“Saturday Night Didn’t Happen” by Reparata and the Delrons.
1. This will probably not be the only appearance by Reparata and the Delrons on this blog. They are a veritable gold mine of material. And no, I don’t know what a “Delron” is. Nor a “Reparata,” for that matter, although for the purposes of this post, I’m just going to assume it’s the odd first name of the lead vocalist.
2. I couldn’t find the lyrics posted online anywhere, and they’re a little hard to understand what with all that reverb and layering and Reparata’s breathiness, so let’s just start at the beginning, work our way to the end, and hit the highlights.
3. Reparata starts right off with, “Sunday morning, if you can call it a morning…” I don’t know what this means. Here are three possibilities:
a) Maybe Reparata slept in past noon? If so, you can’t really call it “a morning,” because it’s Sunday afternoon.
b) Perhaps Reparata believes there to be connotations of hope inherent in the word “morning” because of the way it often represents new beginnings. Therefore, since on this particular morning Reparata feels so devoid of hope that she’d “rather be dead,” she doesn’t believe that this particular portion of her day is worthy of the title “morning.” But I’d say that this interpretation is generous in the extreme.
c) It’s meant as a rhetorical question (even though it isn’t phrased as a question) with the assumed answer being, “Yes, you can call it ‘a morning.’” Why? Because, as Reparata just said, it’s Sunday morning. If you can’t call Sunday morning “a morning,” then what can you call “a morning?” Moving on!
4. Now Reparata notices a “crazy” neighbor going to retrieve his newspaper even though it’s raining outside and the newspaper has gotten wet. What a nutjob!
5. Unfortunately, the distraction of her insane, perhaps even psychotic, neighbor retrieving his wet newspaper causes Reparata’s mental blocks concerning the events of the previous night to crumble away and she cries out in anguish as the memories come flooding back.
6. In a panic, Reparata resorts to complete denial and, after a small outburst, she drives the painful memories from her mind again and regains her composure. But all is not well. For one thing, she’s shaking. For another thing, she likens the vocalizations of her parrot to the squeaking of her chair which, unless the parrot is actually mimicking the squeaking of the chair, doesn’t really seem like an apt comparison. And finally, in order to silence this parrot’s “squeaking,” she feeds it a carrot. Now, I looked up a parrot’s diet on Wikipedia, and they eat seeds, fruit, nectar, pollen, buds, and sometimes arthropods. But they really only want seeds. In fact, they only eat fruit to get at the seeds. I believe that Reparata has made the tragic mistake of assuming that an animal wants to eat foods that rhyme with the kind of animal that it is. But according to this logic, a snake would want to eat cake, an antelope would want to eat cantaloupe, a whale would want to eat kale, and a butterfly would want to eat buttered rye, all of which are obviously ridiculous propositions. Reparata is clearly in a fragile state. Nonetheless, the carrot quiets the parrot, although I would submit that the parrot is not quiet because it is satisfied with the carrot, but rather because it is either too angry to speak or dead because, for all I know, carrots are deadly to parrots.
7. Reparata puts on some shoes, puts on some R&B, goes back to the chair, does a few things I can’t make out, and looks at the rain some more. Somehow, this sequence of events again gives her thoughts an opportunity to slip their leash, which they do, and then it’s a sustained meltdown of denial and desperate bargaining until the song fades out. We do not leave Reparata in a good place.
8. But seriously, that line about giving the parrot a carrot kills me. Man, that’s funny.