Overanalyzing "Charlene" by Anthony Hamilton

Charlene by Anthony Hamilton is full of the deeply melodic sorrow and yearning that the Rhythm and Blues genre originally called for. It is probably one of the best songs ever written. Anthony Hamilton begins the song with his soft yet rugged intonations, he climbs into the chorus in a soprano which is layered, creating a choral-like feel, and eventually, the music increases in passion, through strained singing and adlibs, ending in a tearful falsetto.

It’s the summer of 2004, the opening music plays and, even to the untrained ear, your mind instantly recognizes the melody. The song has been on the radio in rotation. The lyrics to the song begin with the unforgettable line, “woke up this morning, found a letter that she wrote.” The lyrics hit you in your chest, “Damn!” you think. Anthony Hamilton goes on to detail the contents of the letter, his significant other explaining that he’s gone too often and that “she needs someone at night that she can hold.” Before the chorus, Hamilton begins to reflect on the relationship and realizes that she’d been repeatedly telling him this for years, “silent cries [he] use to ignore.” He ends the verse, having realized how deeply wrong he was, “God knows I love her, didn't mean to hurt her.” Your heart breaks for Hamilton as he moves into the chorus, in which he begs for his woman, Charlene, to return to their home, thus, returning to the relationship, their life, and the family that they built. Somewhere in the back of your mind, before the radio moved on to the next song, you hoped that Charlene and Hamilton reunited.

Today, I listen to those words differently. “Woke up this morning, found a letter that she wrote.” As time has passed, which does seem to be the nature of time, life has insisted upon me and, much to my chagrin, I’ve become an adult, with many a lived experience, many relationships, many losses, and many successes. I’ve studied history and social studies (with the help of the internet) and learned a bit about social constructs like patriarchy, imperialism, and other things that, for some unfair reason, still impact you even if you’re blind to their existence. Yes, I think of things differently now. So, when I hear “woke up this morning, found a letter that she wrote,” I sigh. I feel the pain in the words for a wholly different reason that, most likely, was not intended. “Woke up this morning found a letter that she wrote,” either means that Hamilton went to sleep next to the love of his life, and woke up to find her gone or, alternatively, he slept somewhere else (the music studio, perhaps) and returned home in the morning to her sudden (?) absence.

That line tells me that this woman, Charlene, packed her bags and her baby’s bags either the night before or, what’s more likely when completely and permanently moving out of your home while not under duress, Charlene packed her bags over a series of days or even weeks. She waited. She waited for her supposed-to-be forever partner and the father of her child to notice that she had packed her things. She waited for him to notice that the baby's mobile had been removed from the crib and tucked into a brown box with his name on it. She waited for Hamilton to open the top drawer and ask where all of her clothes were or peruse the closet for her open-toed shoes which were always his date-night favorite.

Those lyrics mean that, for months or even years before she left that letter, she waited for her lover to look into her eyes and see a plea. Begging for him to be the person he used to be for her. She waited for him to see the bags under her eyes and notice how her hand is sitting in the dip of her back more often than usual — soreness from holding the baby while vacuuming because the baby won’t quiet if you’re not holding her, but the roar of the vacuum, combined with the screaming was just too much to bear. So, she held the baby, all the while waiting for Hamilton to come home and give her and their baby a kiss on the cheek.

I think the listener is supposed to sympathize with Hamilton. We’re supposed to hear his pained notes and pray that Charlene and the baby decided to go back home and give their relationship another chance. However, life has taught me that it is of grave importance to see people for who they are, not for who you thought they were, nor who you wanted them to be. One must be guided by their senses. Your eyes see their absence, your ears hear the false promises, the aching in your heart and the sadness that overwhelms you day in and day out tells you that something isn’t right. A person who is treating you like you don’t matter believes that you don’t matter. If a person is hurting you in the same manner repeatedly, they are doing it on purpose. How can a person be so cold as to “[forget] about loving,” their partner, as Hamilton says in his second verse? Even metaphorically, as I’m sure he meant it, how could he become so jaded with his relationship that he underappreciates her to the point that she feels unloved? All for a music career?

I hear those lyrics now and, though I still sing the song from the heart, if I think too deeply about those words, I am incensed. The nerve of him to say he “can’t support her, treat her, spoil her... buy her the finer things.” Charlene knew that at the start of their relationship. She knew their financial situation when she fell in love with him, when they moved in together, and when she had their child. She knew what his passion was and it’s likely that she supported him throughout the darkest times. Charlene was present at every one of his shows when he was performing for free at open mic nights, waiting for anyone to give him a chance. She saw his talent and believed in it before anyone else even gave him a second look. She lifted him up through every bump in the road, and every time his music was rejected. Then, when he finally sees a glimmer of success, he all but abandons the woman who was by his side through it all — and all she wanted him to do was come home at night.

Now, at my big age, I continue to sing and enjoy this melancholy tune. Howbeit, fictional as she is, I hope Charlene never went home — and I hope you don’t either.