Letters Burning By My Bed For You | a bel x freddie mix about loving & leaving.
Wow. Two mixes within the span of a couple of weeks (surprise, THEY ARE BOTH ABOUT THE HOUR). This is unprecedented for me, tbh. Though, I’m not going to pretend they were not planned to be released within the same time frame. Freddie’s mix is actually an intended counterpart that grew from this little epic which has been both a challenge and a complete joy to compile the past few months. It just so happened that the Freddie EP came together first and now I can bring you its companion; the main event as it were. I just cannot stand to give Bel and Freddie anything less than my best, so I hope that this lives up to that expectation.
Onwards!
Beware: it is possible there is a novel of meta-ish thoughts and info under the cut; along with, of course, the track list, covers, lyrics and a link to listen.
LETTERS BURNING BY MY BED FOR YOU
a bel x freddie mix about loving & leaving
about.
I’ve been invested in The Hour and everything it is pretty much from the start of the winter and spring BBC promos before Series One aired in the summer of 2011. Since I watched the first episode on a hot summer day in July I’ve been hopelessly addicted to the sophisticated, poignant writing that follows a BBC news team fighting for integrity and truth in journalism in the 1950s.
Stemming from my investment in the show came an even greater emotional investment in a working class boy, flawed and acerbic, brilliant and bold, devoted to ‘the story’ and relentless in rooting out the truth at any cost. Perhaps the only other thing equal to his dedication to the story was his devotion to his best friend; strong and independent, intelligent and capable, fighting to live in a “man’s world” as the producer of The Hour; a programme of which this boy was a part. The Hour wasn’t where he met her though, no. They had been friends for at least five years already (“April 1952”). And while their past remains mostly a mystery, somewhere along the line this boy fell in love with his best friend (probably the moment he met her, for this boy is very discerning, and she is immediately extraordinary).
Then, just as the girl learned that she was in love with him too, he left. He lost his job, the last part of his family passed, and in grief he blamed himself. So, he leapt into the unknown; on a search for something greater; for some kind of meaning. He traveled to California and New York and Paris, sending her postcards along the way. She began to wonder if he would ever return. She missed him terribly. And then one day he was back. He was back and he was married.
But in all of his travels and his books; in the banks of the Seine and the skyscrapers of New York, in his newfound love of Ginsberg and Sartre; in his nicer suits and his greater aptitude at ‘playing the game’, in all of these things two very essential truths continued to weave, crashing and colliding through him: the only thing he cared about was the story; the story and…her.
And it wouldn’t be long. It wouldn’t be long until he couldn’t deny it to himself anymore. It wouldn’t be long until she couldn’t be left silent. Camille left him, but he missed her more; and she said they needed to talk, “about us.” He said they needed to stop talking. He said they talked too much. Instead they had to do something. Then, in a moment they went from impossible to possible. All the years, all the words were in the past and the only thing left was the mutual understanding in their eyes as they broke from a kiss they had waited for far too long.
Then he left. He went to find the story. He went to find Kiki. He was going to follow right behind, but then he got caught. Cilenti. So he stalled. He stalled until they got the story. Until The Hour could expose corruption and collusion. Because he knew she would make sure it was done. At the cost of his own well-being, at the cost of broken bones and rivulets of blood; at the cost of her, he stalled. It was for the story. It was for the truth. To some extent it was for her. It was for the two most important things in his life.
They dumped his body on the lawn in front of Lime Grove Studios as she cried in her office, reading the letters she wrote to him in reply but never sent. The letters telling him she loved his bravery and his courage and that she wished she could tell him that a cowardly bone did not reside in his body. The letters pleading that he would come home so they could leap together. The letters telling him she loved him. But he left her again. He just keeps leaving.
Suddenly, her telephone rings, and she hears the voice on the other end tell her they’ve found him. So she runs, to him, to Freddie. Bel runs. And as she sees him lying lifeless outside Lime Grove, his eyes flutter open and one word leaves his lips…”Moneypenny.” Her name. And she runs, to him. (“James.”) He can’t leave. She won’t let him. (You see, they are both much more courageous than they give themselves credit for.) Not this time.
This is a mix about leaving. Leaving home. Leaving love unrealized. Returning and finally finding that love, only to lose it tragically.
I started on it at the end of November of last year, and as is the way of these things, it grew into so much more by the end of the series in December onwards, as I reflected on these beautiful characters and the relationship between them. On news of the cancellation recently, this also became (and remains) therapy for my still ailing heart. My hope is that these tracks speak to you as much as they did to me. I hope they reflect the possibility, the sadness, the tragedy, and the hope of Bel and Freddie’s story in Series Two. We may never know Freddie’s fate lying out there on the lawn now, but in my heart of hearts, he’s alive and being so wonderfully possible with Bel.
The music is divided into three parts:
J U S T . C O M E . H O M E , . A N D . I . W I L L . L E A P . T O O .
Tracks one through six are dedicated to Freddie’s travel to foreign places and Bel’s letters unsent. To two hearts that miss each other desperately, whether they are oceans apart or estranged by circumstance rather than physical distance. To those same two hearts, pretending to move on, but still inextricably drawn to each other in spite of everything. To the times they talk too much, and the things that still remain unsaid; to love left behind and love realized.
Y O U . A R E . P O S S I B L E . W I T H . M E .
The second section serves as a short interlude with the purpose of leading into the darker, more tragic, down tempo mood of section three. Tracks seven and eight are an ode to that shining moment when a kiss is shared, all doubts clear, and Bel and Freddie finally become possible. These tracks are intimate and soft, much like that moment in the dressing room. At the same time, the second track flickers with the threat of adversity as we hear: “We lost our chance to run, now the door’s too hot to touch…”These tracks are about arriving at the realization of shared love long yearned for, the hope and possibility whispered in a dressing room, and the fire that comes to threaten that ultimate realization only as it has just been found.
M O N E Y P E N N Y . . .
Tracks nine through fifteen focus on the final twenty minutes of the Series Two finale. The songs here are a bit darker, sadder, tragic. These are the tracks regarding the fire that inevitably comes. The fire that burns. It’s about the loaded gun that Freddie can no longer avoid and the nagging fear that won’t leave Bel alone. It’s about the possibility of having to leave, of having to say goodbye forever. It’s about that boy lying outside, beaten on the lawn and the girl crying for him at her desk, running to him, praying that he won’t leave her again just as they’ve discovered their possibility.
The final track is a sort of all encompassing tie in for the mix. It is a song about loving; a song about leaving. Oddly enough, this is the first song I knew (a long time ago now) that would be on this mix. It is the saddened delivery of the line “If I know you at all, I know you’ve gone too far.” that still makes me want to burst into tears, because it is so inherently Bel and Freddie. This track is a plea from Bel for Freddie to come home. It is her letter in song form. It applies to the Freddie who left the country for nine months and the Freddie found lying out on the lawn. It is both a literal and a figurative prayer for him to return.
m y s t e r y . c o l o r s .†. (a s t r o n a u t s , . e t c .)
New flirtations, and other forms of recreation
I'm in love with foreign places; I'm in love.
Mystery colors and things we cannot tell each other,
locked inside our heaven's cupboards.
h e y . n o w .†. (l o n d o n . g r a m m a r)
Hey now,
Letters burning by my bed for you.
Hey now,
I can feel my instincts here for you.
b l i n d . a s . I . a m .†. (i n d i a n a )
As I, I watch you go
I scream for you from deep within my soul.
I beg you please, I beg you please.
It’s like rubbing gold off my hands;
trying to see for what it is, I don’t think I can.
f o r e i g n . t h o u g h t s .†. (t h e r e . w i l l . b e . f i r e w o r k s)
She says she barely sleeps,
and if she does it's fitfully;
Hears footsteps in the leaves,
and if she dreams, she dreams of
the sounds you'll never speak;
the words left out between the beat
of clashing teeth and tongues.
o v e r j o y e d .†. (b a s t i l l e)
These words are all we have.
We'll be talking.
And I hear you calling in the dead of night.
p r o o f .†. (r a m o n a . f a l l s)
Are we friends?
Are we more?
There's no proof.
Defy. Make a move.
Diverge. Into two.
We collide with our lips.
t w i n s .†. (g e m . c l u b)
You let go of everything you had,
and everything got left here waiting for what comes next.
The state of things is tied to me,
and I've been careless, I think too much.
I want to lie still near you; I want to.
The wind shook the kiss from your mouth
before I could learn whose twin I was.
c o r s i c a n a .†. (t h e . a n t l e r s)
We lost our chance to run.
Now the door’s too hot to touch.
We should hold our breath with mouths together now.
k i n d s . o f . l i g h t .†. (m e m o r y h o u s e) .
The plans we made, the names we'd break;
I felt a home there, I hid my own there.
I can't see you behind all these waves.
The more I look the more you fade.
And I'd hoped that we could go out and see it
(we'll be in a better place).
h o l e . i n . m y . h a n d .†. (b e n j a m i n . f r a n c i s . l e f t w i c h)
Can you hear me call your name?
In the winter it didn't sound the same.
When my gun jams, my heart stops again;
and I close my eyes and see you.
I wanna come home, and I wanna come soon.
I wanna come now, and I want it to be with you.
h e l p . m e .†. (l o w . r o a r)
We built a house on sacred ground.
What happened out there, now happens in here.
Cold sweat, couches.
This was the worst of my fears.
Help me out.
Bones made of glass.
I'm starving,
for someone to feel
my blood, my skin.
Help me out.
What's left to talk about?
i l l u s o r y . l i g h t .†. (s a r a h . b l a s k o)
I knew exactly what you would be to me:
A scar on the horizon, a perfect illusory light.
And I held it in my hands, to protect it from the wind,
but the more I held on, I knew I'd lose it again.
n a m e s . a n d . r a c e s .†. (f o r e i g n . f i e l d s)
I asked you if you’d leave me.
You said you’d never go,
but you lie there still in your dying body.
We’re still trying to live.
t h e . o n e . i . l o v e .†. (r o s i e . t h o m a s . f e a t . . s u f j a n . s t e v e n s)
This one goes out to the one I love.
This one goes out to the one I left behind.
Fire.
s t a r s .†. (g r a c e . p o t t e r . & . t h e . n o c t u r n a l s)
I lit a fire with the love you left behind,
and it burned wild and crept up the mountainside.
I followed your ashes into outer space
I can't look out the window, I can't look at this place.
I can't look at the stars.
They make me wonder where you are.
Stars, up on heaven's boulevard.
And if I know you at all, I know you've gone too far.
LISTEN ON 8TRACKS
+ Comments make me smile almost as much as sassy 1950s journalists; especially comments post-listening!
+ Please don’t forget to sign the petition to save this show, join the fan initiative at Tumblr and Facebook, and get #savethehour trending on Twitter. Then let me know you’ve supported our efforts so I can tell you how much I love you. It’s been a while since I’ve been so utterly attached to a show and to see it go before it’s time is heart-breaking. We can’t let it go without a fight.
+ Finally, enjoy my little musical ode to the heart-breaking, beautiful journalistic duo full of possibility that is Bel and Freddie!