What About Now?

Well, that’s all there is, right?

As Robbie Robertson sings: forget about tomorrow, don’t talk of yesterday; it’s too far away.

And does anything snap us into the moment as quickly, as forcefully, as completely, as music?  Not for me.

Ya, the big goal, the killer homerun, the nail-biting election; they’re pretty intense.  And all successful art makes you stop and think – and feel.  But music reigns supreme.  It takes you out of time and puts you in the moment.

You can feel energy you didn’t know you had in you, experience a dormant emotion, or get deep into an idea you didn’t care about.

You dance; you sing along, you listen.  Music is immediate, overpowering, total.  There’s nothing like it.

Music is right now.

What Pilate Said

John Lennon famously said, " Say what you mean, make it rhyme, and give it a backbeat."

And I agree. I also agree in "three chords and the truth," wherever that quote came from.

But what is truth? And which truth? One single truth? Multiple truths hidden in multiple layers? A vague truth anyone can relate to? A personal truth? A universal truth? A cliche?

It's been said that great art makes you say, "ya, that's how I feel." Sometimes, say in a straightforward protest or love song, the point is obvious. Sometimes, though, not so much.

And maybe it's not clear to the songwriter either. I know when the words for one of my songs started coming to me, I thought it was about unrequited love. By the time I'd written it all down, I decided it was more about loss of faith. By the time I'd recorded it, I was wondering if it was some kind of commentary on the futility of hero worship.

The lyrics work on all three levels, but who knows what I meant? Not me.

Maybe that's a good thing, because it frees the listener to infer his/her own meaning, and make his/her own emotional connection to the song.

I know that some of the songs I have the strongest reactions to defy explanation. Lots of songs tighten my chest and open my tear ducts. Happy tears? Remorseful tears? Bitter tears? I never know. If you were to ask me why I'm reacting, all can explain is, "this song just gets to me."

So maybe truth isn't enough. Truth is meaningless without audience participation.

Somewhere, Man

Listen to Nowhere Man by The Beatles. Really. Listen to it now.

Finished?

How did you like the ending? That last chorus of "making all his nowhere plans for nobody"?

Killer. If you weren't already knocked out by the lyrics, the music, the harmony, the flawless production, the perfect poignancy of the rest of the song, that last line will get you.

Feeling sad? Sorry for the nowhere man? A bit worried that he is you? Uplifted because the music is upbeat even though the lyrics are mostly regretful? Hopeful because the chorus offers some form of redemption? Confused because you're not sure how you're supposed to feel? Anxious because you don't know what will prevail?

All of the above?

Sure you are.

Then Paul gives you one last soaring "making all his nowhere plans for nobody," over top of John's bittersweet melody. And whatever you're feeling, you're pushed over the edge. Hopeful, melancholy, joyful, remorseful  - all at once, forever and always.

Simple, impenetrable, palpable, mystical, universal, personal.

That's what I'm talking about.

Only Love ...

"Only love
Can bring the rain
That makes you yearn to the sky
Only love
Can bring the rain
That falls like tears from on high"

Is there anybody out there that doesn't like Love Reign O-er Me?

I didn't think so.

It grabs me every time, changing my mood from whatever it was to a confused and powerful mix of pain, defiance and optimism.  Daltry's anguished singing, Townshend's soaring guitar, the bittersweet lyrics  ...  wow.

I can be already sad, happy, whatever …  I can be working and not even notice that music is playing - today I was planting a bush - and it just makes me stop, listen, tremble, and think, "ya, that's how I feel!"

That, people, is the power of music.

See It My Way, See It Your Way

I was listening to We Can Work It Out by the Beatles, and started to think that maybe that was the saddest song ever.  But no, it's too complicated.

Picture a compass.  Replace 'east' with 'confidence' ("Listen to me.  Only I have the answer.").  Replace 'west' with 'despair' ("Can't you see you're hurting me?").  Replace 'south' with 'frustration' ("It shouldn't have to be like this.").  Replace 'north' with 'optimism' ("Together we can make the world a better place.").

Paul's pretty melody is countered by John's plaintive harmony.  John's stuttering guitar hesitates and drives forward at the same time.  His simplistic organ part also contains a church-like grandeur.  Oh, and the song oscillates between quadruple and triple time.

The song pushes out in all directions, yet stands squarely (OK, roundly) in the middle.

So, it's a sad song if that happens to be your mood at the time, but it's a whole lot more besides.

I can picture Paul introducing the song: "Here's a little number that can be whatever you want it to be."

Magic.

Take A Sad Song And Make It Better

Listening to a good sad song can be cleansing, cathartic experience.

I got to thinking the other day about sad songs and started wondering which ones are the saddest ever.

It all depends on your individual experience, of course, which will influence how you react to any given song, but here’s my partial list:

I Can’t Make You Love Me, by Bonnie Raitt is right up there, maybe #1.  It just aches.

Sticking with Bonnie, Matters Of The Heart, should also be on the short list.

Romeo And Juliet, by Dire Straits is either a close second, or maybe even #1.  Whenever I see Knopfler perform it live, my reaction is "I hope I’m never unhappy enough to be able to write a song like that."

You’re Missing, by Springsteen gets me every time.  So does Father and Son by Cat Stevens.  Not sure why, but so does Hysteria by Def Leppard.

Two Blues classics, Love in Vain and St. James Infirmary, deserve consideration.  Anyone’s version.

After that, I’m not sure.  Yesterday?  Yes It Is?  For No One?  No.  The Beatles could do melancholy, but they were masters of juxtaposition, and so even their sad songs feel upbeat.  Springsteen’s pretty good at that too.

Maybe John Mayer’s Gravity.  Nah.  Too pretty.

Fast Car?  No.  That’s depressing, not sad.
 

Lots of emotional songs, lots of downer songs, but not many sad ones come to mind.  Hmmm  ...  maybe we could use more.  The catharsis might be good for us, and then maybe we wouldn't need so many pissed off songs.