Skip to main content

Tina Turner

 It's possible to forget that Tina Turner was a writer. But she was; she wrote books and lyrics. The first time she recorded a self-penned song, she memorialized her hometown:


A church house, gin house....
A school house, outhouse...
On Highway Number Nineteen....
The people keep the city clean.
They call it Nutbush...
Oh, Nutbush....
Nutbush city limits....

Turner needs very few brush strokes to paint a picture: Life is church, gin, school, toilet. Rinse and repeat. "City" is a grandiose term; this town is a few shacks and some fields. And "limits" seems to be both a noun and a verb: Nutbush severely "limits" the people who try to build a life in the church house, the school house.

Twenty five was the speed limit.
Motorcycle not allowed in it.
You go to the store on Fridays....
You go to church on Sundays...
They call it Nutbush...

Having decided to play with the word "limit," Turner comments on your speed, and on the type of vehicle you might try to use. She becomes a kind of god, issuing commands: "Go to the store on Fridays. Go to church on Sundays." There isn't much room for creativity.

You go to the field on weekdays...
And have a picnic on Labor Day.
You go to town on Saturdays...
But go to church every Sunday....

And church makes its third appearance. Turner is relentless with her nouns: "school house, outhouse, gin house." "Weekday, Labor Day, Saturday..." Pick cotton, have a picnic, and pray. A song will sometimes use one topic to allude (indirectly) to another topic: People say that Tina Turner's ambivalence about Nutbush is really another kind of ambivalence, a statement about Ike Turner. TT was feeling confined within her marriage, and she couldn't say that, so she wrote about confinement in the town of Nutbush. Who knows? The Turners split not long after recording this song.

God is in the details. If you try to escape Nutbush with a night of drinking, you might regret your choice. "Salt pork and molasses is all you get in jail." You'd better be careful what you're putting down....

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...
2 comments
Read more

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...
Post a Comment
Read more