LAURIE ANDERSON
c 1982
LET X = X
LAURIE ANDERSON
from the 1982 Warner Bros LP Big Science
LET X = X
I met this guy
And he looked like he might have been a hat check clerk
At an ice rink
Which in fact
He turned out to be
And I said:
Oh boy
Right
Again
Let X equal X
You know
It could be you
It's a sky blue sky
Satellites are out tonight
Let X equal X
You know
I could write a book and this book
Could be thick enough
To stun an ox
Cos' I can see the future
And it's a place
About seventy miles east of here where it's lighter
Linger on over here
Got the time?
Let X equal X
I got this postcard
And it read
It said:
Dear
Amigo
Dear partner
Listen, uh…
I just want to say thanks
So…
Thanks
Thanks for all the presents
Thanks for introducing me to the chief
Thanks for putting on the feedbag
Thanks for going all out
Thanks for showing me your Swiss Army knife
Oh and uh ––
Thanks for letting me
Autograph your cast
Hug and kisses
Ex ex ex ex
Zero zero zero zero
Oh yeah
PS
I
I feel
Feel like
I am
In a burning building
And I gotta go
Cos' I
I feel
Feel like
I am
In a burning building
And I gotta go
[This YouTube clip includes the next LP track It Tango]
Words and music
© 1982 Laurie Anderson
It seems nothing short of miraculous that an artist as uncompromisingly non-commercial as Laurie Anderson not only landed a record deal with a major US label but that her debut album for that label –– titled Big Science and released in 1982 –– delivered an unexpected hit in the form of O Superman, a minimalistic spoken word piece that clocked in at an unthinkable nine minutes. It defies all logic, economic and otherwise, yet somehow it happened, launching the career of one of the world's most genuinely experimental artists and introducing an entire generation of clueless teenagers, myself among them, to the undiscovered pleasures of avant-garde electronic music.
To the casual listener it may appear that Anderson isn't really doing very much in Let X = X. The track begins as a quirky little tale about a guy who works at an ice rink and ends with what purports to be a direct quotation from a postcard, backed by gently pulsing synthesizers and subtle percussion enhanced by ethereal robotic vocal effects. Anderson's beguiling vocal performance is a masterpiece of irony, each word carefully positioned and precisely phrased to emphasize its oddity and maximize its aural impact. Let X = X transcends its various parts to emerge as a compellingly unified whole, part humorous anecdote and part sci-fi prophecy, quintessentially modern even as it seems to recall (and perhaps mourn for?) the vanished pre-digital world of 1950s North America. (How many hat check clerks do you ever meet these days? And if you do meet any, how many of them are ever employed at ice rinks?)
Some may argue –– and I used to be acquainted with several people who believed it to be their sworn duty to do so –– that Anderson's work depends on the listener reading their own meaning into what is essentially the audiophonic equivalent of a blank page. But I'll say to you what I used to say to them –– isn't that the case, not just with her music, but with virtually every piece of music a human being is exposed to over the course of his or her lifetime? Don't we all project our individual thoughts and emotions into the music we listen to, be it Let X = X or Ride of the Valkyries or Mood Indigo or Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande? Consciously or not, we value a musical composition for its ability to transport us into the private realm of our mind and keep us temporarily suspended there without evoking unpleasant sensations of ennui, restlessess or both.
Of course, the work of an artist like Laurie Anderson does not just 'happen' as though it's the product of some benign cultural accident. She had a long grounding in the world of performance art, beginning with her first symphony, written for automobile horns, which received its debut performance in 1969. By 1981 she was sharing the bill with writers John Giorno and William S Burroughs on the spoken word LP You're The Guy I Want To Share My Money With and establishing herself –– with her waifish persona, trademark spiky hair and glowing electric violin –– as an artistic force to be reckoned with.
To the casual listener it may appear that Anderson isn't really doing very much in Let X = X. The track begins as a quirky little tale about a guy who works at an ice rink and ends with what purports to be a direct quotation from a postcard, backed by gently pulsing synthesizers and subtle percussion enhanced by ethereal robotic vocal effects. Anderson's beguiling vocal performance is a masterpiece of irony, each word carefully positioned and precisely phrased to emphasize its oddity and maximize its aural impact. Let X = X transcends its various parts to emerge as a compellingly unified whole, part humorous anecdote and part sci-fi prophecy, quintessentially modern even as it seems to recall (and perhaps mourn for?) the vanished pre-digital world of 1950s North America. (How many hat check clerks do you ever meet these days? And if you do meet any, how many of them are ever employed at ice rinks?)
Some may argue –– and I used to be acquainted with several people who believed it to be their sworn duty to do so –– that Anderson's work depends on the listener reading their own meaning into what is essentially the audiophonic equivalent of a blank page. But I'll say to you what I used to say to them –– isn't that the case, not just with her music, but with virtually every piece of music a human being is exposed to over the course of his or her lifetime? Don't we all project our individual thoughts and emotions into the music we listen to, be it Let X = X or Ride of the Valkyries or Mood Indigo or Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande? Consciously or not, we value a musical composition for its ability to transport us into the private realm of our mind and keep us temporarily suspended there without evoking unpleasant sensations of ennui, restlessess or both.
Of course, the work of an artist like Laurie Anderson does not just 'happen' as though it's the product of some benign cultural accident. She had a long grounding in the world of performance art, beginning with her first symphony, written for automobile horns, which received its debut performance in 1969. By 1981 she was sharing the bill with writers John Giorno and William S Burroughs on the spoken word LP You're The Guy I Want To Share My Money With and establishing herself –– with her waifish persona, trademark spiky hair and glowing electric violin –– as an artistic force to be reckoned with.
But it was the release of O Superman, part of an extended stage work titled United States, that introduced Anderson's music to a wider and surprisingly receptive audience. Originally released on the small independent label One Ten Records, the piece became a breakout hit in the UK following repeated airplay by influential BBC disc jockey John Peel. So many orders were received for this esoteric electronic curiosity that the buzz it generated brought Anderson to the attention of Warner Bros Records who quickly signed her to a seven album contract. The timing could not have been better, given the changes that were beginning to occur in the early 1980s in relation to how popular music was recorded, promoted and marketed. Suddenly, any music that sounded even vaguely futuristic was deemed to be 'cool' by mainstream urban audiences, while the film-clip for O Superman became something of an audio-visual cult object in itself which would go on to become a staple of the early MTV era.
Big Science was an album that reflected its time while simultaneously transcending it to become, in the truest sense, timeless. And I'm far from being the only person who holds that opinion. In her marvellously insightful review of the album posted on Discogs (and her own Bandcamp page), fellow Anderson fan Jenell Kesler does a superb job of capturing what continues to make Anderson's music so fascinating nearly forty years after its original release:
Laurie Anderson’s Big Science touched my heart in 1982. The movie Blade Runner was just out, with Laurie’s music sounding for all the world like some futuristic bedtime stories, designed to make us all feel comfortable in the electronic age… it was accessible, perplexing, intoxicating and dreamy, just listening to these tracks was akin to walking spiraling up through the Guggenheim museum. The album can be a bit scary, due mostly to Anderson’s deadpan delivery, while other tracks often come off as being prophetic and filled with nonchalant wisdom… In the end, Big Science, as the androids in Blade Runner, resounds with more humanity than almost anything you’ve ever, or ever will hear… where if you fall in love with a hat check clerk at an ice skating rink, then there’s actually hope this weary old world might spin on for a few more days.
If you haven't been exposed to the work of Laurie Anderson then you're missing out on something very special. I would urge you to seek out a copy of Big Science at your earliest opportunity, always remembering as you listen to it to keep your mind fully open along with your ears.
Use the links below to visit the website of North American artist, composer, musician and director LAURIE ANDERSON and read the complete review of Big Science by JENELL KESLER on the Discogs music website. (Be sure to scroll down to the bottom of the page.)
Special thanks to everyone who takes the time to upload music to YouTube. Your efforts are appreciated by music lovers everywhere.
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Last updated 14 October 2021 §
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