Piggybacking on this morning’s very first post of March, this Monday-themed bop celebrates what is arguably the most depressing day of the week, injecting an infectious melody and drive into the otherwise dismal proceedings. Fake it ‘til you shake it, and then shake it some more. Somebody’s disco balls have dropped and the March party has begun, lions and all. Come join the joyride!
If I share a little secret, can you keep it?
It wasn’t supposed to be a thing
Disco ballin’ every weekend
‘Til you walked in (DISCO)
You got me seeing different…
In the same way I’ve been trying desperately to embrace winter while it’s here (we still have three weeks of the season) so too am I trying to embrace the Monday Blues, and nobody can lift the spirits like Kylie Minogue. This bright bop is just what a Monday in early March needs. Turn it up!
I was wishing my time away
Ay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay
Now I’m wishing for one more day
Ay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay
Come on
One second without you is just too long
Been calling out your name like it’s my song
Keep counting down the days to you
It’s getting me through those Monday blues
Getting into a fabulous mindset is a bit of a feat these days. Too many of us, myself included, have resigned ourselves to a wardrobe of sweats and T-shirts. At such times, it is our duty to lift it, to raise the level at which we see fit to get dressed. This is the time of preparation, of planning and producing possibilities – and that means work, no matter what day it is. March is at hand; Monday is here. This is no time to be idle. I say this more to convince myself than to inspire anyone else.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
It’s the weekend (it’s the weekend)
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday
It’s the weekend (it’s the weekend)
I thought that were were only doing the hustle, I let my heart go
I got to know your skeleton
You told me you’re like earth, wind and fire
And that made my mind up
Baby, I remember when…
Bits and pieces of this music appeared in an impromptu piano duet posted here, and returning to the original source material gives another view, or listen, of this calming collection of notes, so welcome at this stage of winter. This version tells its story through the haunting sound of the cello, which is very close to the human voice. Eerily, and movingly so. It’s a good way to begin the morning, when the light is still gray, and shapes are just shapes, not quite objects yet.
As snow clings to the spokes of this Japanese umbrella tree, winter casts another spell, unwilling to lament its final days, choosing instead to remind us of what makes it so beautiful and magical. In this little forest of snow, where the hushed sound of the wind moans like nature’s version of the cello, there is a cozy nook of icy cold. The snow dips here, carved by the rush of air and the umbrels above it. A little world of wonder, existing for a song, for a moment, for the beginning of a February day.
Last year at this time we had no idea what was in store for our entire way of life. In some ways, I wonder if we have, collectively, truly dealt with all the PTSD that may have resulted from the previous year of living like this. I don’t see how we could, as much as I’ve found ways of maintaining a healthier lifestyle. It’s interesting to think of where we were at last February, before COVID hit the world in such an all-encompassing way. Most of us didn’t think such a thing was possible, pointing to our own failure of imagination and preparedness, for which we continue to pay. Lesson learned… and lessons continue to be learned.
What do we do when life takes such a dark and terrifying turn?
FOR MILES AROUND
I HEARD ABOUT THE THINGS THEY GOT GOING ON BEHIND THOSE DOORS
AND THAT’S MY JAM
NO HOLDING BACK
YOU CAN’T STOP ME IF I SEE ONE MORE
IT’S A VIBE, WANNA STAY OUT
WON’T LIE
I KNOW THAT YOU’D DO THE SAME DAMN THING, BABY
HANG TIGHT, LET YOUR HAIR DOWN
‘CAUSE TONIGHT I’M GONNA CHANGE YOUR LIFE
At this point in winter – and pretty much every winter, not just the second COVID winter we’ve endured – we tend to get a little stir-crazy. There’s an antsiness and agitation that stems from being cooped up indoors for too long. Some of us find solace and escape through books and entertainment, some find it in flowers and beauty, and some find it it in music and dance. I’m re-discovering some fabulousness through costumes and glitter, colorful lights and backdrops, and a polarizing mustache that I love almost solely for how much other people hate it. Who else wants to dance so crazy?
ALL NIGHT IN THE SPOTLIGHT
WHERE EVERYBODY DANCES SO CRAZY
CAN’T STOP IT WHEN IT FEELS SO RIGHT
AND EVERYBODY DANCES SO CRAZY
I’M PROUD OF YOU
YOU GOT THOSE MOVES
SHOWIN’ EVERYBODY HOW IT’S DONE
THE SECRET’S OUT
YOU WANNA SCREAM AND SHOUT
CHECK MY GROOVE, JUST FOR YOU
LET THE LOVE OUT
The decadence of a disco song, with echoes of a bygone era coupled with a modern-day twist, perfectly embody the need and vibe for a night out when we’re all staying in. Who wants to risk contamination when you can throw a rager in your own basement? Drop a disco ball from the ceiling, upend some grow-lights, and hang a curtain of tinsel and you’ve got yourself a party.
IT’S A VIBE, WANNA STAY OUT
WON’T LIE
I KNOW THAT YOU’D DO THE SAME DAMN THING, BABY
HANG TIGHT, LET YOUR HAIR DOWN
‘CAUSE TONIGHT I’M GONNA CHANGE YOUR LIFE
ALL NIGHT IN THE SPOTLIGHT
WHERE EVERYBODY DANCES SO CRAZY
CAN’T STOP IT WHEN IT FEELS SO RIGHT
AND EVERYBODY DANCES SO CRAZY (WOO, WOO)
When the world has beaten you down and there’s nowhere left to go but up, it’s time to channel your inner disco diva/divo/divinity and get down tonight. There is still some dazzle left, some little bit of sparkle that will have to be enough to see us through, and in that prism of rainbow light, in the golden threads that run through this polyester extravaganza, may we find the reserve of wonder to startle and astound.
My hair may be gray, my body may be tired, and my mind may be weary, but I will muster the will and the drive to dance. We owe it to ourselves to get up and join the party again…
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH (WOO, WOO)
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH (EVERYBODY DANCES SO CRAZY)
LET ME SEE YOU MOVE, YEAH
EVERYBODY GET ON DOWN
JUST LET ME SEE YOU MOVE, YEAH
EVERYBODY GET ON DOWN
ALL NIGHT IN THE SPOTLIGHT…
The music of Philip Glass often bridges the latter days of winter with the first peeps of spring, and so I went down the Glass rabbit hole of music videos and came upon this slightly meditative and gloriously mesmerizing piece entitled ‘Glassworks’ which is as fitting as any other sound right now. Contemplative and compelling, it transforms into whatever you need, the way a good piece of music moves into many spaces, taking up many different forms.
We are all a little weary right now – perhaps now more than ever before – and not just because we are battling the last few weeks of winter. The world has been rocked. Some of us have turned on each other, just when we need each other the most. It makes me want to be a little kinder to everyone I know, and even to people I don’t. A little more patient with strangers. A little sweeter to Andy. A little better to my parents. A little nicer to my friends. And maybe a little more forgiving of myself.
“You can’t help it. An artist’s duty, as far as I’m concerned, is to reflect the times.” ~ Nina Simone
“There’s no excuse for the young people not knowing who the heroes and heroines are or were.” ~ Nina Simone
“I am just one of the people who is sick of the social order, sick of the establishment, sick to my soul of it all. To me, America’s society is nothing but a cancer, and it must be exposed before it can be cured. I am not the doctor to cure it. All I can do is expose the sickness.” ~ Nina Simone
“You’ve got to learn to leave the table when love’s no longer being served.” ~ Nina Simone
“Life is short. People are not easy to know. They’re not easy to know, so if you don’t tell them how you feel, you’re not going to get anywhere, I feel.” ~ Nina Simone
There’s a new world comin’
And it’s just around the bend
There’s a new world comin’ (joy, joy, joy…)
This one’s comin’ to an end
There’s a new voice callin’
And you can hear it if you try
And it’s growing stronger
With every day that passes by yeah, yeah, yeah
There’s a brand new mornin’
Rising clear and sweet and free
There’s a new day dawning
That belongs to you and me
Yes a new world’s comin’
You know the one I’m talking about
The one we’d had visions of
And it’s comin’ in peace, coming in joy
Comin’ in peace, comin’ in joy
Come in peace, come in joy
Comin’ in love
And I saw another sign in heaven
Great and marvelous
Seven angels having the seven last pledge
For in them is built up the rack above
And I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire
And them that had gotten the victory over the beast
And over His image
And over His mark
And over the number of His name
Stand on the sea of glass
Having the harps of God all around them
There’s a new world comin’
And it’s just around the bend
There’s a new world comin’
This one’s comin’ to an end
There’s a new voice callin’
And you could hear it if you would just give it a try
And It’s growing stronger
With every day that passes by
There’s a brand new mornin’
Rising clear and sweet and free
There’s a new day dawning
That belongs to you and me
Yes a new world comin’
The one we’d had visions of
Comin’ in peace, yeah
Coming in joy, yeah
Comin’ in peace now, yeah
This space was supposed to be filled with some tantalizing Valentine’s Day photos – I have a new leather harness and everything – but on the day it was supposed to happen I just didn’t have it in me. The Senate had failed to convict you-know-who, the winter had been dour and extra-frigid, and after getting sucked into the news station that Andy has on 24-7 I retreated to the basement and curled up on the couch for an extra-long movie – ‘Dr. Zhivago’ – which I had never seen before. Who could have foretold that the Russian Revolution would one day feel so quaint? On this crazy day, the world felt all sorts of wrong.
Sapped of energy, and the desire to thrill, I slipped into a cozy cashmere turtleneck sweater and did my best to embrace the winter white running through my hair. I lit a few candles and tried to conjure some hygge, even as all my Valentine dreams dissipated. I just wasn’t in the mood for this love-fest. Lacking the drive to work out or do some yoga, I barely dragged myself back upstairs to meditate when the movie was over, but I did. It helped, as meditation always does, but even after the session I was left feeling drained and down.
As with many moments lacking in ambition, I turned to Madonna for some love inspiration. I tooled around YouTube looking for moments that happened around this time of the year. There was always her wondrous Oscars rendition of ‘Sooner or Later’ – and, later, the late-winter surreal marvel that was ‘Bedtime Story’ (which we have to reach on the Madonna Timeline) but I wanted something more overtly romantic.
The cynical side of me has often derided Valentine’s Day, preferring the sass and heartache of Dorothy Parker to any sort of sweet love song, but as I grow older I’m trying to embrace the harmless celebratory aspect of this day – and there’s nothing wrong with a little extra candy or flowers or fragrance. There’s more than enough bitterness in the word, and I’ve spent my fair share adding to that. It’s time to soften up, to let that cynicism go. Give in to love…
Previewing Valentine’s Day, that most silly and trifling of ‘holidays’, with this 80’s cheese-fest called ‘Lady in Red’ seems the ideal opportunity for displaying these photos from almost two decades ago, as this song brings me back to nights when such attempted seductions were beyond my reach or desire. I wasn’t even a teenager when this song climbed the charts, sparked by its appearance at various pop moments, including a bit on ‘Family Ties’ – the NBC sitcom that brought it to my notice. Alex Keaton and his new love-interest (who was also the real-life love interest of Michael J. Fox) played their courtship out on Thursday night must-see TV, as this song played out the romantic spark and yearning that accompanies the beginning of every meaningful relationship.
Such romantic backdrops and musical cues would eventually come to be seen as corny and ridiculously over-dramatic as the years slowly installed a sense of cynicism and suspicion in my heart, but back then there was a simplistic purity in the way I took in a song like this. I believed in the power of love, even if I had barely begun to inch myself toward experiencing such an emotion.
I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight,
I’ve never seen you shine so bright,
I’ve never seen so many men ask you if you wanted to dance,
They’re looking for a little romance, given half a chance,
And I have never seen that dress you’re wearing,
Or the highlights in your hair that catch your eyes,
I have been blind
In those days of 80’s excess, I was still just a kid – a gay kid who never saw a gay couple to help understand that whatever he was feeling might have been ok, might have been a way of life for him. Instead, he saw men paired off with women, and even if he was more attracted to the guys, he knew it was wrong. No, he didn’t know that yet ~ the word ‘faggot’ was not yet being uttered by his contemporaries – so no, he didn’t know it was wrong; he didn’t even know it was possible. There’s something sadder and more problematic in that. Who he was wasn’t even possible.
In the most troubling reading of my childhood, who I was didn’t even exist then.
How does a kid realize their worth if they don’t even feel they exist?
Luckily or unluckily or however those of us of a certain age survive such a fucked-up circumstance, I didn’t even know to how formulate whatever questions I might have had. I was good at knowing what was expected of me, and I was better at knowing how to act the part. Yet something, from somewhere deep within, called to me when songs like this came on the radio. It was something that put me squarely in the place of the lady in red – the place of desire and exaltation, and the singular focus of a man. That was where I wanted to be. It was a place that called to me from the very essence of who I was, before I had an inkling of who that might be. It’s how I knew – and it’s how I know – that being gay was not ever a choice. Without example or influence, the gay boy in me was surfacing, asserting himself before I even felt the love that was appearing everywhere else.
I’ve never seen you looking so gorgeous as you did tonight,
I’ve never seen you shine so bright, you were amazing,
I’ve never seen so many people want to be there by your side,
And when you turned to me and smiled, it took my breath away,
And I have never had such a feeling,
Such a feeling of complete and utter love, as I do tonight
Watching the wind swirl the snow outside the window, through the boughs of a Norfolk Island Pine and the billowing water vapor of a bubbling humidifier, I sit ensconced on the cozy conversation couch, having the kind of conversation that a person can only have with themselves. Nina Simone sings this gorgeously plaintive song, and while it once represented spring to me, and all things to me, this morning it takes on a different glow.
The quivering desperation. The feral want. The essence of survival, hanging on the human whims of the heart. A middle-aged man who feels like he is already in the winter of his life, who has felt that way since his childhood. And winter never rests for long.
LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME, SAY YOU DO
LET ME FLY AWAY WITH YOU
FOR MY LOVE IS LIKE THE WIND
AND WILD IS THE WIND
GIVE ME MORE THAN ONE CARESS
SATISFY THIS HUNGRINESS
LET THE WIND BLOW THROUGH YOUR HEART
FOR WILD IS THE WIND
The Japanese Umbrella Pine holds heavy clumps of snow in its branches. I haven’t had a chance to remove the Christmas fairy lights from its hold – every time I feel the least bit of ambition to do so, a storm seems to come and make it impossible. Perhaps the universe isn’t quite ready to let go of Christmas yet. Seems a bit unfair. The rest of us are ready to move on, to rush into spring. And so I work to embrace winter a little while longer.
YOU TOUCH ME
I HEAR THE SOUND OF MANDOLINS
YOU KISS ME
WITH YOUR KISS MY LIFE BEGINS
YOU’RE SPRING TO ME
ALL THINGS TO ME
DON’T YOU KNOW YOU’RE LIFE ITSELF
LIKE A LEAF CLINGS TO A TREE
OH MY DARLING, CLING TO ME
FOR WE’RE CREATURES OF THE WIND
AND WILD IS THE WIND
SO WILD IS THE WIND
There are tight little buds on the Chinese dogwood trees. They wait for the slightest nod from the wind that things are warming. Such a nod will not happen today or tomorrow. It’s best that they not begin to open just yet. Starting spring too quickly can be dangerous. Anyone who has watched the petals of a jonquil torn apart by ice and snow would share such dire concern. And still we want for it, still we long for it, still we eagerly anticipate its arrival, like a child waiting for the arrival of a favorite relative.
With the wind and the snow, a winter garden has sprung into bloom. With its little drifts and crests, the front yard has produced a lawn of crystalline wonder. The rhododendron across the street carries blossoms of snowspray, and the brown umbrels of the Sedum in the backyard are topped by snowy caps. The wind will scatter them soon enough, capable of creation as much as destruction.
WILD IS THE WIND
WILD IS THE WIND
WILD IS THE WIND
The gray and coral tip of a Japanese incense stick glows as baroque designs of smoke curl into the morning air. Through the window, a scene of snow reveals the falling of the night. Winter is sparse in many ways, simplicity and elegance working together like smoke and flute music.
“Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.†― Basho Matsuo
Every year around this time, I think back to my brief stint in the Empire State Youth Orchestra, and every year I get a little bit closer to appreciating and reconciling myself to that difficult time in my life. Not that anything so very terrible happened then – it was more a confluence of angsty adolescence, growing uncomfortably into myself, figuring out a growing sense of not belonging, and the general malaise of the average 15-year-old. Such a precarious place to perch. Not all my classmates would make it.
You lower your hand, clarinet will play
Raise it back up and it flies away
When you smile violins will soar
When you move your legs timpani will roar
I can hear it, I can hear it, I can hear it, I swear
All the music you’re provoking, filling up the air
It’s getting louder
This is the sound of an orchestra
I can hear it playing everywhere that you are
There is a sound for everything you do
This is the sound of my love for you
Listen to the sound of my lust for you
I didn’t belong in the Empire State Youth Orchestra either. It was the rarity of my instrument – the oboe – that got me in the door. Once there I realized too late that my talent and skill level was on the lower end of things. After excelling at so many other things with relative ease, this shook me and my already-faltering confidence to the core. It was the worst possible time for such an ego-blow, but we don’t usually have control over that kind of timing, and if the possibility of a perfect storm exists, I’ve learned to batten down the hatches.
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
There is a sound for everything you do
Listen to the sound of my love for you
You don’t even know everything I hear
Every move every nod, every time you’re near
If I close my eyes, promise I can see
A hundred people playing and it’s just for me
Being the weakest link in a chain of excellence and talent is the definition of hell for a perfectionist. It wears away at the soul in almost diabolical fashion. I wish I could have learned then to let go of such silliness at that age. I wish I could have embraced the freedom that should have come with being the last, with nothing to lose. I simply couldn’t. It would take decades to understand this, decades of difficulty and foolishness. Failing to see that then, I did the only thing I could: practiced and worked and pulled myself up from the bottom of the talent pool, to a few rungs above it. I improved enough to move up a chair by the end of a few months, but by that time the damage had been done, and the fear and terror I felt at failing had instilled the drive to be perfect at all costs. A lesson was there; I only learned half of it.
This is the sound of an orchestra
I can hear it playing everywhere that you are
There is a sound for everything you do
This is the sound of my love for you
Listen to the sound of my lust for you
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
There is a sound for everything you do
Listen to the sound of my love for you
Before you even say what I know you’re gonna say
That all the sounds I hear are only in my head
Come stand really close, hold me like you do
Then all the music in my head you’ll hear
If you’re truly smart, you assemble your life so that you’re rarely the smartest person in the room. I wish I’d seen that then, and appreciated the wonderful talent and reservoir of musical prodigies that surrounded me. Instead, I felt only the competition, the threat, the shame of not knowing what it seemed everyone else did. In hindsight, extreme hindsight, only a rare few were true prodigies. The rest of us were mostly just kids who displayed some form of musical aptitude – some had natural talent, others like myself had to work all that much harder to reach what came easy to them. For the most part, though, we were remarkably similar, even if we did not see it. Maybe it was better that we didn’t see it.
This is the sound of an orchestra
I can hear it playing everywhere that you are
There is a sound for everything you do
This is the sound of my love for you
Listen to the sound of my lust for you
As we grow up, we take on many instruments, mostly in the figurative sense, trying out different sounds, varying tempos, and playing our way through life from pianissimo to fortissimo. If we allow ourselves to grow, and learn all the different things this world has to show and teach us, we become the conductors of our lives. We speak several languages, we master several jobs, and we orchestrate all the little facets that comprise the simple and expansive skills of getting through the day.
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
It’s getting louder
There is a sound for everything you do
Listen to the sound of my love for you.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
FINALLY, ENOUGH LOVE
I DON’T SEARCH, I FIND
I DON’T SEARCH, I FIND
The summer of ‘Madame X‘ feels like a lifetime ago, and in so many ways it feels like the last summer of innocence. I suppose all previous summers were the last summers of innocence. Music brings back memories almost as potently as scent. So does this blog, thanks to summer recaps, part one, part two and part three. As for this song, ‘I Don’t Search, I Find’ we locate Madonna musing with some introspective lyrics over a moody dance track that thrillingly recaptures the ‘Erotica’ era in the best possible ways.
The days of losing oneself in the hedonistic wild abandon of dance clubs somehow feel far away too, and somewhere in the past of ten or twenty-five years ago the dim sparkle of reflected light, bounced about off disco balls and mirrors and the eyes of the seeking, is still splintering its pretty shards through history. Eyes sleepy with drink or drug sweep the dance floor of time, looking for possibility, looking for reciprocated desire, looking for, above all things, love – always for love.
I FOUND LOVE
I FOUND SOMETHING NEW
I FOUND YOU
YEAH, I FOUND YOU
PLATINUM GOLD INSIDE YOUR SOUL
I FOUND LIGHT
I FOUND EMOTION
Those nights were filed with darkness, and thinking back on some of them I can feel the fear I probably should have felt then. Like the time I cajoled a guy into driving me from Boston back to Brandeis one night, and he ended up pulling off onto a dim side road, stopped his van (yeah, he drove a van straight out of ‘Silence of the Lambs’ and I was in it) and wanted to talk. Nothing came of it, and I was not even scared at the time it happened – only in retrospect do I feel the danger and naivete of youth, and forget its invincibility. I feel the same way about certain nights at tea dance, when the pulsating throb of the dance floor pumps its lifeblood through my system, and the whole mass of dancing people moves as one organism, gracefully fluttering in one singular sensation. There was community there, and happy co-existence. We needed each other to make it work, and we could rely on each other to make it happen. I fear that those days and that synergy may be gone forever. Not only because of our current situation, but the changing landscape of humanity. For now I shall side with cynicism in the hope of being proved wrong.
IT’S OUR GYPSY BLOOD
WE LIVE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH
WAITING TO MOVE ON
AND IN THE END WE ACCEPT IT
WE SHAKE HANDS WITH OUR FATE
AND WE WALK PAST
THERE’S NO REST FOR US IN THIS WORLD
FINALLY, ENOUGH LOVE
For me, this song also reminds that despite the collective pulsation and sensations the dance floor once provided, those moments were largely few and far between. Mostly I just witnessed them from a safe vantage point, not usually joining in and moving with the masses. I never tore my shirt off and rubbed sweaty torsos with a group of men (not on a public dancefloor at any rate) and I didn’t do any of the drugs that sent so many off to some fantastical journey through the convoluted alterations of their brain. I sipped on my screwdrivers and got a little/lot drunk, but that was the extent of my dance floor debauchery. Occasionally I would go a bit further, but for the most part, when I honestly think back on my not-entirely-plentiful nights out, I remember them largely in solitary fashion. I never had a huge group of gay friends with whom I could tag along for regular jaunts to the club. Part of me thought I wanted that, but whether it was social anxiety or simple diversion in taste, I never pursued it. And so my dance club experience was largely limited, and largely made in solitude. Which makes this particular Madonna song somehow resonate with me, as it captures the loneliness of the scene as much as it celebrates the sonic atmosphere.
I DON’T SEARCH, I FIND
I FOUND PEACE (I FOUND PEACE)
I FOUND A NEW VIEW (I FOUND A NEW VIEW)
I FOUND YOU (I FOUND YOU)
YEAH, I FOUND YOU
It’s music for when you want to circle the perimeter of the dance floor, or hover on some balcony just above all the action. That was my territory for the most part. Once in a while someone would tear me away from such solitude and I’d join in the exertions, quite adeptly because I did get the gay dance gene, and for a few moments I’d legitimately enjoy letting go, but soon enough my socially anxious senses would return and I’d slink off to the bathroom or the bar and end it before it took me anywhere too far from where I’d come.
It does what the best of her latter-day work does: references the past in reverential form while looking ahead to the dance floor moments that are yet to come. Will we ever dance again? It’s too soon to say, but Madonna has not given up the fight, and neither have I.
For far too long I’ve looked at winter as a barren beast, something through which we must trudge, bundled and bound in scarves and sweaters and coats that erase all the turns and angles of a body. Faceless and formless, I felt that winter was something to be endured and suffered, a penance for all the summer fun we had. It was punishment and crime at once, at least it seemed to be. Looking back, perhaps I was wrong ~ wrong about winter, wrong about more.
The piano starts, stepping into the snow then stepping into the background and allowing the cello to cry out in plaintive sorrow, sharing the winter hurt. Their duet, as much a dance as a song, music and mental image, is sadness and reconciliation, much like the way my vision of winter has changed and evolved over the years. Could there be a new way of feeling winter that is comprised of gratitude and loveliness? Might the light at this time of year, be it sun or candle, appear more potent than what comes in summer? That would make this moment somehow just as precious, even as it feels more brittle. Does this nocturne by Chopin convey a similar shift in perception, embodying the way I’m finding a new appreciation for the wilderness of the season? Smoke and pine carry on the wind, the way the notes of this piece vibrate in similar and singular fashion.
Veering toward the end of this year of insanity, here’s one last let-loose post before the year-end recap (which I’ve mercifully-shortened to two posts instead of the usual three or four -because we don’t need to prolong the agony). This is a fitting song for silliness, for a year in which I gave up the ghost of perfectionism, embracing our imperfect selves in an imperfect world. That meant being ok with looking ridiculous, a welcome change of pace which originally felt uncomfortable, but soon grew on me like a comfy pair of sweatpants in the middle of a grocery store.
I’M LAID BACK, I’M FEELING THIS
TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT, I JUST WANNA LET IT GO
HIT THE PLAYBACK, I KNOW YOU FEELING THIS
COME ON BABY, LET’S GET RIDICULOUS!
COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON
BABY LET’S GET RIDICULOUS
COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON
BABY LET’S GET RIDICULOUS
I WAS BORN TO ROCK THE PARTY
I WAS BORN TO ROCK YA BODY
I’M FRESH, I’M SLICK, I’M LA-DI-DA-DI
I’M LAID BACK, I’M FEELING THIS
TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT, I JUST WANNA LET IT GO
HIT THE PLAYBACK, I KNOW YOU FEELING THIS
COME ON BABY, LET’S GET RIDICULOUS!
COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON
BABY LET’S GET RIDICULOUS
COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, COME ON
BABY LET’S GET RIDICULOUS
For the better part of my life, even as a very young child, I’ve always been a rather serious person – perhaps too much so for my own good. Looking back, a great deal of things could have gone differently had I only learned to relax and let go and not been so hell-bent on being so right and so perfect. That’s not an easy thing to change, but this year I had to do it. There wasn’t a choice.
That ended up being the best thing that could have happened in the tumult that was 2020.
CRAZY, LOUD, GET WILD IN THE CROWD
LET’S GET CRAZY, LOUD, GET WILD IN THE CROWD
LET’S GET CRAZY, LOUD, GET WILD IN THE CROWD
PARTY PEOPLE
LET’S GET RIDICULOUS!
It was quite an adjustment, and a complete reversal of a mindset that took almost four and half decades to, well, perfect. That’s the thing, however – it wasn’t perfect. Even when things worked out according to itinerary and plan, even when the day or night was ordained before and after as something wonderful, it was never perfect. Because perfection is not for us to attain. Embracing that, and realizing my mistakes and shortcomings, became an adventure of its own. It was guided by therapy and meditation, grounded in honesty and difficult discussions, and in one of those magnificent strokes of the universe, it led to a lighter and somehow fuller way of living.
Admitting that I would never be perfect was the necessary first step in stumbling toward a happier existence. There was a certain freedom that came with that, and with apologizing for those times I was still figuring out and feeling my way through. Such fumbling and flailing is best done with a strong backing beat, some ass-flashing, a bit of bodacious twerking, and a blog post that can be both silly and serious – something for the booty and the mind – at the same time.
LET’S GET RIDICULOUS!
ALL THE TIME I’LL BE SEEING YOU AT SCHOOL
AND YOU SO FINE, I JUST HAD TO PLAY IT COOL
YOU BLOW MY MIND ALL THE CRAZY THINGS YOU DO
I SEE THAT YOU WANNA ACT A FOOL
SO BABY LET’S GET RIDICULOUS!
DECEMBER, IT ALWAYS HAPPENS IN DECEMBER
I GET A YEARNING FOR A CHRISTMAS I KNOW, WITH HOLLY AND SNOW
THE KIND WE USED TO HAVE BACK HOME A LONG TIME AGO
DECEMBER, BRINGS BACK A SCENE THAT I REMEMBER
THE LIGHTED CHRISTMAS TREES AND WINDOWS AT NIGHT
SO CHEERFUL AND BRIGHT, AND ALL THE WORLD A WONDERLAND (ALL COVERED WITH WHITE)
This was very much a December that needed all the Christmas magic it could possibly muster, and so let’s prolong the holiday spirit for longer than usual. In fact, I propose extending the light and the joy through January, and the darkest early days of winter. Why should we limit such good-will and noble sentiment? We should preserve Christmas in our hearts the year through.
CHILDREN SOUND ASLEEP ON CHRISTMAS EVE
THEY’RE DREAMING DREAMS OF MAKE BELIEVE
YOU CAN BET TOMORROW, THEY’LL BE THRILLED
WHEN THEY AWAKE TO FIND THEIR STOCKINGS FILLED
DECEMBER
THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT I REMEMBER
AND, SO NO MATTER WHAT MY FORTUNE MAY BE, OR WHERE I MAY ROAM
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
This song came on the radio as Andy and I were returning from dropping off a Christmas ham dinner to my parents. It was already dark, and most of the day was done. It had been a different sort of Christmas, staying home while Andy cooked the ham and an exquisite aroma of spiced glaze filled the house. Not wholly unpleasant, even as we missed seeing family and friends this year. I was just about ready to call it quits for another season when this song sounded its nostalgic magic, reminding me that Christmas is, was, and will always be more a feeling than a specific place or circumstance.
YOU’LL FIND THE CHILDREN SOUND ASLEEP ON CHRISTMAS EVE
THEY’RE DREAMING DREAMS OF MAKE BELIEVE
YOU CAN BET TOMORROW, THEY’LL BE THRILLED
WHEN THEY AWAKE TO FIND THEIR STOCKINGS FILLED
DECEMBER
THESE ARE THE THINGS THAT I REMEMBER
AND, SO NO MATTER WHAT MY FORTUNE MAY BE, OR WHERE I MAY ROAM
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
IN DECEMBER, (DECEMBER) I’LL BE GOING HOME
IN DECEMBER, I’LL BE GOING HOME
It’s a house that sparkles, somewhere along a historical cobblestone street, maybe in Troy or downtown Albany, the kind of house that has existed for centuries, which has seen more Christmas Eves and New Year’s Days than any of us ever would. Candelight flickers, while company laughs, ebbs and flows, pushes and parts, and more sparkle is held in a crystal glass of champagne, capturing and shattering shards of light as deadly as a necklace of nightshade.
Back then the problems were champagne of sort and level. That didn’t make them feel less valid, or hurt with diminished flair. If anything their pain felt more pointed, more acute, because it was the first brush with any hint of hurt. The single salty tear stings more than the entire ocean.
Youth and beauty and ignorant confidence glint off every surface. The loud laughter, the tailored suits, the plate rimmed in gold and balanced precariously in my hand; they leave me entranced and insecure. And so I hold my head higher, make my laughs louder, suck my stomach in just a little more and examine the effect as I pass a mirror. More sparkle, more champagne, more holiday twinkle…
On some of these nights I catch a glimpse of myself in a reflection ~ not plainly in a mirror like that, only in some curved piece of silver, some Christmas ornament, some darkened window ~ and I see what the others might see: the visage of someone who might have it all together, who might be the envy of everyone at the ball. It is only, and always, a passing fancy.
YOU BOOKED THE NIGHT TRAIN FOR A REASON
SO YOU COULD SIT THERE IN THIS HURT
BUSTLING CROWDS OR SILENT SLEEPERS
YOU’RE NOT SURE WHICH IS WORSE
This song is calling to me from a place I forgot existed. It’s a place of chilling beauty, of exile and solitude ~ the kind of solitude that is with you no matter how many people are around you, no matter how many want to hold your hand. I never let many do so, not even Andy at times. Maybe it was cruel of me. Maybe it was survival. Maybe I understood that Andy wasn’t a hand-holder either. It was very much all I knew how to do. It was the extent of how much I could allow myself to care, how much I was willing to risk. You don’t survive hurt without learning a little bit of how to prevent it. And even then, when you know it’s not fair, an instinct like a life-preserver floats stubbornly above the water, refusing to let you take that risk, refusing to let you drown again.
Champagne problems. Such a luxury to have such concerns form the heart of your difficulties. I see that now. I wonder at the way perspective changes over the years, at the way the world wears you down and opens you up. It throws worse and worse at you until you reach a point where wisdom reveals your own evolution.
BECAUSE I DROPPED YOUR HAND WHILE DANCING
LEFT YOU OUT THERE STANDING
CRESTFALLEN ON THE LANDING
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
YOUR MOM’S RING IN YOUR POCKET
MY PICTURE IN YOUR WALLET
YOUR HEART WAS GLASS, I DROPPED IT
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
This song is not about something I specifically relate to, and there’s a certain release and relief from that. Songs can be read on all sorts of levels, and the best ones mean so many things to so many different people that a single reading is no more valuable than any other. The egalitarian and universal power of good music is ever a wonder ~ the sounds of angels, the whispers of sages.
YOU TOLD YOUR FAMILY FOR A REASON
YOU COULDN’T KEEP IT IN
YOUR SISTER SPLASHED OUT ON THE BOTTLE
NOW NO ONE’S CELEBRATING
Categorizing something or someone as having “champagne problems” – not unlike the “first world problems” phrase – is both derisive and dismissive, designed to be an attack and an eradication. It fails at both tonight, the blows glancing off my velvet shoulders, the reach sadly short, and ever unassailing. Perhaps their agitation and annoyance is pure envy, a somewhat sad jealousy that their problems weren’t quite as silly and trivial. They wanted to provoke and anger and all I gave them was pity. The deadly blow is mine. It lands stealthily. It lands quietly. They won’t feel it, if they ever feel it, until much later. And then they will hate me like so many others. But when we meet again, at the next night of sparkle, they will smile and make motions to hug me.
DOM PERIGNON, YOU BROUGHT IT
NO CROWD OF FRIENDS APPLAUDED
YOUR HOMETOWN SKEPTICS CALLED IT
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
YOU HAD A SPEECH, YOU’RE SPEECHLESS
LOVE SLIPPED BEYOND YOUR REACHES
AND I COULDN’T GIVE A REASON
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
Champagne problems. The luxury of rejecting a proposal. The luxury of saying no. The luxury of being asked. The luxury of poetic pining…
“Once, when I was young and true. Someone left me sad – Broke my brittle heart in two; And that is very bad.
Love is for unlucky folk, Love is but a curse. Once there was a heart I broke; And that, I think, is worse.” – Dorothy Parker
The luxury of such bullshit.
Do we muster pity for the one who knew enough to end it, the one who was strong enough to let it go before it went to hell? I’ve not often been in that position. Too weak to do so in the past, I could never honor that before now. Wisdom comes later than needed in so many circumstances.
I once knew a woman who broke off an engagement, quite close to the original wedding date, because she had fallen in love with another guy. She had never done anything in her life quite that drastic or dramatic. In fact, she had always been one of our more sensible and pragmatic friends. Scientific to a fault, organized and methodical and regimented in almost every aspect of her life – except, in the end, when it came to her heart. We thought she had lost her mind when she did it. What the hell did we know? Twenty years and several kids later she’s still with the guy she knew was the right one. I wonder about her first fiance, sometimes.
YOUR MIDAS TOUCH ON THE CHEVY DOOR
NOVEMBER FLUSH AND YOUR FLANNEL CURE
‘HIS DORM WAS ONCE A MADHOUSE’
I MADE A JOKE ‘WELL, IT’S MADE FOR ME’ HOW
EVERGREEN, OUR GROUP OF FRIENDS
DON’T THINK WE’LL SAY THAT WORD AGAIN
AND SOON THEY’LL HAVE THE NERVE TO DECK THE HALLS
THAT WE ONCE WALKED THROUGH
Most of us aren’t intentionally bad people ~ we do things as best as we can when life trips us up, when emotions drive us into dangerous territory. Love can be a fickle and capricious thing. I stopped trying to trap it or figure it out years ago. My friends and I are a little older now. We deal with things a little differently than we did in our 20’s, but love knows no age, it knows no reason.
ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE SHOW
I NEVER WAS READY, SO I WATCH YOU GO
SOMETIMES YOU JUST DON’T KNOW THE ANSWER
TILL SOMEONE’S ON THEIR KNEES AND ASKS YOU
‘SHE WOULD’VE MADE SUCH A LOVELY BRIDE
WHAT A SHAME SHE’S STUCK IN HER HEAD’ THEY SAID
BUT YOU’LL FIND THE REAL THING INSTEAD
SHE’LL PATCH UP YOUR TAPESTRY THAT I SHRED
And yet some champagne problems are sometimes much deeper than they seem. Darker and more serious, they hint of flaws that run deep, chasms that go black before you’ve even approached bottom. A fear that paralyzes, that prevents the heart from making a move. Is it better to be safe? Is there safety in refusing? Or is it safer to follow your heart and not wonder about it years later? I occasionally think about my friend who broke off her first engagement. She seems happy, surrounded by a family, sure and safe and content~ what more could anyone want? She followed her heart and it led her to happiness. Maybe that’s the surest way to make your journey through life. I don’t know what became of her first fiance, which path he took, where he went, what he’s doing now. Surely there is something sweeter in store for the ones we leave behind.
There are at least two parts to a broken heart. And a thousand sides and stories.
AND HOLD YOUR HAND WHILE DANCING
NEVER LEAVE YOU STANDING
CRESTFALLEN ON THE LANDING
WITH CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
YOUR MOM’S RING IN YOUR POCKET
HER PICTURE IN YOUR WALLET
AND YOU WON’T REMEMBER ALL MY
CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS
Holiday lights sparkle in different aspects now. Fuzzier in some ways, brighter in others, and this year there are no parties to distract or pull focus from the way the mind wants to wander. It’s easier to live through the pain of other people, the stories of other lives, the mistakes that aren’t our own. We want to flirt with champagne problems to avoid the real ones from which we cannot escape.
Maybe that’s why I love this song. It tells a story that’s not mine. It tells a story of champagne problems that could be real or imagined, silly or serious, frivolous or ferocious – however one wants to read them. In a way, it’s a form of reverse mindfulness – occupying the head and pushing one’s own concerns out of the space. A neat twist on meditation without the deep breathing and lotus-folded legs.
The sadness of someone else’s pain playing its story out on the piano…
