Brother John Is Gone

Oh, we never know where life will take us

We know it's just a ride on the wheel

And we never know when death will shake us
And we wonder how it will feel

So goodbye my friend

I know I'll never see you again

But the time together through all the years

Will take away these tears

It's okay now

Goodbye my friend

Karla Bonoff

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjespGPhoMw

There's nothing more sobering than learning of the sudden death of an acquaintance.  As Karla Bonoff said in her bittersweet song Goodbye My Friend, "..we never know when death will shake us," but shake us it does. An individual nine years younger than me, the picture of health, a young family and a promising career, stopped by an unexpected, massive heart attack.

I learned a long time ago not to ask why. "We're here for a moment, and then we're set free," I sang in a song called "If Fall Is Well," based on a child's malapropism. Asking why somebody died, or why someone had to die, or why all of us have to die only leads to facts and speculation, not answers. 

"I don't know what happens when people die

Can't seem to grasp it as hard as I try

It's like a song I can hear playing right in my hear

That I can't sing, but I can't help listening..."

Jackson Browne

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IU1rZa8Ur_Q

I wrote a chapter for a book that became a poem that became a song, called "Castles of Sand." It's about the temporal nature of life, the need to create even in the face of changing tides and winds. "But the tide's rushing in, the ocean will win" can be cause for despair...or a different understanding of life.  Tibetan Monks create elaborate sand paintings that they consider "gifts to the wind."

Castles of sand are my gift to the sea

Although it expects very little of me

Footprints were never intended to last

Forever is mostly a thing of the past

I'm building my castles with sand. 

Van Morrison, a long time ago, sang, "It ain't why, why, why; it just is." Accepting that is the first part of accepting the death of a loved one, a friend, an acquaintance. Footprints were never intended to last. We're here for a moment, and then we're set free.

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=11

I learned of John's death early Friday morning. For most of the day, I was alternatively shocked and numb. We weren't close friends, just long-term associates and colleagues. We took classes together. We worked on committees together. We watched as each others' families grew. I assumed these patterns would continue into old age.

That's not how it turned out for John.

All weekend, I hurt -- mostly for John's wife and three children, not for John.  As the Eagles sing, "He's gone far beyond the grade; but we who must remain go on living just the same." I probably hurt a little for myself as well. I could ask why it wasn't me instead, but it ain't why, why, why. It just is. Listening to the Karla Bonoff song above brought fresh tears to my eyes, as did Jackson Browne's song, which I asked my college roommate to sing at my mother's funeral. If you've ever hear Rosie Greer sing "It's all right to cry, 'cause crying gets the sad out of you" On Marlo Thomas' "Free To Be You And Me," you know there are restorative powers in sad songs. They say so much, according to Elton John.

But so do happy songs. My sister has the pleasure of living in New Orleans, and town that's taken far too many beatings, yet it's heart keeps beating. Jazz funerals in New Orleans are nothing if not celebrations in music, dance, color, and spirit. This tradition was apparently transported from Africa. Dirges and hymns transport the deceased, family, and associates to the cemetery, but the music changes to more lively, spirited songs after the deceased is laid to rest. The "second line" is made up of people who simply enjoy the music and the dancing. The memorial of my sister's partner ended in a second line, where we symbolically "cut the body loose."  Knowing her, she's dancing among the stars. In this spirit, I offer this rendition of "Brother John" by David Lindley.  Goodbye, John; we hardly knew you. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yui9OxMJHfY&feature=related

If there were no music...

If there were no music, then I would not get through

I don't know why I know these things, but I do.

Shawn Colvin

I can easily make it through a day without sports. I know that makes me rather rare in my gender and culture. A game, a contest, a match -- interesting to watch, but when it's over it's just a score. 17 to 10. 2 to 1. 5 to 5 tie.  Even when the scores contribute to rankings and standings, sports just don't make my day. I'm happy for those who need to know the score; I'd rather conduct the score.

I can also easily skip the daily news. News seems to come in the following categories:

• bad news (i.e., disasters, scandals, violation of any or all of the 10 Commandments, things that show nature and humanity at its worst) 
• opinion (the pundit who shouts last shouts best -- regardless of facts)

I find that watching or reading the news rarely leaves me better informed. At most, it desensitizes me to the conflict, fear, and pain highlighted somewhere in the world. At worst, it contributes to a soul-numbing hopelessness that makes me feel like throwing my hands up in the air and saying "what's the point?"  In "Information Wars, Jackson Browne captures this sentiment well:

And in the flickering light and the comforting glow

You get the world each night as a TV show

The latest spin on the s#%t we're in, blow by blow

And the more you watch, the less you know...

Famine and disaster right in front of you

And the more you watch, the less you do

(Information Wars) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LIU5AQ2oVtc

Elsewhere, Jackson Browne sings about "the shouts and cries of the human disaster." The bad news is told; the good news doesn't sell. Missing a day of news isn't a problem for me because the news doesn't seem to change much from day to day.

I can't go for a day without music.

It's impossible. If it's not in the air, its on my mind. Music is good news.

I wake up to a DJ (Dan Mitchell, no relation), who plays music from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and each song evokes a time, a place, people, memories. Music is a vehicle for memories and emotions.  On the way to work, I play music from the 8500+ songs on my iPod; it's on shuffle so I never know what might pop up next. Songs and quotes from lyrics often show up in my discussions and written communication. Music is the universal language, if only we're willing to listen. In each of the books I've written for higher education, every essay begins with a song quote. I guess I've extended that practice in this blog.

The quote at the top comes from a beautiful song written and performed by Shawn Colvin. It's called "I Don't Know Why."  Listen:

(I Don't Know Why) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67flP6YePgs

The first time I heard that song, several years ago, it resonated clearly with me. I can't remember the circumstances, the challenges I may have been going through, or what shape the world was in that day; I just remember thinking to myself, she's right. Take away the music -- the soundtrack of my life -- and you have "...a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing" (Macbeth).  To be sure,  relationships would still be precious and paramount, but even they would suffer from the absence of harmony, rhythm, counterpoint, tempo, and melody.

I don't mean to suggest that sports and news aren't important, their sound and fury notwithstanding. I'm suggesting that they're only a part of the picture. For me, the picture needs a soundtrack.  Music even plays an important role in setting the stage for news and sports, movies, television, religious observances, fireworks displays -- and so on.

I grew up in a church that didn't allow instrumental music in services. Despite significant evidence of flutes, lyres, drums, cymbals, trumpets, harps, and more in our Bible, the elders of the group determined that because instrumental music was not specifically mentioned in the New Testament, it should not be included in services. As a teenager , I once asked one of these elders, "Air conditioning and carpeting weren't mentioned either, but we have those here; what's the difference?"  He informed me that someday I would understand.

I don't.

Music should be at the heart of our celebrations, ceremonies, and gatherings, and if instruments enhance the experience, bring them on!  But, as James Taylor sings about his guitar, "If he can't go to heaven, baby, I don't want to go."

Songs about babies and children, falling in love, experiencing loss and suffering, holding out hope for the future, regret what might have been, picking up the pieces and starting over.

Give us this day our daily tunes.

I'll glance at the news on TV now and then, maybe listen to a little Public Radio. I'll even take in a college football game on a crisp autumn day, and I'm not going to miss those Super Bowl commercials. But if there were no music...well, I hope I never encounter a day like that. If I do, I'll probably write a song about it.

I'll close with one I made up on the spot for a broken-hearted college classmate many years ago. It didn't change the world, but it made her smile.

(Our Songs For You) http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=35

After The Storm

Where were you when the earthquake and hurricane of 2011 hit?

I was mostly safe and dry in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley. Close enough to feel the 5.8 earthquake from Central Virginia; far enough from the Atlantic to only get moderate amounts of rain and wind from Irene.

Still, two dramatic expressions from Mother Earth like this in one week is enough. There must be some music out there to capture the mood.

Unfortunately, there aren't many songs about earthquakes (with the possible exception of Bill Nye the Science Guy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xe7mfz8dnjw). 

There's also a song titled "Earthquake" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yeJBd746-4w) from a singer that goes by "Little Boots," but it's not about the geologic variety, any more than is Carole King's "I Feel The Earth Move"   (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hoHuxpa4h48).

There are plenty of songs about shaking, although I don't think they really have much to do with earthquakes. Here's just a sampling:

• "Shake, Rattle and Roll" by Bill Haley
• "Shakin' All Over" by the Guess Who (pre- Burton Cummings/American Woman).
• "The Hippy Hippy Shakes" by the Swinging Blue Jeans
• "Shake Your Booty" by K. C. and the Sunshine Band
• "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" by Jerry Lee Lewis
• "All Shook Up" by Elvis

But there is "Earthquake Song" from an obscure group from the early 1980s called "The Little Girls" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceY2zAMkCqQ&feature=player_embedded#!).
Whatever happened to them, and why wasn't this song an international hit? Sure, they're dancing is about as first-world white-girl as it gets, but they seem to be having a lot of fun! This is the kind of song I want to hear the next time my massive 1930's bluestone building starts to shake.

For songs about hurricanes, Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane" would be at the top of my list  (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Obfci1CIqq8). I'll admit that it's just a metaphor for an intense relationship, but when Mr. Young cranks up that Les Paul guitar, his long hair blowing in the staged wind, you're no longer in the eye of the storm; you're getting blown away with him. Picture Dorothy and Toto listening to "Like A Hurricane" as their Kansas farmhouse lifted off to Oz.

Neil Young seems to be someone who's weathered many storms of life. From the Buffalo Springfield to CSNY to Crazy Horse and any number of variations on those themes, he's been in the public eye since the mid 1960s. He has the capacity to reinvent himself without losing himself. Not many other performers of his generation are still standing, still performing, and still creating. Long may he run.

Though widespread, the earthquake caused relatively little damage. The same can't be said about Irene, with significant flooding still expected. Either way, it's clear that nature, events, circumstances, or serendipity are going to happen regardless of our best laid plans. From one of Jackson Browne's postmortem songs for his friends ("For A Rocker"), comes some lines that have occurred to me often of late:

I'm gonna tell you something I found out

Whatever you think your life is about

Whatever life may hold in store

Things will happen that you won't be ready for

But we can always sing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_NK7mI8xec ("For A Rocker")



Winners of the Dance

As far as I can tell, Donald Dean Mitchell met Evelyn Ann Yates in the early 1950s in or near Fort Morgan, Colorado.  He was a Nebraska-born World War II vet (having served briefly in the territory of Alaska near the end of the war) with a GI-Bill sponsored degree from a barber college; he also did some rough-neck work with oil-well drilling.  She was a small-town girl who had never finished high school. While they didn't have much in common other than the depression-era poverty in which they had spent their childhoods, they did have one thing that brought them together.

Dancing.

They both loved to dance.  Don's musical influences included hillhilly gospel, western country and swing, and big-band music. Evelyn leaned more to contemporary popular music, balladeers, and the pre-cursors to rock and roll (just on the horizon), but she too had a taste for big bands and swing.  I don't know exactly how they first met, but I have to assume it was at a dance (or perhaps that was their first date).  The details may not be important.  The fact is, they danced into one another's light.

(Somebody) http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=32

Shortly before or after they were married, Don and Evelyn entered and won a local dance contest. The local newspaper (Fort Morgan, perhaps) took and published a photo of the winners. The foreground of the photo has a sign withe "Reserved for KOLR" next to a small cake. She's wearing a skirt with matching jacket, an enormous corsage, dangling earrings, and a short, dark, "bobbed" haircut.  He's wearing a light colored suit, a much smaller corsage, an art-deco-looking tie, and a distinctive short haircut with his distinctive jet-black hair.  A small sign over his shoulder promotes Coors beer (this was eastern Colorado, afterall). Through the window over her shoulder, cars from the 40s and 50s can be seen in a lot across the street. It's a moment in time, a moment when this young couple showed every indication of being on top of the world, of being winners. Winners of the dance.

I would join Don and Evelyn and an older brother a year or two later as their second child.

Fast forward to 1961 or 1962.  Two sisters have joined the family. Don is now a milk delivery man working for a Dairy in Longmont, Colorado.  Milk that contained all the fat and cream that God intended; no reduced or skim varieties at this time. Ice cream made in a real creamery, on mainstreet right next to the local movie theatre. On Saturdays, you could get in free to see the matinee with a lid from an ice cream container or an empty milk cartoon. Life doesn't get much better than that. Evelyn was what was then known as a "housewife," managing the household, her four children, and her husband who moonlighted as a barber.  When they could, they would hire a sitter and "go out," meaning they would go dancing somewhere nearby. When they couldn't go out, they would often crank up Evelyn's blonde-wood hi-fi set and turn the living room into a dance hall.  Benny Goodman. Lionel Hampton. Glenn Miller (orignally from Evelyn's hometown of Fort Morgan). Louis Armstrong. The jive, boogie-woogie beat was their favorite, and they practiced their jitterbug and Lindy Hop moves with the sofa and loveseat moved against the walls.  While four children aged 2 through 10 laughed, clapped, and cheered, the winners of the dance took the floor and tripped the light fandango.

My parents did the jitterbug when I was just a boy

They looked so young and beautiful, their movements gave me joy

The house would shake when Daddy did his turns and pirouettes

And Mama's swirling dress was something I could not forget

I heard they won a dancing contest just before they wed

Or maybe it was after; anyway, that's what they said

A photograph was taken of my parents when they won

He looked so tall, she looked so proud, their life had just begun

They danced each time they had the chance: fall, winter, spring and summer

They danced until they realized that they danced to different drummers

And even though their partners changed, that photo gave a glance

Of two young fools pretending to be winners of the dance

A shared love of dancing was not enough to keep them together forever. Don's moonlighting in a local barber shop at the end of his mail route deliveries left him too tired in the evenings to do much more than fall asleep on the family sofa. Evelyn began pursuing other interests: Girl Scout leadership, night school to finish high school, community college that would eventually lead to bachelors and masters degrees in education -- she started crafting a life for herself.

And while their home and children grew, the dancers grew apart

The jobs and bills and chores became their music and their art

The dance had lost its lustre, but they still danced when they could

They danced because they had to and the dancing did them good

With my older brother in the Army, in the middle of my senior year in high school, I came home one day to find that my mother and sisters had left. I was left to take care of a broken man while trying to finish school and make enough money to start college.

One day the dance was finished like a song without an end

There wouldn't be an encore, they would never dance again

Ah, but they were winners once upon a different time

He looked so tall, she looked so proud, those dancers in their prime

They danced each time they had the chance: fall, winter, spring and summer

They danced until they realized that they danced to different drummers

And even though their partners changed, that photo gave a glance

Of two young fools pretending to be winners of the dance

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=2  ("Winners of the Dance")

I never learned to dance. I've even written a song called "Never Learned To Dance." Music for me was something to be played, not something to be danced.  To be clear, I can shuffle from one foot to the other for slow dances, and I've got my own style of dancing with babies (my daughters and now my grandson). Dancing skipped a generation; my daughters seem quite competent on the dance floor (must be because of their mother).

Shortly before I turned 40, my mother (Evelyn) died in a small plane crash while on her way to a dance in Wyoming.  When asked how she would prefer to die, she once said, "I'd like to go out dancing on the hurricane."  It didn't work out quite that way, but she was on her way to doing something she loved when her plane went down. I imagine she's found some interesting clouds on which to dance.  And, she still dances in my heart.

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=16 ("Dance Inside My Heart")

Dancing In Place

I recently unpacked my music collection following a move to a new home, and it occurred to me that the different formats of music delivery reflect eras in my life. I remember buying my first 45 rpm, "She Loves You" / "I'll Get You," by the Beatles, sometime in 1964. I recall my first record album, "The Beach Boy's Greatest Hits Vol. 2," a year or two later. I stayed with the album format until college, when cassettes provided both more compact storage and the opportunity to have two albums on one tape -- and to customize "mixes." CD's came around while I was a young parent, opening the door for mp3s, iPods, and the digital music delivery era.  Through the changes in music delivery formats, a few things remain constant.

One, a well written song is timeless and easily transcends changing formats. "Sgt. Pepper" sounds just as amazing in 2011 as it did in 1967.

Two, a great song can be reinterpreted by different artists. I prefer songs performed by their originators, but give me Harry Nilsson's version of "Without You" over the original by Badfinger any day of the week (not to mention Jimi Hendrix's take on Bob Dylan's "All Along The Watchtower").

• Nillson: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAX1rkdzUH4
• Hendrix: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bng3agUOYiI

Three, the music of our youth travels with us throughout our lives. With a few exceptions, it tends to be "the best music" of our lives, subjectively.

Four, it's a great pleasure hearing your children -- at any age -- singing some of your favorite songs.

I recently wrote a song to capture the times of my life: childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, parenthood, and finally grandparenthood -- my current condition.  It's called "Dancing In Place," written shortly after my first grandchild was born. Dance and music are my metaphor for living, changing, and experiencing time as we dance through it.

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=1

Formats change, styles change, people change, and yet there's something constant, something lasting, in music.  Life needs a soundtrack, indeed; the one we make as well as the one we hear.

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain

It's raining.

Hard.

This is way beyond cats and dogs; it's more like rhinos and hippos. Good for the hippos, not so much for the rhinos. Having just walked several hundred yards in the torrent with a miniature, bright green umbrella borrowed from my wife, I'm feeling a bit like the rhino right now.

Could this be the hard rain that Bob Dylan warned us about?

I'm reminded that rain is a strong metaphor in music. It's often associated with broken hearts, washed away dreams, tears from heaven, and other sad things.  Every now and then, there's a song about the finer qualities of sky water. John Lennon didn't seem to be bothered by it. Wise before and after his time, he pointed out that the good or bad of any condition, weather or otherwise, has more to do with us than it does with the condition.

So why so many songs about rain? There's a website that lists nearly 800 songs about rain:

http://www.lacarte.org/songs/rain/

There's even a song that's called "Songs About Rain."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iEkQGa_O5tU

There's black rain (Ozzy Osbourne), purple rain (Prince), and red rain (Peter Gabriel). Early morning rain (Gordon Lightfoot) and rainy nights (Eddie Rabbit). Someone even left a cake out in the rain (Jimmy Webb). Rain on our heads (David/Bacharach) and in our hearts (Holly).  Laughter in the rain (Sedaka) and crying in the rain (Nelson). The list goes on and on.

My first rain song, Sweet September, was written just before I left my hometown for college. For as long as I could remember, the first day of September seemed to be rainy, perhaps in an effort to wash away summer and let the autumn fall in its place. Leaving the only place I'd ever known as home for a new place, a new life, and a new beginning was a transition: letting go of the old, making a change, and embracing the new.  When I recorded the song, I slowed it down and gave it some tremelo to evoke the peaceful, lazy feel of a warm summer day.

Sweet September: http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=80

"Sweet September comes at last;

Winter's coming, summer's passed.

Such a friend won't go away,

Rainy sweet September day."

While not every September 1st has been rainy in subsequent years, there's generally at least one rainy day early in the month to set the stage for the changing of the seasons. Maybe that's why Harry Warren and Al Dubin in 1937 wrote "September in the Rain" for the film, "Melody for Two." Dozens of artists including the Beatles, Chad & Jeremy (my personal favorite rendition), Bing Crosby, Rod Stewart, Willie Nelson, and Norah Jones have recorded the song. Here's Dinah Washington's take on the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvB6rrnzDM8

A few years later while a graduate student at Colorado State, I wrote another rain song called It's Easy. Part "get over yourself" and part "make the best of any situation," I wanted to recapture the innocence and exuberance of getting caught in the rain.

It's Easy: http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=41

"What's the use of getting down, complaining about the rain:

There is nothing you can do, so why should you complain?

Take it easy, let it pour, and let yourself get wet;

I ain't heard of anybody dying from it yet...

...Like the rain that comes and goes and leaves its tears behind

Ride the wind and catch the sun, and that is what you'll find."

It's true that some people suffer for lack of shelter and warmth. It's easy to say "It's easy" when you've got the resources. In the context of this song, it's may also be easy to change your mind and change your mood. Cognitive behavioral therapists tell us that feelings/moods are based on thoughts, and thoughts are created by us; thoughts aren't necessarily reality, but rather our interpretation of circumstances.

A mind is a terrible thing to not change.

Pete Townsend ends his rock opera, Quadrophenia, with a little double entendre:

"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,

Love, reign o'er me..."

It's easy, like love is supposed to be. Love, rain over me.

Life Needs A Soundtrack

In his hierarchy of needs, Maslow left out two very important considerations. Beyond safety, food, and shelter, most humans need music and stories to survive. It's nice when both come in one package.

I watch a good number of movies -- some for entertainment, some for inspiration. Music is a major character in most movies, used to punctuate the action or story line. It can be subliminal, in your face, or anyplace in between, but the music brings the two-dimensional visuals to three-dimensional life. Good movies need good soundtracks.

Just like our lives.

Music invokes memories of times, places, and people gone by. Many years ago, Mac McAnally wrote a song called "Tryin' To Make The Yellow Lights" which contained the following lines:

"Radio plays a never ending song,
And when it's good and when it's bad I sing along.
And the words, they don't mean nothing;
It's just a soundtrack for my life..."

Yeah; that's what I believe too!

In my life (another good life soundtrack song by John Lennon), I've written quite a few songs. Collectively, they make up the soundtrack of my life so far. At 56, I'm hoping I have a few more songs to write. My songs cover many bases. A Colorado native, a Tennessee sojourner, and a Virginia Settler, I was born in the 50s, a child of the 60s, a student of the early 70s, a husband of the late 70s, a father in the 80s, and author in the 90s, a doctor of education in the 00s, a grandfather of the early 10s, and who knows what I'll be tomorrow. If I'm lucky, I'll continue to be a songrwriter.

After all, life needs a soundtrack.

For a sampling, try the Bandizmo link below. Start with "Castles of Sand" and "Windshield Full of Nebraska."

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=5

http://www.bandizmo.com/user/player.php?page=songs&member=2819&nr=9

I do beg to differ with Mr. McAnally. The words do mean something.  I met Mac when I was producing concerts at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville in the early 1980s. He's an amazing songwriter / story-teller.

Nearly 30 years later, my youngest daughter just started working with an entertainment committee at a university in Maryland. Some songs were meant to be remade.