Discography - Fall 2019

Currently we're in a Discography cycle where every few months we contribute songs and related commentaries on occasional "one offs." I don't know if anyone has the energy or time or enthusiasm for another weekly series, although I'm just beginning to hear grumblings to the contrary. While we're in the "one off" mode it makes sense that there be a theme, which we tend to only do every couple months during our regular weekly schedule. Years ago I officiated at the wedding of our dear friends Heidi and Andy. After it was over the routinely excellent Mike Kelly, one of the inexplicably and cruelly overlooked philosophers of the modern age, proposed that I had shared some truth (or maybe he was just justifying the fact that he, playing against the myth of taciturn Nebraskans, shed a few tears). This edition's theme was initially born because I found myself listening to a song (featured below) that I hadn't heard in a long while and thinking that there are some songs that are so true, so overwhelmingly real, that they are almost physically painful to hear. Of course, that truth is sometimes absolutely necessary for us to hear. So, the charge this week was to select songs that are so true, so unrelentingly true, that they are painful.

Bob Craigmile

Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Fix It 

There are so many songs to choose from in the universe of pain.  Especially when one listens primarily to singer/songwriters of the last 20 years.  Chris Knight, Jason Isbell, James McMurtry, and Townes Van Zandt all have songs that pull out your soul and show it to you before you collapse into a heap of tears and mud.

However, I have to reckon with Mr. Ryan Adams, the Me Too poster man-child.  He is likely a classic narcissist if not a sociopath.  I'll let you dig for the truth there on your own.

Thought it leads me to wonder, how can such a bad person express pain so well in a song?  Has he been hurt so much that it's made him into a colossal jerk? Is he singing about what he's done to others?  That would require empathy though, which may not be his strong suit.

Like most great songs this one allows me to see myself in it and feel more deeply what I feel, by way of projection if nothing else.  I stumbled into RA shortly after my divorce and did a deep dive into his material for years.  

"What makes them walk away, after all these years? "

Yes, god yes.  The question one asks most frequently after a divorce. What made them walk away?  What made me let it happen?  What happened? Even when you know the answers, you ask over and over again.

"But it feels like losing when someone you love throws you away " 

Let me wallow in my self pity!  No one else cares or wants to know.  You can't explain it to them anyway because you're not done with it or even sure what it is.

"How easy was it for you making those plans you made? "

Another question you ask over and over on those long nights.  Again, you know the answer: it probably wasn't easy.  You want it to be easy though, that way they are the bad person and you are safe in your self-judgment of innocence.  

You're not innocent.

"Look what I did to you
Look what you did to me
Fixed it "

Of course, afterward, nothing is fixed.   You're broken.  The world is broken.  You're bitter and alone. Let me be!  After I moved out of our house, I called my apartment "Superman's Fortress of Despair".  It was a nice joke and I suppose a sign that I could make light of the trauma.

What really sucks about this song is that it's pretty catchy.  The guitar work is great!  If you focus on just the guitars in your headphones, it's quite nice.  

Anyway.  Time and Lexapro heal all wounds.  I've let it go mostly.  I couldn't stay angry and depressed, even though I nursed both carefully in a 130 page google document over 7 years.  Now it's done and we can get together with the kids and I don't sulk and pout and leave early.

I fixed it.

Full lyrics:

What makes them walk away, after all these years?
These years of learning and the hard way by the lessons from the tears
I know it's not a game
But it feels like losing when someone you love throws you away

I'd fix it
I'd fix it
I'd fix it
I'd fix it if I could
And I'd always win
I'd always win
So you can always win the in end

How easy was it for you making those plans you made?
Before I became someone for you you know to try to dislocate
Oh, I know it's not a game
But it feels like losing when someone you love throws you away

I'd fix it
I'd fix it
I'd fix it
I'd fix it if I could
And I'd always win
I'd always win
And you would always lose

Look what I did to you
Look what you did to me
Fixed it
I'd fix it, I'd fix it if I could
And I'd always win
And I'd always win
I'd always win in the end

Alice Neiley

As usual, I had the hardest time choosing a tune. This is mainly because my itunes library and CD collection are overwhelmed with songs that are quite raw and often tinged with various types of sadness and/or nostalgia (aside from my 'Don't H8 Me BeCuz I'm Post-2000 Pop" playlist), artists like Patty Griffin, Lucinda Williams, I'm With Her, Darlingside, Joni Mitchell, all jazz standards...

Anyway, I kept coming back to Sodheim. Almost all of his songs are truth telling, but I've always been especially drawn to "Not While I'm Around" from (oddly enough) the musical Sweeney Todd.

I first heard it my senior year of high school. I was on the 'path' to a performing arts college (I eventually changed directions), and one of my peers sang it in a vocal workshop. At that point in my life I fell in love with the lyrics because of their earnestness, but also because I SO wanted a world where something or someone could protect me from uncertainty, and where the protection itself would be always and for sure, and I'd never have to wonder who I was or whether I belonged. I think at that time I was also beginning to realize that world does not exist, which made the song extra powerful. The song spoke the truth I most wanted, and sometimes still want, which ultimately represents the truth of my fears, insecurities, and how fiercely I love, as I've always tried to make sure nothing threatens my heart (been loosening that grip over the years, though!). 

I think, at the deepest level, most people wish for what the lyrics of this song provide--simplicity, certainty--even if they've moved past childhood fears or desires. Especially in our country's current situation, demons are definitely 'prowling everywhere', and who doesn't want to 'send them howling'? But that isn't possible for just one person, nor is it possible for demons, internal or external, to disappear permanently. There is uncertainty all over (dammit), and our best bet may be to  'live the questions' as Rilke says, with the help of our connections with each other, for as long as we have them. 

Also (is this too morbid?), my most recent journey back into this song was singing what I remembered of it to my grandmother in hospice the day before she died, thinking it said perfectly what I wanted to say to her, only to realize it even more perfectly described her role in my whole life. She loved Sondheim. Like, LOVED.   

In short, these lyrics are painfully true because they represent such an unattainable dream, while at the same time the completely attainable love that can develop among us. And the melody, I mean...come on...ESPECIALLY sung by Judy Collins. Whew. 

Dave Kelley

I am sorry that I somehow missed the original email about this one off discography week.  For my selection I will choose "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bonnie Raitt.  I have no problem listening to this great song if I am in a good relationship.  (Fortunately that is my current state, but it is certainly not my typical one.)  However, when I care about someone who no longer, or never, cared about me, I avoid this tune like the plague.  I am a slow moving man.  A long ago girlfriend complained that I go slowly even when I am in a hurry.  However, I can move at the speed of light to change channels when Trump or one of his minions appear on screen.  I move almost as quickly to change the dial when I hear this song come on the radio at the wrong time.

Gary Scudder

Joan Baez, Diamonds & Rust

Actually, I'm not that big of a Joan Baez fan. I find her voice a bit wobbly, and, yes, I know the irony of a Neil Young fan commenting upon the weakness of a singer's voice. I guess Baez falls into the category of folks that I love the idea of more than their reality:Robert Altman, Igor Stravinsky, etc. I think I actually owned the album of the same name once, which I'm sure I purchased because she covers a Jackson Browne song on it when I was in a big Browne phase. This is one of several songs that Baez wrote reflecting upon the end of her romance with Bob Dylan.  Obviously, we've all been there, when the "ghost" of a former loves arrives unbidden:

"And here I sit
Hand on the telephone
Hearing a voice I'd known
A couple of light years ago
Heading straight for a fall"

Clearly, she still loves him as she paints a picture of one of countless moments  they shared:

"Speaking strictly for me
We both could have died then and there."

However, the lingering pain in her words and voice is tangible:

"Now you're telling me
You're not nostalgic
Then give me another word for it
You who are so good with words
And at keeping things vague
'Cause I need some of that vagueness now
It's all come too clearly
Yes, I loved you dearly
And if you're offering me diamonds and rust
I've already paid."

There are women I've loved, some quite deeply and intensely, and it would hurt to see them again, but I don't know if I would respond to any of them the way Baez responds to Dylan here. Sadly, I fear there are some women who would have that response to seeing me, and the role that I played in justifying that response is another painful truth.