somethin final we call life

simplicity itself. the lady struts around in rachel marron digs on a decidedly eighties sidewalk, writhes on a fire escape, and sits pretty next to clarence clemons on the stoop of a building. there are no dancers, no frills, no routines. no night-on-the-town with a lover, no sentimental longing for nostalgia. just a pop star straddling between fiction and reality, while making her already double-meaning song free of symbolic illusions.