Wondering if they may not be the same thing, or at least possessed of an intimate relationship," wrote Lester Bangs in Stranded, a collection of desert-island music writing. And then there's the crushing claustrophobia of the sickroom - 'Let me breathe,' he demands of the woman whose breath is failing, bubbling in cheesy lungs. I can't think of a more claustrophobic song. It also had the misfortune of first appearing on Morrison's debut solo record, 's Blowin' Your Mind, which was contentious in itself: Throughout it all, the singer is craving some kind of escape: Morrison had intended to record it in one take, but there were two takes recorded that day.
There is a street below, a street she'll never walk in again, and he is getting desperate to be down there, to rejoin the living, because 'the cool room is a fool's room'. It's the tale of a man stuck in the room of a dying woman friend - "And I can almost smell your TB Sheets," he sings, and sniffs the air "on your sick-bed. Morrison had intended to record it in one take, but there were two takes recorded that day. A lot of people couldn't take it; the editor of this book [Marcus] has said that it's garbage, but I think it made him squeamish. Tiny-but-constant fuzz-guitar licks weave around strands of shimmering organ like a garland—the Stratocaster noodling of the gods, bursting broken, slinky and blown-out, as if from a cracked speaker cone the size of a crumpled cigarette pack. The seemingly endless waiting, tambourine ticking off minute after monotonous minute. Critical reactions[ edit ] The Allmusic review states, "The listener is placed in the room. He yelps and howls like a dying man, a possessed shaman, a lovestruck lunatic, smug even in the slippery shadow of discontent. It is the closing track of a show at the Bowery Ballroom in New York, the collected band members clustered on the brink of the stage, beginning with just an acoustic guitar. Sheets' was recorded, the rest of the session had to be cancelled because Van broke down in tears. Sheets Part II' now," he said in The track that nudges its way into my head at these times is Van Morrison's TB Sheets, a song I have always associated with that muggy state of mind. This is hard for me, too. Tuberculosis in human culture The story as told in the song takes place in a room where a young girl lies dying of tuberculosis and is visited by the story-teller. The song was claustrophobic, suffocating, monstrously powerful, 'innuendos, inadequacies, foreign bodies'. While this girl is dying in front of his eyes, he actually has the nerve to snivel about his own problems, whining, in so many words, What about me? But if that masterpiece is a diamond, T. Snatches of impressionistic poetry are shaken in a hat with screams, grunts and other onomatopoeias imbued with more meaning than most singers can wring from their easier-to-understand if less-inspired couplets. Throughout it all, the singer is craving some kind of escape: Although somewhat disturbing, it certainly describes the term realism with one bold masterful stroke". His vague, wandering lines, blazing with urgency and passion, do more to capture our inability to communicate than anything we could say. In Siskind's hands it is a winsome country track about a woman who tells her man to go and love his mistress, she plays it both broken and defiant, in that beautifully distraught Nashville way. Sheets , wrote that "after 'T. But given to Bon Iver and Bowerbirds it is made into something singular and unwonted. Others were more enthusiastic: Smoke rings drift, glasses clink and bodies brush against each other in the muggy night, all pheromone-drunk swagger and swaying innuendo.
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