Songs ...
At some point during my many bouts of unemployment, I took to watching "Suddenly Susan" [yes, I know] and the one episode that sticks out is called "A Day In The Life."
You see, after David Strickland killed himself while the show was still on the air, they did a tribute episode to his character, Todd. The whole episode is the entire cast going about town, trying to find him when he goes missing. They found out things they never knew about him, like he was a regular volunteer at a soup kitchen and so forth and so on.
At the end, as I recall, they're all gathered in an apartment and Fatboy Slim's "Praise You" comes on the radio and one of the characters says, "This was his favorite song," and they hope that he will turn up and send out good vibes as they blast the song out of the window. Naturally, he is dead.
I just remember thinking it was a really touching episode that used a song to commemorate someone. While my inner cynic is rattling his sabre at this intended effect, I still hold my ground on it. Mostly because songs are important to me. Not music, per se, but songs. Songs have always been my compass.
When I feel down, I listen to a lot of songs by David Gray, Magnetic Fields, Nick Drake, Rufus Wainwright, Moby, Natalie Merchant and most of Eurythmics' "Peace" album. When I'm going strong, The Postal Service, Jamiroquai, Macy Gray, Scissor Sisters and -- oddly enough, the soy bean of musicians -- Moby songs keep me going. And of course, there are songs in the middle by Jason LeVasseur or The Books for every day sort of feelings. I sort of think of my life as either a musical of previously released songs and/or a multi-disc life soundtrack.
When I saw "Happy Feet" I really liked the idea of the heartsong. For awhile there though, I couldn't figure out what my own personal song would be in that kind of societal construct. Given my tenuous grasp of continuous contentment, I'd come to believe that Nick Drake's "Cello Song" would be the most appropriate. Spooky ... appropriate ... but spooky nonetheless.
But these days, I'm starting to reevaluate my sense of self through all the things I've done, gone through, seen, heard and even the negations of all those factors and find I'm drawn toward songs by Snook, Celia Cruz, Saint Etienne and Robbie Williams and "Shine" by Cyndi Lauper.
When he laid dying, Joey Ramone reportedly signaled to his bedside friends to hit the play button on the stereo and he was carried into Rock-n-Roll Heaven by U2's "In A Little While." When my Grandma Jessie died, a relative sang "Poor, Wayfaring Stranger." During the school year, my nephew Jake listens to "Man Up" by Sticky Fingaz.
All this talk THE Song makes me wonder what mine is, more than a theme, more than the song du jour, more than all the things we've heard before. I definitely have my top choices, but you can only define yourself once and -- in a more mortal moment -- you only die once.
For now, I think Moby's "Living" off of his "Songs: 1993-1998" album is definitely my song. It's a seven-minute, electric guitar instrumental that starts off slow and easy and progresses to louder, fuller, urgent and uplifting. It serves so many purposes, relaxation, a romantic dance for two, reminiscing, feeling sad and feeling hopeful, so basicaly, living.
I think I made a good choice.