Safety Line

I believe, deeply, in marriage as a concept. But it is easy to believe in a concept, or rather it is impossible to believe in a concept: intellectual assent signifies very little, if belief is taken to be analogous to trust -- to "believe in" something/someone is to trust in something/someone. How can you trust in a thing, a concept, a disembodied idea?

This song suggests that spouses act as anchors for one another. Maybe marriage does not always feel like this, but when it's at its best (or rather when things seem to be at their worst) this is how it works: two people shepherd each other's pain and craziness, tether each other to a better reality when one threatens to spiral out of control with grief or stress or anxiety or trauma.  I know this works. I have seen it work in my own life.

This song capitalizes on a strength of late-period Sixpence, which is a kind of relentless, mid-tempo groove. (See also: "Give it Back," "A Million Parachutes") Played live, these songs open up a lot of space for interesting guitar work and solos, but on record they give a sense of -- and I mean this in a good way despite the way I'll state it -- a kind of plodding, neverending stalwartness. I do mean it in a good way -- I think of these as songs that are always playing somehow, eternally -- it's just as if we turn the fader up for a few minutes at a time, then turn it back down, but those four piano and guitar chords keep playing, even if we're not listening. (With occasional breaks for truly tasty pedal steel.)

And that, I hope and pray, is what marriage is: relentless, monotonous, worn and comfortable; an anchor, a tether, a line connecting me not only to Big Things that I believe in, like love and charity and hospitality and kindness, but to one person to whom I have committed my life, to whom I have sworn I will never leave, will never let go.