I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight (Part 2)

"Down Where the Drunkards Roll" - The implicit theme of "Bright Lights" is carried over and made explicit here in this soft ballad sung by Linda. In sensibility, it seems somewhat repetitive and obvious after the triumphant irony of the previous song, but in listening, its simple, sad plaintiveness is an elegiac contrast and a sombre meditation, fit perfectly to close side one of the album. Linda’s vocals are once again, remote, distant and unjudgemntal. The sole accompaniment is acoustic guitar and a quiet Fender Rhodes piano. The lyrics tell make their point easily, without constraint:

You can be a gambler
Who never drew a hand.
You can be a sailor
Who never left dry land.
You can be Lord Jesus,
All the world will understand -
Down where the drunkards roll,
Down where the drunkards roll.

The theme of replacement or delusion for that which is unattainable in life is spoken once again, softly and with a curious kind of acceptful grace.

Video - Richard Thompson performing "Down Where the Drunkards Roll"

http://youtube.com/watch?v=arqRV1RWXGI

"We Sing Hallelujah" - Side two kicks off with this stately, sarcastic hymn about the miserable state of mankind. Sung by Richard in a voice not quite so raw as his Henry the Human Fly persona, it makes a kind of cheery, celebratory mockery that would be suitable to that album. Linda, among others, join in on the sarcastic, bible-thumping chorus:

And we sing hallelujah
At the turning of the year,
And we work all day in the old-fashioned way
‘Till the shining star appears.

A kind of kindred to "Down Where the Drunkards Roll," the song really does not advance any new ground in terms of epiphanous discovery. Largely speaking, these two songs together, are weaker than the other songs on the album, serving largely as book-ending placeholders in the center of the record as such. However, they are enjoyably misanthropic, providing the similarly dispossessed listener with communal sing-a-longs for communion with his fellow sufferers.
There is a special, formal kind of quality to "Hallelujah," similar to the joyfully cathartic Irish drinking songs that seem to banish despair by celebrating it. ("Always remember the longer you live,/the sooner you’ll bloody well die" comes immediately to mind.) The interesting question posed by such songs in this context is whether they fulfill their traditional function of "mastery by mocking" of such deep existential fears, or rather - are they doubly ironic in themselves? In the light of the sheer bleakness of what has come before on this album ("The Cavalry Cross," "Withered and Died," "Bright Lights"), and what is to come, can the artificial mirth be really taken seriously?

The real question for such a song as "Hallelujah" in the context of such a deeply unsettling album as I Want to See the Bright Lights Tonight is whether it is itself a kind of decoy, a subtle psychological attack on the morbid humor that humans use to get by in the everyday world? Is it rather not, a "set-up" - a chance for the listener to build his or her defenses up before savagely, ruthlessly knocking them back down again?

I cannot know if Richard Thompson was thinking in terms such as these when he laid these tracks down, but as the album proceeds, the complete structure of the album, as well as its individual songs, seems so carefully, so artfully constructed, that it is difficult not to suspect ironic, even demonic motives here.

In his subsequent work, especially in his solo career, Thompson will constantly utilize dark humor as an essential ingredient of his craft. The point will always be able to be called into question whether these jokes do not indeed have two edges, and the truth is that what we are laughing at is precisely what will doom us without our actually suspecting it.

This cuts straight to the heart of Thompson’s art. He is a mordant human being, yes. He is a funny human being as well. In juxtaposing those perspectives, does he grant us the tools for dealing with life’s insurmountable problems, or is he masochistically taunting us with weapons that will eventually prove of no force? Are we, quote, "laughing ourselves right into hell?" That is a question that becomes increasingly difficult to disentangle. My suspicion is that whenever Thompson makes us pose this question, he is simultaneously posing it to himself.

This is not the time for any grand conclusions or summations, but it is becoming apparent that at least part of Richard Thompson’s artistic programme is to develop possible strategies for escaping the inescapable. If humor works, well, he’ll try humor. If the proper therapeutic seems to call for "reality immersion," or a complete confrontation with horror, he will try that as well. We can’t call him truly fearless, because the basic problem remains how to escape the inescapable. What makes him heroic is his willingness to face the problems head on, without distorting or minimizing them. What makes him a great artist is his unwillingness to abandon the search out - even if the only way is simple acceptance.