Seven Spanish Angels
Seven Spanish Angels
The song Ray Charles and Willie Nelson cut in 1984 feels as though it is much older than it actually is. This is partially a result of the classic borderland aesthetics of the lyrics, and the presence of veterans Willie Nelson and Ray Charles in bringing it to light together as an unlikely country duet. Recorded a few years after the obvious “Ebony and Ivory,” Willie and Ray are in full-synch, Willie’s talk-singing complimenting Charles’ burnished, gravelly voice. The lulling guitarwork on the album track (here they play shoulder-to-shoulder at the piano) is a beautiful Tex-Mex homage and the backing vocals pull us into a world of Western gunfights and angels.
The outlaws are outmanned and cornered and, as a result, they put their faith in God and his angels to save them. It doesn’t work, as the song tragically implies, and many more angels are molded from the dead human beings. The song cinematically dramatizes a kind of Western trope with a religious bent. What if angels are watching over these gunmen and women? The song postulates such guidance. Seven is a lucky number, but not on this day for the quasi-Bonnie and Clyde figures left fending for their lives in desolation.
“Seven Spanish Angels” takes us on an interesting journey in and out of the theological. It may be presumptuous to think that God cares a whit for a shootout featuring crime-committing ne’er-do-wells, but that is just want the song pushes forward: the idea that a moment of grace can happen even in the most lonesome, forlorn valley. Everywhere, not just in the church. Nick Cave may not believe in an interventionist God–and perhaps neither do the songwriters Troy Seals and Eddie Setser here; despite the outlaws' most earnest pleas they are unspared. Perhaps they transform into angels–or perhaps they are simply hoisted away on their own sugar pill of imagination. It is up for us to decide. What is clear is they believe and perhaps that is enough. Still, the female outlaw holds an empty gun–could there be a more potent symbol for the impotence of humankind faced with imminent death and destruction?
Growing up in the 80’s, I discovered both Willie Nelson and Ray Charles well past their prime. Willie Nelson was the old Farm Aid guy; Ray Charles was the other blind singer. Stevie Wonder was first and foremost–an MTV staple. But when I saw Willie Nelson myself at Farm Aid several years ago he still had it–and not only did he have it, he nearly stole the show–what with his craggy delivery and his weathered guitar from another century. As for Ray Charles–he’s a regular on my CD player and computer. Ray Charles brought it all together. He was, and still is, the glue connecting gospel, rhythm and blues, and blues together in one rollicking bundle. And though I am starting off with a slow ballad, I prefer Ray’s upbeat numbers best–you have to dance, or at least shake your tush, to them. That is undeniable. A great starting point for any set of ears.