Gerry Rafferty "Baker Street" (1978)
Baker Street
My first wife and I rushed into our marriage too quickly. We had that volatile mix of a mutual attraction motivated by a desire to have a successful traditional relationship and the bullheadedness of our individuality that caused us to frequently clash on ridiculous matters of disagreement. The real problem was that we made our commitment without knowing enough about each other and not fully understanding what we were getting into. It was that age old story of being blinded by the fantasy fueled by passion.
And then there was the baby. A child changes the nature of a commitment. Plans were threatened. My wife had her set of dreams and her dreams were not quite in line with mine. We each wanted what we wanted. That's what made things most difficult.
We had met on a touring magic show. I was the stage manager and a featured performer when she joined on as a magic assistant. Since the touring life can be somewhat lonely from the perspective of being in a relationship, we almost immediately took up with each other while on the road. Within a couple months we were in my parents' living room having an informal wedding with our families and friends. I made a leap from loneliness to being one half of a young couple on the road with a show. It was like a dream fulfilled for me. Not so much for my wife, but she endured pregnancy on the road in a magic show for me.
After a hiatus of settled life for a few months while my wife had our baby, she agreed to go back to the road life. We had many good times, but she mostly endured it for my sake. She made the best of the lifestyle, but I knew that her heart was not in it. She dreamed of a settled life in a nice house where we could raise a nice family. I tried my best to envision that dream. I went along with the dream. "Just one more year of road life," I'd say. I said it for two years.
Flash back to early November of 1978. We were now touring with a stage production of The Wizard of Oz. We were driving in our new model VW Rabbit, a brilliant blue hatchback that we had bought to do the road tour. My wife, infant son, and I. Even now I remember the feeling I had that morning as we drove through rural Mississippi.
My wife and I had argued the night before and we drove in silence. I sensed anger from her. I wanted to think of something to say that might make things better, but the words wouldn't come. She smoked another cigarette. I hated her cigarettes.
Hanging in a hazy autumn sky the sun dappled its light through the bare trees that lined the road. The effect was dreamlike as we drove in our confused frustration. We were listening to the radio that particular morning. I guess neither of us wanted to choose a cassette tape to play. The song "Baker Street" came on the radio. I had heard the song many times that year, but had never listened closely to the lyrics. On this morning I was listening and I heard the story of my life in variant.
We went on another year long tour after that. There were some wonderful times. There were times of happiness and times of resentment and anger. By the following year we separated and got a divorce. She settled down like she had dreamed about and I went back on the road for another eight years of touring with road shows.
I remained a rolling stone for a while and finally settled down myself. If it made sense for me, I guess I'd still be rolling. For now I risk gathering moss.
Did you ever have a restless urge to travel? Would you rather compromise to have peace or do you insist on having things your way? Have you ever realized what a song lyrics were about after having heard the song many times?
