Every time I arrive at the third verse of Everything But the Girl’s song, “Missing,” I find myself asking Tracy Thorne, the group’s lead singer, Who are you? The song, with its near reverential hook, which splays Tracy open for missing someone “like the deserts miss the rain,” became a huge hit both in the club scene and on contemporary radio in the mid 90s. I’ve heard it playing in cars, clubs, parties, and even while shopping at Footlocker once. I have even asked people about that third verse, but no one has been able to bring me closer to Tracy, to answering my Who are you? of her.
“…I’m back on the train
I ask why did I come again?
Can I confess?
I’ve been hanging ‘round your address
And the years have proved
To offer nothing since you moved
You’re long gone, but I can’t move on
And I miss you
Like the deserts miss the rain…”
I have looked for that answer in many places, including, most recently, on the pages of On Such a Full. There is still no answer—at least not for me (not that this is anyone else’s question of Tracy). Still, I found affinity, and I found Fan. On Such a Full Sea does not offer us a resolution at the end of the story; we are still left suspended about where and why Reg has gone or, perhaps more precisely, been disappeared—the proffered answer that the narrator gives us is unreliable. At least to me. “Missing” does this as well. Leave us suspended as to the missing’s whereabouts and whys.
Tracy, too, is unreliable as a narrator. The only reliability that Tracy offers us is that she will be back to some place emptied of her reason for returning, as she has already done for years. This is, I think, love of sorts—that one person has so moored herself in another that she is also unmoored by them, by their absence. But this is also Fan, although her reasons for the persistence are clearer than Tracy’s. Though both are attempting a kind of reclamation. But Fan, Sea shows us, has been traumatized, and one’s proximity to trauma can lead to a certain unreliability. Tracy, when she tells us that she can “almost hear you shout/down to me/where I always used to,” is essentially telling us that she hears voices—or, at least, their echoes. And they persist, much in the same way that she does. That third verse tells us as much.
There is something slightly disturbing about the video as well.[1] In the video, a second video plays on a TV in the background (and, at some points, is set beside Tracy as she lays in bed, curled mournfully in on herself). In that video, the female in her lover’s embrace, rapt in their kiss is rendered so pale that she is almost translucent. The effect is such that, momentarily, she ceases to be; she is ephemeralized. The dark red of her shirt highlights the sense of ephemerality so that she is almost already disappeared even while in the presence of their kiss and in the hold of her lover’s embrace. The wrist band that the lover wears also heightens this effect: the colors of his wristband are the same colors that the female in his arms is wearing, and to the viewer there is an instant where she nearly fades out even as we are looking at her. The video, then, unreels her real and with this imagery in the back, Tracy’s pain, her sense of mourning is put into a tangible relief; her sense of loss is foregrounded and she, as a person, is both made clear and real, but also destabilized. The video seems to posit that this is what loss does to us; it is the condition we are rendered into.
The song “Missing”, the “Official Video,” the video-within-the-video, and On Such a Full Sea render love and loss—two of the most powerful of all conditions effecting humans—not only forcefully tangible, but ephemerally real. These texts lay bare the fragility inherent to us all. Or within us all. We can hear Fan’s voice in “Missing” just as clearly as we can hear Tracy Thorne’s. In On Such a Full Sea, we can see the depths that Tracy herself would be willing to go to. In both, we see familiars—maybe even something of ourselves.
I am still asking Tracy Who are you? And while I am no closer to that answer than when “Missing” first exploded onto the scene, at least I see her and Fan, and Fan in Tracy. I once said that I wanted my lover to be a song. One of my biggest fears today, however, is that the song she would choose to be is “Missing.”
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[1] There are at least two versions of Everything But the Girl’s video for “Missing.” There is the “Official Music Video” (posted here), but there is also a video inspired by Todd Terry’s remix of the song. The latter video is slightly jarring in its dissonance. In the remix-inspired video, which appears to be a fuzzier version of the “Official” video, but also slightly out of sync, not only is the picture noticeably less clear than in the “Official” video, but Tracy’s lips move at a different pace or time than the song we hear. The effect disturbs the concretized reality, the neat-and-tidiness of the “Official” video. The remix-inspired video appears to be telling us that the loss Tracy has suffered has smudged her reality as well. While, clearly, the remix-inspired video is worth putting into dialogue both visually and verbally with the “Official” video, I have opted to post the “Official” video for this blog because of the clarity of Tracy’s words, which come through more clearly in the “Official” video. Her words deserve to be heard, her voice listened to.