Suzanne Vega. Suzanne Vega. Suzanne Vega. Imagine the bygone days of yore before the mp3 player was invented. Back in the early 1990’s, there was the CD, but… two drawbacks:
- CD’s tended to be pretty expensive, out of reach for the average student pocket.
- You could not burn your own CD.
The mainstay of musical entertainment was either to buy cassette tapes (total of about six or seven tracks on each side of a tape album) or to record music off the radio.
Imagine the situation. You’re in the Soviet Union/Russian September 1991 to June 1992 on your university year abroad. Your Russian room-mate spends most of his time with his girlfriend in the other part of town. Your British room-mate, however, has brought his extensive collection of albums on tape with him. But he tends to play the same album over and over and over again. Not just the same album, but the same track… My Name is Luka, by Suzanne Vega. This has got to be one of the most depressing tracks I have ever had the misfortune to have had imposed on my ears, song in a dreary, drony voice.
My name is GingeIn
GermanyRussia. I lived on the fifth floor (of a Russian student hostel), and I was sometimes tempted to throw myself from that floor. I used to wonder if that song was a clever ploy by the pharmaceutical industry to increase sales of Prozac and other anti-depressants. Fortunately I took my midway-point holiday in England, and came back from the UK with a nice ghetto blaster, earphones and plenty of tapes, including Nessun Dorma, sung by the late, great Luciano Pavarotti.
Now, it just goes to show how depressing a song Luka is that an Englishman would rather listen to a song that reminds us all of England’s penalty shootout defeat (Elf-Meter Verschiessen) at the hands of Germany during Italia 1990.
I feel a song coming on… I’d rather have Luciano than Luka anyway.