Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered (Live at the Bon Soir, Greenwich Village, NYC - Nov. 6, 1962)

Song Meaning

This performance captures a narrator utterly consumed by an unrequited or difficult love, a state of emotional disarray that's both pathetic and strangely compelling. The opening lines immediately establish a regression, describing herself as "wild again, beguiled again / A simpering, whimpering child again." This isn't just infatuation; it's a loss of adult control, a return to a primal, vulnerable state brought on by this powerful, perhaps destructive, affection. The core tension lies in the narrator's willing surrender to this overwhelming feeling, even while acknowledging its negative impact. She "could not sleep, would not sleep" until love intervened, suggesting an active, almost desperate pursuit of this emotional state. The admission "He was cold, I agree / He can laugh and I love it / Although the laugh's on me" is a stark self-awareness of her own foolishness, yet she embraces it, finding perverse pleasure in her own humiliation. The craft here is in the relentless, almost breathless repetition of the titular phrase, "Bewitched, bothered and bewildered am I." This refrain acts like a mantra, reinforcing the inescapable nature of her condition. The contrast between her adult self and the "child again" she becomes highlights the irrationality of love's grip. Her resolve to "sing to him, each spring to him / And long for the day when I'll cling to him" underscores a desperate hope that belies the current pain. What makes these lyrics resonate is the raw, unflinching portrayal of vulnerability and self-deception in the face of love. The narrator doesn't shy away from her own perceived weakness, even finding a strange power in her complete capitulation. It's this honest, almost masochistic embrace of being "bothered and bewildered" that gives the performance its enduring, poignant charm.