Let’s call this a Music Monday.
I have always loved “Walking in Memphis” by Marc Cohn. It was the kind of religion I understood, even when I was young.
the original:
When the Divine appears to people in the old testament, they are ordered to remove their shoes, because they tread on sacred ground. Here, Cohn puts on his sacred (blue suede) shoes in order to be worthy to tread on the sacred ground.
I’ve always loved the rain, so landing in the middle of its pouring can mean nothing but that he was blessed and welcomed to the city of his pilgrimage.
He’s “got a first class ticket” but is still “as blue as a boy can be”. Worldly possessions mean nothing when compared to the Divine.
When he walks, he’s so excited to be there, that his feet are ten feet off the sacred ground. I’ve often felt that—walking on air, feeling a hyper-real sense of being somewhere—but he’s also unsure. Does he really feel the way he feels?
That was a line that often resonated with me. Am I feeling what I feel I’m feeling right now? Sometimes, things are too real, or too much, that it simply can’t be.
The ghost of Elvis. One of my favorite parts of the song. The Divine reveals Himself to the singer, but only to the singer (“security, they did not see him”). He follows the Divine to a sacred place, a place of pilgrimage, where many are gathered (“’round His tomb”) but they are looking in the wrong place. Elvis is headed to the Jungle Room (where “a pretty little thing wait[s]” for Him).
Memphis (where, full disclosure I have never been…nor had Cohn when he wrote this) is described as a land of milk and honey: “they’ve got catfish on the table, they’ve got gospel in the air”. What else does a holy place need than physical and spiritual nourishment? (And who doesn’t like gospel?) Even more, “When you haven’t got a prayer, […] you’ve got a prayer in Memphis”. When the rest of the world is unholy and devoid of the sacred, in Memphis, where the sacred lives, you can still find what is holy. This has always made me want to go to Memphis. Not because I love Elvis, but because Cohn makes it sound like such a wonderful and fulfilling place.
Even when I was a kid, I knew the significance of a bar called “the Hollywood” (where, to quote from a different song, “little girls from Sweden/dream of silver screen quotations”). Even in Memphis, it seems, there are dreams of other holy cities. The singer is asked to “do a little number” with Muriel, whom I always pictured as being blind. A blind seeress who plays while Cohn sings “with all his might”. If he who sings prays twice, he who sings with Muriel at the piano prays at least thrice.
And in response to her question, “Tell me: are you a Christian, child?” he says the best answer I can ever think of to give in such a situation: “Ma’am, I am tonight.” Respectful and agreeing if only for the nonce. When I sing with all my might in the midst of a Catholic mass, I’m momentarily Catholic. Even if I don’t believe their doctrine, the sacredness of music transcends worldly belief and touches the soul. Getting into a doctrinal argument with Muriel would ruin the moment but, for now, they share something that is at the core of their beings. What it is called is immaterial—it is an agreement of the central principle.
And the Divine—whether Christ or Elvis or goddess—cannot help but be satisfied with the kind of worship Muriel and Cohn present.
Other versions:
• Cher, who does it almost as well as Cohn (who is also in this version. “Muriel” is changed to “Gabriel”, the messenger of the Divine. Which makes me wonder, since archangel names often end in “el” (or “iel”) if “Muriel” was an archangel in Cohn’s version, too.
• Lonestar who definitely bring their own style to it (I would normally characterize them derisively as “Googoo Dolls Country”, but they make the song their own, which I cannot fault).
My thoughts go out to the people of Tennessee and the victims of the flooding there. I’ve never been anywhere in Tennessee, but Memphis and Nashville have been on my list of pilgrimage places since I was a kid.
