All the Rage #11

So there I was, sitting at my barely-three-months-old job recently, when it suddenly hit me: I'm wearing no pants! After rushing home to rectify the "problem," I sat back down and something else hit me: I was an English major in college! And really, when I think about it, what the hell have I done since I graduated that remotely resembled what I studied for four years? (Other than makin' love, which I've studied for a lot longer than four years, baby. Come here and let me edumacate you.)

Now I'm suddenly determined to prove that I still "got it," if you know what I mean. No, not THAT, silly! I've always had THAT! Most boys do! No, I need to prove that I can still dice apart meaning in a work of art like that nasty Jason Voorhees with a young nubile teenage body. After all, they say that when you stop using your muscles, they get flaccid and disintegrate. (That would explain why my legs feel like jelly! I gotta spend less time on this computer.) This means that I have to use the part of my brain that used to cut up Shakespeare like a warm knife in melted butter, the section that would hack away at Joyce and Keats and Shelley with the reckless abandon of Crocodile Dundee slicing a path through the Australian jungle. Otherwise, that part of my brain could very well melt and drip out from one of my ears, and who wants to see that? Not my roommates, that's for sure.

My target: Don McLean's "American Pie," a timeless classic that has stood the tests of the ages and will probably last at least as long as those styrofoam containers they used to put Big Macs in. My goal: to reinterpret the song in such a way that everyone who reads this will hit their forehead hard enough to leave a bruise and collectively groan, "Oh YEAH! So THAT'S what that means!"

Wish me luck, and I hope to see you on the other side.

American Pie
by Don McLean

A long long time ago

This lyric means that the song takes place a long, long time ago.

I can still remember how that music used to make me smile

Clearly, we have a male masturbation fantasy going on here. "Smile" is a metaphor, referring to the excitement surrounding sexual climax. The "music," in this case rock 'n' roll, "makes him smile" because it is erotic tribal music that makes one very horny. Just ask my girlfriend. Hoo-hah!

And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while.

I'm reminded of a lyric from perhaps the greatest poetess to emerge from the Bronx this century, Madonna: "If you can dance..." I don't know why I'm reminded of the line. Perhaps the wistful energy of Madonna's ephemeral music connects on some deep subconscious level with the powerful cultural allegories of this song? Or perhaps the twelve shots of bourbon I've downed since I began this article have finally taken effect? Either way, I need to throw up now. Excuse me.

But February made me shiver

February is cold. Therefore, he shivers, because he is cold.

With every paper I'd deliver

He is a newspaper delivery boy. This is why he delivers papers.

Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

What could this "Bad news on the doorstep" actually be? Maybe his father, in a sad drunken stupor, arrived home and deposited his dinner and seven drinks onto his doorstep, just as I deposited a similar "package" into the garbage can next to my desk? This song then becomes a tale about the devastation alcoholism can wreak upon the average family life. It's still five minutes too long, but at least it's an allegory.

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride

Since the dawn of time, the "widowed bride" image has been pervasive in literature and poetry. Shakespeare invoked the "widowed bride" in act III, scene one of his last play, The Tempest, when he wrote: "Oh ye widowed bride that holds the key/Unlock my heart, and set my penis free." (Don't look up the line--it was cut from the play by Jesse Helms and those bastards in the Senate.) Here McLean is invoking the powerful archetype of the "widowed bride" to illuminate the powerful anguish he felt in his heart when he was molested by his mother. (Probably. Maybe. WORK WITH ME, PEOPLE! Who's got the English degree here, eh? Moi, that's who!)

But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

More sex? More familial violence? The line "Something touched me deep inside" can only refer to sex. Let's be honest. But Don McLean is a man, not a woman. So what do we really have here? A man who wants so desperately to be a woman that he dreams of being touched "deep inside." To do so would make him cry, like a GIRL. Only GIRLS cry, after all.

So bye-bye, Miss American Pie

Among some circles in adolescent America, the word "pie" is slang for the female sexual organ. You do the math.

Drove my chevy to the levee
But the levee was dry

Noted cultural historian Adam Grayson has commented that the "levee" refers to a famous bar in McLean's hometown of New Rochelle, New York. That noted historian can note this: you're full of crap, mister! Suck it! Clearly, it's another sexual metaphor. The "Chevy" is the male organ, driving into the "levee," the female organ. But though he drives the Chevy in, the levee is DRY. Do you have any idea how painful that is, for both the guy and the girl?! It's like rubbing yourself with sandpaper! This is my least favorite part of the song--I always cross my legs!

And them good old boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye

Again, the rise of the alcoholism subtext. With so much booze in this song, I'm surprised McLean can get it up enough to make the rest of the lines about sex. I guess that's what separates the geniuses like McLean from the peons like myself: the ability to sustain an erection when wasted.

Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

These two lines mean that today is the day that he will die. Then why isn't Don McLean dead? That's a good question. One listen to "Vincent," and you'll probably wish he was.

Phew! I'm beat from all that critical analysis! I gotta get some carbs and take a nap! One small note: perhaps you've noticed that many of my critical observations relate closely to sex and sexuality. If so, then perhaps you should get your mind out of the gutter, pervert. Everything's about sex, even when it's not.

Next time, we'll carefully unpack the myriad hidden meanings trapped within the lyrical verse of famed British poet Iggy Pop's timeless classic "I Wanna Be Your Dog." Ah, I can almost taste the stale leather. Until then, tah-tah!