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot!

         Now with all due respect Mr. Mims (or whatever your real name is) a three year old could write it. Thinking about it, you could get those lyrics off a Scrabble game played by three year olds.
         But how many of you have heard the ‘This is Why I’m Hot’ song, but yet remain oblivious to Mr. Cellophane? (Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane, should have been my name, Mr. Cellophane - sorry i still can’t stop!)
         Drew Barrymore, in playing the role of an absent-minded, quirky but talented lyricist in the movie ‘Music and Lyrics’ describes the role of lyrics perfectly in a song. Paraphrased, lyrics are where the soul of a song resides. It can be an analogy of the inner beauty of a person, whereas the music/melody of a song can be attributed to physical beauty. What attracts us first to a song is the music. But what turns a song into an experience, an embodiment of what we feel, think, or experience, is the lyrics. How many of you have listened to a song and thought, ‘Wow, that fits my life perfectly?’ Or how many of you have heard and read lyrics and said, “I’ve felt the same way before?” I’ve certainly have.
         Put up your hands if you’ve had a break-up song - a song that helped you through when a relationship had to come to a bitter end. Or a bad day song - a song you sing because it’s been such a miserable day that you just don’t know what to do. How about when you miss someone? When you love someone? Or when you (insert every possible emotion a human could feel here) someone?
         The power of lyrics is undeniable. Yet many of them escape our ears when we listen. And it seems that they also escape the attention of song writers in mainstream music. Well I’ve always placed them in regard, and I think everyone should do the same.
         Now, that’s a thunderbolt.
         In the space of one toothbrushing session, I have found my inspiration. Gary and Tumi, this is what I’m going to do: I’ll have a column with a song lyric for a title, and the rest of my article will be about that lyric. It’s not going to be an analysis, it’s not going to be a careful syllabus by syllabus dissection of the various discourses and non-verbal, erm, things to it (I’m sorry Mrs. Canney, but midterm does have an amnesic effect over my English studies!) It’s simply going to be about what comes to my mind when I hear them. And for me what came to me when I heard Mr. Cellophane?
         INSPIRATION.