Crying My Eyes Out

I’ve broken down in tears during no fewer than four concerts in the last 12 months. No shame in that, I suppose, but it does beg the question: why? Is it simply because the music moves me? Is it because of my past? A sense of loss? A realization that the artists I’m watching won’t be around much longer? Probably all of those things and more, but I’d like to delve a little deeper into the songs that had be blubbering like a fool and attempt to understand what the heck is going on.

Peter Gabriel: “Washing of the Water.”  September 2023

I didn’t see this one coming. Last time I saw Gabriel – coupled with Sting in 2016 – he opened with the eerily magnificent “The Rhythm of the Heat,” a song that’s cool as hell, but hardly one that I can relate to. But in 2023, he sat down on a chair with a small keyboard, and beside him sat long-time bassist Tony Levin. Together, they played the quiet, heart-breaking song of pain and grief and a plea for inner peace. That’s probably enough to put me over the edge in any context, but to see these two musicians, together for nearly fifty years, back on stage as a duo? That might have been enough right there, no matter what song they chose to play.

And then there’s my own past to reckon with. Gabriel’s Secret World DVD was on constant rotation in my household when my kids were young. My daughter Jessica wanted to be Paula Cole, a vocalist on that tour from 1993. Envisioning my three young children who watched that concert with me over and over – children who are all now adults living in different time zones – well, that certainly contributed to the waterworks. And to top things off, I was watching the concert with my 21-year-old son, over 36 years after I’d first seen Gabriel on his So tour, when I was an even younger 19. It boggles the mind. It conjures up a time when the future long and wide…you know the drill.

I also knew instinctively that this was the last time I’d see Peter Gabriel live, and that in the not-too-distant future, he’ll no longer be with us.

Geesh. Add that all up – how could I not cry?

James Taylor: “Shed a Little Light” and “That Lonesome Road.” June 2024

I should note first that I can’t listen to “That Lonesome Road” without crying. I find it absolutely heart-wrenching, this tale of a man – much like the man in Peter Gabriel’s ”Washing of the Water” – who’s reeling from his mistakes, untethered, attempting to rise above his pain, to start anew.

But dang, to play an encore of “Shed a Little Light” – a favorite of my wife’s and mine – followed by “Your Smiling Face” and “That Lonesome Road”…I knew, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would never see James Taylor play again, and I felt a sense of loss for a future without this magnificent artist who so eloquently captures the human condition. It’s like what Mark Twain said about worrying: it’s like paying a debt you don’t owe. I was experiencing grief for a person who’s still living. Kinda dumb. But there it is.

Sara Bareilles” “She Used to be Mind.” August 2024

Okay. Once again, a very touching song.  Sara has about a half a dozen that can set me off in a flash.  She’s got that gift. And here I was on a beautiful night with my beautiful daughter Sarah at the beautiful Hollywood Bowl. I mean, come on! The first time I saw Sara Bareilles was with both of my daughters at this strange venue – the Scottish Rite Center in Milwaukee – where Bareilles played a solo show prior to the release of The Blessed Unrest. I blogged about that concert back in 2013, and here I was over a decade later, watching her perform this wonderful song about self-acceptance. It killed me.

Keane: “Can’t Stop Now.” September 2024

This isn’t a song that would normally set me off, but there were several things going on here. First was the pure jubilation of finally seeing this band after a few failed attempts, the last one a cancelled show in Nashville due to the pandemic. Second, my daughter Jessica was by my side (and yeah, all four of the cry-fests in this blog involve watching a band with a loved one – no coincidence). Third was the sheer power coming from the musicians on-stage, especially the vocal perfection of Tom Chaplin.  Fourth, the fact that in 2020 – just a month after that cancelled Nashville show – I got to play a Keane song with all three of my kids at a little outdoor concert on my neighbor’s driveway while families huddled outside in their safe family bubbles, none of us knowing that this was what life would look like for the rest of the year. And fifth is some serious personal stuff than I can’t delve into on-line, but suffice it to say that I’m aware of life and death, what I have and what I’ve lost, what matters and what doesn’t.

And all of that adds up to tears. Again.

And look, I grew up in a rather undemonstrative family, so I view my ability to cry – in public, no less – as a step in the right directions, generationally speaking. Maybe my kids will have a better chance to be more fearless and open than I’ve been. And maybe in thirty years they’ll be at concert with their adult children, listening to a song that has them breaking down in tears.

Is Your Family Brunch-Close?

At a bed and breakfast in Asheville a few weeks ago my wife and I met a couple from Maryland, and over breakfast one morning we exchanged a CliffsNotes version of our lives: place of birth, occupation, residence, family members and the like. After learning that the couple’s daughter lived in New York, I said, “That’s not too bad. Fairly close to Maryland.”

“Yes,” answered the mother. “But she’s not brunch-close. People tell me how lucky I am that she’s not in California or some other state far away, but it’s not like we can get together for brunch on Sundays.”

Brunch-close. Precisely. That’s what I want. Instead, I have a daughter who lives five hours away, a son who lives six hours away, and another daughter who lives…well, a four-hour plane ride away (I’ve never gotten the gumption to drive to Los Angeles). The mother from Maryland’s point is well-taken; even five hours away is four hours too far to get together for a Sunday brunch.

I’ve lamented before that I raised three kids only to have them move away. Perhaps if my wife and I had refused to pay for out-of-state universities we’d have had a fighting chance, but we did well enough financially that we basically gave our children a green light to drift away, an irony that isn’t lost on me; I’d gladly reduce our 401k balance by half if it meant having our three children live nearby. Guess we mucked that one up!

The geographical distance between family members has other ramifications: it means we vacation less. When my wife and I lived on the east coast, we’d travel to Milwaukee, Chicago and Dallas regularly to see family, and with only two weeks of vacation allowed per year by our employers, that’s pretty much all we could do aside from a weekend camping trip. Now that our children have grown and moved far away, most of our vacation time is spent visiting our children in their respective locations.

Last week a friend of mine suggested that we meet some friends in Portugal next summer – a lovely idea. But we’re planning on visiting family in January (New York), March (Arizona) and April (Ohio), watching our son graduate from college in May (Ohio) and attending my daughter’s wedding in October (California), undoubtedly interspersed with other trips to see our other daughter (Kentucky). So sure, we can go to Portugal next summer, but it probably means we see our children less, a lousy trade-off to have to make.

I know. Such are the problems of a healthy, married, middle-aged white guy with solid financials. In the words of Joe Walsh from his classic song, “Life’s Been Good”:

I can’t complain but sometimes I still do

Yep. Nothing’s going to stop me until my kids live close.

Music Inspires During the Pandemic

I’ve never had more time to write, but pandemics and social distancing apparently don’t kindle creativity.  Lately my mind works best with logical, choreographed activities like woodworking, crossword puzzles and home improvement projects.  Not exactly awe-inspiring stuff.

But one idea sprung up on social media in time for my family’s roundtrip drive to Lexington, Kentucky and back: the 30 Day Song Challenge.  It’s a simple exercise to get you to think of music that’s inspired you in various ways over the years, to get you to mine some of the songs that maybe you’ve forgotten about, and to share your choices with others.

(by the way, our drive was to move our daughter home from her apartment, so no judging)

My daughter suggested that the four driving companions pick a song from each category, and rather than play one song a day, we’d plow through as many as we could during the six hour drive via a Spotify playlist.  I believe we got through about fifteen rounds on our way to Lexington, so about sixty songs, and it was a enjoyable way to pass the time.  Since our trip we’ve continued to gather together during the evenings to play a few rounds of songs, Zooming in my other daughter who lives in California.  It’s a great way to ensure a little family time instead of going off in separate rooms to pursue our own time-sucking activities. 

Each of us have our own proclivities, and the exercise has forced us to open up our minds to different genres and time periods.  My wife isn’t a music aficionado, but she’s come up with a bunch of songs that the rest of us never would have considered.  Case in point, and an example of one of the most egregious affronts to all that’s holy: Donny Osmond’s “Puppy Love,” my wife’s choice for “A Song You Remember From Childhood.”  Awful, awful stuff, but she’s also dug up some great songs, and my kids have introduced me to a bunch of newer tracks, including many in the hip-hop genre that I don’t normally gravitate toward.  In short, it’s been eye-opening and fun.  To make the exercise even more fun and challenging, many of us have opted to have no repeat artists, which is a feat after fifty rounds!

Some of the 30 day categories are a little lame, so we’ve created a bunch of our own. The possibilities are limitless. Rather than share all of our specific choices, I thought I’d list the other categories that we’ve come up.  Including the original 30 Day Challenge, we’ve now done 50 categories and have a bunch more in the works.  Here are the ones we’ve added so far and the songs I personally chose for each category:

Song that’s acoustic (Hometown – live version, Joe Jackson)
Song that expresses satisfying anger (Hard to Laugh, The Pursuit of Happiness)
Song that reminds you of a specific person (Code of Silence, Billy Joel)
Song that’s creepy (Paranoid Android, Radiohead)
Song whose musicianship amazes you (Rosanna, Toto)
Song with stupid lyrics that you still love (Everybody Have Fun Tonight, Wang Chung)
Song that pumps you up (If You Want It You Got It, Bryan Adams)
Song about friendship or support (Trouble Me, 10,000 Maniacs)
Song that’s funny but isn’t a parody or gag song (Her First Mistake, Lyle Lovett)
Song about societal problems (Oh Jungleland, Simple Minds)
Song that gives you the chills (We Belong Together, Rickie Lee Jones)
Song that tells a great story (I Hung My Head, Sting)
Song that celebrates a breakup (Salt In My Tears, Martin Briley)
Song that laments a breakup (I Miss You, Randy Newman)
Song that fills you with awe (And You And I, Yes)
Song that’s under three minutes (Dear Madam Barnum, XTC)
Song that’s a guilty pleasure (The Name of the Game, ABBA)
First song you heard by a particular artist (I Remember Me, Innocence Mission)
A great song from an otherwise bad album (Breathe, Melissa Etheridge)
Song that blew you away the first time you heard it (Here With Me, Dido)

One note: for the category of great story songs, my son and I actually chose the same tune – “I Hung My Head” – by Sting.  One of the best.  When I learned that we’d doubled up, I switched to another Sting song, “Ghost Story,” and could have easily chosen another of his tracks, “Seven Days.”  The guy can write a good story!

Here are the original 30 and my choices:

Song with a color in the title (Red Rain, Peter Gabriel)
Song with a number in the title (Driver Eight, REM)
Song that reminds you of summertime (One of these Days, Adrian Belew)
Song that reminds you of someone you’d rather forget (Change of Heart, Tom Petty)
Song that needs to be played loud (No More, No More, Aerosmith)
Song that makes you want to dance (Escapade, Janet Jackson)
Song to drive to (Spirit of Radio, Rush)
Song about drugs or alcohol (Comfortably Numb, Pink Floyd) - NOTE: my son picked the same song, so I switched to Alcohol by Barenaked Ladies)
Song you never get tired of (New Sensation, INXS)
Song from your preteen years (Stay in Time, Off Broadway)
Song from the 70s (Logical Song, Supertramp)
Song to be played at your wedding (Sweet Potato Pie, James Taylor)
Cover song (Stop Your Sobbing, The Pretenders)
Classic favorite (Sir Duke, Stevie Wonder)
Duet You’d Sing for Karaoke (Common People, William Shatner)
Song from the year you were born (Hung Up on a Dream, The Zombies)
Song that makes you think about life (Fast Forward, Joe Jackson)
Song that has many meanings (Love and Hard Times, Paul Simon)
Song with a person’s name in the title (Alex Chilton, The Replacements)
Song that moves you forward (Chasing the Sun, Sara Bareilles)
Song everybody should hear (Tripping Through Time, Sunshine Boys)
Song by a band you wish was still together (Oscar Wilde, Company of Thieves)
Song by an artist no longer living (TVC15, David Bowie)
Song that makes you want to fall in love (Wink and a Smile, Harry Connick, Jr.)
Song that breaks your hears (Traveling Star - live version, James Taylor)
Song by an artist whose voice you love (Sweet Surrender, Sarah McLachlan)
Song you remember from childhood (Band on the Run, Paul McCartney and Wings)
Song that reminds you of yourself (Grounded, Paul Heinz)

So there you are! Music, as usual, finds a way to soothe the soul during challenging times.  Make sure you’re getting your daily dose, and maybe use some of the above prompts for inspiration.