Behind the Song: Cigarette Machine
(Fred Eaglesmith)
Stumbling past your house baby
At the break of day
I thought I saw your silhouette
Dancing cross the shade
And I went down to the mission
I called and called your name
Till an angel with a face like yours
Came down and let me in
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine
In a bottle in the gutter
In a window on the street
In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV
I swear it was you staring back at me
I heard soldier’s voices by the city gate
There were junkies lying on the ground
They made me look away
I spilled you in a mirror
I chopped you into lines
Over some old kitchen sing
I swore I’d let you die
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine
In a bottle in the gutter
In a window on the street
In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV
I swear it was you staring back at me
Old radios and broken mirrors
Dogeared things I read
Worn out movie stars
In faded limousines
I stumble through my own charades
Coffee cups and clowns
I can’t keep up with parades
I keep falling down
Thought I saw your reflection in a cigarette machine
In a bottle in the gutter
In a window on the street
In a storefront in a picture on an old broken TV
I swear it was you staring back at me
Listen to a clip of the song:
Cigarette Machine“Cigarette Machine” is the story of a haunted but lovable fellow whose pain I can feel, and whose skin I am comfortable inhabiting on stage. He is haunted by lost love, haunted by sorrow, haunted by failure, haunted by the ghost of his former self, and trying make a life in a world that no longer makes sense to him.
He is an addict.
On the surface, “Cigarette Machine” tells the story of a lost romantic relationship, but underneath, the deeper meaning of the song is an exploration of the horrors of addiction. A major loss can break a person down and be the driver of addiction and mental illness, it can suck the hope out of a human heart.
Fueled by denial and trapped in the hell of powerlessness, the crushing grip of active addiction howls throughout this song. We all know the story, we’ve seen it before … swearing it off and five minutes later, picking it back up … I’ll quit tomorrow, the mantra of the addict.
All of this is implied here, the words beautifully framed by circular chord changes that just go endlessly round and round, like addiction itself—chained to a merry-go-round in hell.
Many of us intimately understand getting caught up in a person or a substance that’s not good for us, and starting to spiral downward from the wrongness of the attraction as we refuse to let go of our pursuit of what we want. Most will let go before the behavior becomes insanity (insanity being defined as doing the same thing over and over again, expecting different results). Repeated long enough over time, compulsion can become addiction. The chase then becomes relentless and starts removing things from a life, greater and greater losses will continue to enfold, but the addict is no longer able to control the compulsion and keeps sinking further down into deeper water.
The character’s life in this song has spiraled completely out of his control. He is haunted, troubled and lost, having hit any numbers of bottoms but still descending blindly into the hole he is digging for himself. This is the nature of addiction, falling into the self-dug hole. The hole will get deeper and deeper, (unless and until the addict puts the shovel down and quits digging), but the soul sickness of addiction abhors admitting bottom. It can’t even see that it’s digging a hole—the addict does not know, cannot see, that he/she is sick. Addiction blames, lies, denies, and will eventually kill unless the compulsion is broken. One must hit bottom, and bottom is simply putting down the shovel. Simple, yes, but not at all easy—in fact, many say it takes a supernatural intervention to truly break addiction.
The character in this song is in terrible shape, but he doesn’t know it. Much like the guy in the song I wrote called “I Drink,” this character is delusional but lovable—and we root for him, we feel for him, we want him to find his way back home.
I particularly love the lines: “I can’t keep up with parades, I keep falling down.”
It brought tears to my eyes the first time I heard this—I felt compassion for this guy’s human frailty, and ultimately, compassion for everyone else’s frailty (including my own).
Yes, I’ve been where this guy is. It was a long time ago, but I remember it as though it was yesterday and I don’t ever want to go back there again. Lord willing, I won’t have to.
This is a truly great song. Thank you, Fred. You keep hitting ‘em out of the park.
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Your text comments put it SO well. I’m glad I put down my shovel too.
Wow, Mary…. You know that I’m not only a huge Fred fan, but I’ve also spent what seems like years of my life, listening to his songs. (Time well spent!) But as well as I thought that I knew this song, you added about 3 more layers to the story from your explanation. Amazing, painful, real. All of those things that I love about Fred’s songs AND yours…..
xo
Ramcey
Wow, ditto Ramcey’s response about being a Fred fan and you adding so many more layers to this song. Your description of addiction is so powerful and so on the mark. I am sending your explanation to someone who needs to put down the shovel. Thank you.
Love your songwriting, your music. Awesome to see Scott Nolan and Joanna touring with you too.
Another great one from Mary G & Fred.. thanks again.
It’s a federal offense to read someone’s mail ya know. ” but the soul sickness of addiction abhors admitting bottom” Took a providential intervention for my grip to loosen on the shovel and will forever thank same for stepping in. The fallin down was easy. Following the parade? that was the life i watched of others (for i had stopped living). There’s always tomorrow, another cigarette, and another broken promise to keep when the morning comes stumbling in. Think that’s why i love Camelot Motel so much. But the liars, thieves, outlaws and fallen angles in my lyrics, are all welcome at the cross. as are junkies, whores and anyone else who realizes, it doesn’t have to be solo journey. my ‘friends’ all said it was a crutch to rely on my Jesus, but for a cripple, a crutch isn’t necessarily a bad thing
Hi Mary,
You always ‘nail it’. I’m so in awe of the life you have lived, the changes you have made to it and how you take the time to clearly/carefully express so much around that. And I love that Rockingham Meeting House photo too.
Great song, great song. Letting go of that shovel was the hardest thing I’ve ever done – just wanted to loosen the grip and hang on “just in case” I needed something. I did need something. That divine intervention that Jim spoke about. But I didn’t just need the intervention, I needed to sit up and pay attention – that took another kick in the pants – I seem to like to watch that parade so I didn’t miss anything, then I stumbled and fell again and again. But Jesus woke me up before it was too late and gently lead me back to where I needed to be standing. I’m thankful, so very thankful, for my family and friends and where I am now, but I don”t think I would be so thankful if I had not had such a tight grip on that shovel so many years back. Again, great song Mary!
“I swear”. I like how that line references Brokeback Mountain. Whether intentional or not.
Whether you’re a Mary fan,or one of Fred’s, you’d do well to look into the author Annie Proulx.
Richard Thompson, The Cowboy Junkies, The Blind Boys of Alabama, Carolyn Mark, David Francey, Joe Strummer, Tom Waits, Steve Earle.. artistes extraordinaires each and every one if you ask me. Mary be first among them, no sweat broken there.