Have you ever noticed how the world appears different when you're looking at it out the window of a train? I remember the first time I road the Cleveland Rapid Transit downtown, I stared out the window and wondered if I had somehow been transported to another city or another country. The first part of the route cut right through the affluent, well-manicured suburban neighborhood of Shaker Heights. Looking out the window I saw enormous old houses and lush, tree-lined streets where street parking was unnecessary because the driveways were all long enough to park a fleet of cars. A few blocks before Shaker Square, mansions transitioned to old, alluring, dark-stone appartment buildings; typically only a few stories tall with dark woodwork and mailboxes in the foyer that had hinged lids like a knight's visor. West of the Square the Rapid Transit felt more like a train and less like a trolley because the tracks no longer ran down the center of the boulevard offering a voyeuristic view of wealth and “the good life.” Instead, the tracks wound there way through rougher neighborhoods behind unkept backyards, alleys, and dilapidated repair shops. Everybody seemed to be cultivating their very own landfill where the expectation was even wheel rims and washing machines would eventually biodegrade. I recall one backyard hill that seemed to sprout more and more used tires the warmer the weather got and the more the snow melted… The urban white trash vista soon gave way to industrial wasteland as the train neared the outer edges of the city. Rust was the prominent color mixed with the occasional splash of graffiti color. Piles of railroad ties lay stacked alongside the tracks as we clicked along. I'm sure rot got to them long before a railroad maintenance crew. Sometimes you could see people standing in the cold watching the train whistle by… surly teenagers would cock their arm and let fly with a volley of rocks, while small children, bundled against the cold, would race the train the width of their fenced yards—screeching to a halt when they hit the chain link and watch as the train thundered away down the track. In the fall you could see illegal piles of burning leaves. In the winter, smooth white snow with a few obstinate weeds—bleached of all color—poking through. And finally, as the train began to slow and approach its final destination, the ever-cold sub-basement platforms in the Terminal Tower, the landscape would change one last time. Dirty brick walls—close enough to reach out and touch—lined the tracks; growing taller and taller as the train began it's rickety descent into the bowels of the city. Then the daylight was gone — replaced with sooty blackness — as the train slowed and creaked towards its final stop: “Public Square. Terminal Tower. Downtown Cleveland. This train is now out of service.”
Today's Happy Medium Song of the Day features far more poetic railway musings put to music. “From Macaulay Station” is one of three wonderful, unreleased tracks on the new Lucksmiths EP A Hiccup in Your Happiness. According to its author, Marty Donald, the song is “an ode to one of the unlovelier stops on Melbourne’s rail network, nestled underneath the City Link freeway on the bank of the glorified storm-water overflow that is Moonee Ponds Creek. It’s been cleared up now, but for a long time the remnants of a demolished factory towered over the city-bound platform, a pile of rubble and twisted metal that looked like something from wartime London. I’ve never alighted there, but from the window of a passing train Macaulay’s bleakness is fascinating. It was about the most miserable setting I could think of for a tale of heartbreak and forlorn hope. The original idea was to record the song late one night at the station itself, to hopefully capture something of that ambience, but we opted for the comforts of Audrey Studios instead. Our good friend Pete from Sodastream came in to play some double bass on it on the night of the Australia/Uruguay World Cup qualifier. We brought a few beers in to the studio, and huddled around a portable TV that absorbed more and more of our attention as the game unfolded. Thankfully, left to his own devices, Pete came up with something lovely (as, of course, we knew he would), although he did seem a little taken aback by the exultant arm-raising and cries of triumph that greeted his final take.”
Leave it to the Lucksmiths to find inspiration and hope amidst “the pools of piss and the broken glass / underneath the overpass.”
PS. Congratulations to Marty and his wife Em on the arrival of “little Tom.”
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
Leave it to the Lucksmiths to find inspiration and hope amidst “the pools of piss and the broken glass / underneath the overpass.”
PS. Congratulations to Marty and his wife Em on the arrival of “little Tom.”
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)