So I’m starting a new series here, where I’ll be reviewing a new song each week; I’m going to be focusing on older songs, preferably deep cuts. I’d love to introduce people to some weird stuff, but I’m also going to be listening to some things that probably should have stayed lost.
My inaugural post is safe territory for me; it’s an old Elton John song called “Lady Samantha,” and it’s about a ghost. Recorded in 1969, it was only ever a B-side, and never garnered much attention. (Although Three Dog Night recorded a version, oddly enough.)
- My (quickly dashed-off) drawing of the titular spook.
Now, out of Mr. John’s early music, there are plenty of hidden gems. Entire albums have been overlooked (chief among them “Tumbleweed Connection”) but this song may not be among those. I’m not saying it’s a bad song; it opens up on a minor chord, with Caleb Quaye’s snarling guitar setting an eerie tone, Elton’s subdued jazz organ giving a beefy foundation. His voice is plaintive in the verses, and more urgent over the refrain. Oddly, however, it changes into a major key for the refrain, which doesn’t make sense to me; the sense of the lyrics doesn’t change, so shouldn’t merit a shift in feel. All the same, it’s got a pretty good melody.
So far, so good: solid tune penned by Elton John, the band’s grooving, and it’s about a ghost. But here’s my problem: the lyrics are ridiculous. They start out just fine: “When the shrill winds are screaming and the evening is still, Lady Samantha glides over the hill; in a long satin dress that she wears every day, her home is the hillside, her bed is the grave.”
So verse 1 is safe. Here’s where it falls apart, though. First off, he describes Lady Samantha as “gliding like a tiger” over the hillside. Now, I will concede that tigers can be graceful. But gliding? I don’t know.
Verse 2 is the real stinker, though. “The tales that I told round the fire every night/ are out of proportion and none of them right/ she is harmless and empty of anything bad/ she one had something that most of your have.” I’m not sure if that “something” is a body, or a lover, a great vinyl collection or a promising retirement package. But it’s the note of remorse in the teller’s voice that gets me. He’s built up some sympathy for this lonely ghost, that’s all well and good. Then he remembers telling some scary stories around the campfire, and realizes that he’s built up this perception of malice on Samantha’s part, and he’s now racked with guilt.
First, his remorse seems insincere, given that he’s still likening her to a tiger; there are plenty of other graceful creatures to compare her to. If he’s trying to spread the message of Samantha’s benevolence, maybe lay off comparing her to a predatory jungle cat? And bringing up the fact that she sleeps in a grave isn’t the greatest PR trick in the world, either.
Which leads me to point #2: she’s a freakin’ ghost. Even if he weren’t comparing her to enormous carnivores; even if he weren’t hammering on the fact that she’s an ectoplasmic loner; even if he’d found some genuinely complimentary things to say about this restless spirit, people would still be afraid of her because she’s a ghost. Game over, buddy. Sorry, man.
As promised, here’s the original version: