This was my birthday message, via Facebook to that extended network: I’m blessed, to the point of embarrassment, by the number of amazing, generous, inspiring people I’m fortunate to call friends. I love all of you!
And so I do.
But sometimes even that considerable bulwark against negative thoughts is not enough.
Fortunately, for me, I always have music. Let me say that again: I ALWAYS HAVE MUSIC.
(When all else fails (and all else always fails) there is music. When the emotions and awareness start to squeeze their way behind your mind, giving way to those awful times when you wonder how you can possibly find peace or make sense of anything ever again, music is there when you need it most. August 27, 2002 was the first day of the rest of my life. Anyone who has lost a loved one will recall (or half-recall) the blur of events that come after, all of which are a blessing in the disguise of distraction. I did a lot of driving: driving from father’s house to my place, from funeral home to father’s place, to the airport to pick up relatives. The emotions and sensations would become overwhelming at times, and there are those interminable hours when you are not even certain what is real or who you are. During one of these episodes I was coming or going somewhere and I had not been paying attention to my car stereo, and then I came to my senses, recognizing a song I’d heard hundreds of times: in this crucial moment it broke through that haze like the sun and saved my life. I can’t count how many times something similar has happened, though it’s possible I never needed music as much as I did on this desperate occasion.)
Here’s the bottom line: when I contemplate whatever life has in store for me, or even if I allow myself to entertain the worst case scenarios regarding what I could have been or might become, as long as my ears work, all will never be lost. In this regard I echo the letter of Paul to the Corinthians, which is obligatory reading at every wedding: and though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. I feel that, and I don’t know many people who would attempt to contradict such a beautiful, irrefutable sentiment. But I reckon, if everything else was removed from my life, including love, I could find meaning and solace if I still had music. If I’m ever reduced to a bed-bound wreck, so long as I have ears to listen with, I’ll never be beyond redemption; I’ll always be willing to draw one more breath. Take away my ability to write, speak, see the world, smell the air, drink, eat or emote, this life will still be worth living if I can hear those sounds.
Which is why I make a request to my friends, family and the medical establishment: even if I’m someday in that coma and every professional would wager a year’s salary that there is no possible way I’m able to hear anything, as long as my heart is still beating please, no matter what else you do, keep the music playing in my presence until I’m cold. Because no matter what you think or whatever you’re praying for, as long as I can hear that music I’m already in a better place than wherever you imagine or hope I’m heading toward.
Here are ten of the best things that have ever happened to me. The sounds never cease to make me smile, and restore me. Naturally I could list many thousands of alternatives (and have done so, on this very blog, over the years). Here are ten special ones that help me help myself.
(Let me know which ones you would pick!)
1. Ornette Coleman, “Congeniality” (more on Coleman HERE):
2. Bob Marley, “Coming In From The Cold” (more on Marley HERE):
3. The Allman Brothers Band, “Jessica” (could have easily gone with “Revival” here, as well):
4. Black Sabbath, “A Hard Road”:
(Here is what I had to say about this song, in 2011: how can anyone be unmoved by the crowded pub singalong of “Hard Road”? This last song, which showcases every member of the band lending their voice, is a tour de force of optimism and the tough-love Sabbath doled out more convincingly than anyone of this era. It also features an Iommi solo (2:50-3:25) that could possibly save your life, if you let it. Listen to the chorus and crack the code to Sabbath’s last great gasp: “Forget all your sorrow, don’t live in the past/And look to the future, ‘cause life goes too fast—you know.” More on that album HERE and a lot more on Sabbath HERE and HERE.)
5. Beethoven (Yes, I just went from Black Sabbath to Beethoven; that’s how I roll!), “Les Adieux Sonata, 3rd Movement”:
6. Mozart, “Piano Concerto No. 27, 3rd Movement”:
7. John Coltrane, “Cousin Mary” (A lot more on Coltrane HERE):
8. The Mighty Diamonds, “Pass The Kouchie” (more on the Might Diamonds HERE):
9. The Pretenders, “Stop Your Sobbing” (a lot more on Chrissie Hynde and crew, HERE):
10. Yes, “Awaken”:
(Here is what I had to say in 2011 when I declared this the #11 prog song of all time –the entire list can be found HERE:
1977 was not only about clothespins and green-toothed sneers: just as punk was gaining steam, Yes, the band that represented everything everyone hated about “dinosaur rock”, returned with their best album in ages, Going For The One. “Awaken” is, along with the aforementioned “Dogs” and “Cygnus X-1, Book II: Hemispheres”, one of the last (near) side-long epics of the era. It would be difficult to deny that this track features the most compelling (and convincing) work both Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman ever did. Many people did—and do—instinctively retch at the idea of Wakeman playing a pipe organ (recorded in a cathedral) and Anderson’s sweet schizophrenia of multi-tracked exultations. Their loss; this is prog-rock as opera, and it never got better than this: a fully realized distillation of emotion and energy as only Yes could do it. There is something irrepressible and life-affirming about this music, and in a market (then, now) where cynicism and scheming are the default settings, this unabashed—and unapologetic—devotion to an unjaded vision could almost be considered revolutionary.)