Journeys

It was an impulse purchase in the spring of 2000: a CD from the counter display by the cash register at the music store.  The title, Journeys, intrigued me, and when I flipped over the album case to examine the track listing, I noted with pleasure several songs I knew and liked very much, as well as a couple of songs I wasn't familiar with, by artists I admired.  I concluded that this was an album worth owning, and handed it over to the cashier with the rest of my purchases.

I don't remember how much I paid for it, but I do know that I got my money's worth.  It wasn't the first multi-artist compilation I'd purchased, nor was it to be the last - but it was, hands down, quite simply the best.  There wasn't one bad, or even second-rate, song in the mix.  I listened to this album repeatedly as I struggled to reclaim my identity after my first hospitalization nearly ten years ago, and found the powerful melodies and poignant lyrics by turns soothing, inspiring, and reflective of my own unspoken yearnings.
The CD that I bought on impulse ten years ago is long gone, lost, along with so much else that was precious, during the years I was shuffled around indifferently by the mental health system.  I never thought much about it until recently, when I decided to look it up online and see if I could find it again.  The album itself is long since out of print (is that the correct term? - would "out of burn" be more accurate?), but I found it mentioned, with the full track listing, on several music websites.  From there it was a simple matter to individually purchase or otherwise locate the songs I didn't already own.

Journeys lives again for me as a playlist in iTunes - and I for one believe it is a playlist worth sharing.  Some of the greatest names in contemporary music are to be found here (John Lennon, Peter Gabriel, Paul Simon, to name a few), along with some artists perhaps less familiar.  Although the songs are drawn from several genres and span almost three decades of musical history, they suit each other remarkably well (in fact, many of the artists on the album have turned to each other for collaboration and inspiration: Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush have recorded a duet together; Roxy Music has covered "Jealous Guy"; Sarah McLachlan has covered "Solsbury Hill"; Sinéad O'Connor and Peter Gabriel have both performed with Afro Celt Sound System; Over the Rhine toured with Cowboy Junkies) flowing together into a harmony that is earnestly pensive, and often bittersweet - truly a journey for the spirit and heart, as well as a treat for the ear.

TRACK LISTING:
Solsbury Hill (Peter Gabriel)
Building a Mystery (Sarah McLachlan)
Back in the High Life Again (Steve Winwood)
Graceland (Paul Simon)
Avalon (Roxy Music)
Running Up That Hill (Kate Bush)
Jealous Guy (John Lennon)
200 More Miles (Cowboy Junkies)
Nothing Compares 2 U (Sinéad O'Connor)
Falling in Love with You (UB40)
Amber (Afro Celt Sound System)
Dante's Prayer (Loreena McKennitt)
All I Need Is Everything (Over the Rhine)
These Dreams (Heart)
Don't Dream It's Over (Crowded House)
American Pie (Don McLean)

And now, just for you, my dear readers, something that was never included in the original album - Truth Unleashed's personal liner notes.

Solsbury Hill - This song was written about Peter Gabriel's decision to split from the band Genesis and embark upon a solo career, but its poetic spareness makes it an appropriate anthem for the soul-searching that accompanies any major life decision.  Some folks perhaps read a little too much into the song.  Check out some alternate interpretations for a laugh: Gabriel's actually singing about alien abductions, the life of Christ, the inner world of a mental patient, or - my personal favorite - "a sniper on solsbury hill [sic] preparing to knock someone."  Because everyone knows the British countryside is just teeming with snipers, and the top of a hill is a great place to conceal yourself - right? right?  Spurious explanations aside, the lovely opening riff, increasingly complex instrumentation, and vivid imagery mark this deceptively simple song as a classic.

Building a Mystery - As a great fan of Sarah McLachlan, I was especially pleased to see her included in this compilation, even though I already owned the album, Surfacing, on which this song first appeared.  One of her most memorable songs, "Building a Mystery" is a haunting portrait of a beautiful, tormented soul.  I can't listen to it without falling just a little bit in love with the complex and enigmatic man she describes: "You're so beautiful / With an edge and a charm / But so careful / When I'm in your arms . . . You feed off our fears / And hold back your tears . . . You're building a mystery."

Back in the High Life Again - This irresistably optimistic song is perfect to listen to when life has landed you in the doldrums and you're planning your comeback: "I'll be back in the high life again / All the doors I closed one time will open up again . . . All the eyes that watched me once will smile and take me in / And I'll drink and dance with one hand free . . . And have the world so easily."  Listening to this song always makes me feel as though that "high life" might be waiting for me just around the next corner.

Graceland - Is there anything not to love about this song?  The music is irresistible, the lyrics simultaneously witty, melancholy, and desperate.  Inspired by the end of Simon's marriage to Carrie Fisher, "Graceland" tells the story of a road trip to Elvis Presley's famous Memphis estate in the aftermath of a breakup, and treats the narrator's heartbreak with frankness and compassion: "She comes back to tell me she's gone / As if I didn't know that / As if I didn't know my own bed . . . And I see losing love / Is like a window in your heart / Everybody sees you're blown apart . . . And I may be obliged to defend / Every love, every ending / Or maybe there's no obligations now."

Avalon - One thing I love about Roxy Music is their ability to consistently produce music that's worth listening to, even as they venture into a variety of styles and genres.  "Avalon" is a taste of their soft-pop side.  This is a song about a man who, dancing with a somewhat enigmatic companion at a party, finds himself experiencing one of life's rare sudden magical moments, transported into an altered state of sorts.  The lyrics are sparse, but their subtle poetry and the haunting music create the tone perfectly.

Running Up That Hill - Somehow, I managed to get through the first seventeen years of my life without ever hearing a song by Kate Bush.  This was my first.  Perhaps it's no surprise I remained unaware of her for so long; she's a serious artist more focused on producing good music than on mainstream success or self-promotion, and her lyrics have a serious intensity that wouldn't fit in with most commercial radio stations.  At any rate, I'm glad I found her.  In this song, she applies her powerful voice to an exploration of the struggle of men and women to understand each other.  "If I only could," she sings, "I'd make a deal with God / And I'd get him to swap our places."  As long as the genders lack this intimate understanding of each other, she implies, we'll go on "tearing [each other] asunder," unawares.  Heady stuff, but to her credit the song doesn't feel at all heavy.

Jealous Guy - I'm not going to insult the readers of this blog by asserting that John Lennon was a great songwriter.  There are some truths that just don't need to be stated in the presence of intelligent people.  (Even his most famous solo song, "Imagine," which makes me want to stick a fondue fork through my eardrums, must be acknowledged to succeed splendidly in its purpose, which is half the reason I detest it so thoroughly.)  I will, however, happily hold up "Jealous Guy" as evidence of Lennon's songwriting genius.  If you've ever acted out your insecurities and hurt someone you cared about, you'll recognize yourself in this song.  The lyrics are spot-on, the perfect combination of remorse and self-pity: "I was feeling insecure / You might not love me anymore / I was shivering inside . . . I didn't mean to hurt you / I'm sorry that I made you cry."  Lennon's voice is just right, too: simultanously straightforward and plaintive.  Like many great songs, it didn't make much of an impression on me the first time I heard it, but it's quietly grown on me, and still manages to move me with its nuances.

200 More Miles - If you can't help thinking there's just something wrong about a song by John Lennon appearing in such immediate proximity to a song by a group called "Cowboy Junkies," you have only to listen to this haunting, lovely song for a reminder that you can't always judge a band by its name.  Guitarist Michael Timmins's poetic lyrics and his sister Margo's breathy, sensually earthy vocals combine perfectly into a song about a lonesome journey and the pursuit of dreams: by turns a lament, an inspriation, and a lullaby.  In this song, it isn't the realization of a dream that brings true satisfaction, but the sometimes arduous pursuit: "I've got 200 more miles of rain asphalt in line / before I sleep / But there'll be no warm sheets or welcoming arms / to fall into tonight," the singer acknowledges repeatedly, before proclaiming, at song's end, "I've got 200 more miles of rain asphalt in line / before I sleep / But I wouldn't trade all your golden tomorrows / for one hour of this night."

Nothing Compares 2 U - The songwriter Prince may be best known for his sometimes raunchy lyrics and eccentric antics, but in this song he proves his ability to capture a simple slice of human experience and turn it into art.  Last year, I compiled a playlist of songs that exemplify the famous "five stages of grief" as they apply to the end of a romantic relationship.  Had space on the list been at a premium, I could simply have tossed out three or four of the stages and replaced them with this song, which dips into each of them in turn and intertwines them masterfully into a neat five-minute landscape of the broken heart.  Music-lovers who share my contempt for over-the-top videos that have nothing to do with the actual song will find this video to be a refreshing change of pace.  Shots of Sinéad O'Connor on a pensive, solitary walk around Paris are occasionally interspersed into what is otherwise a single-shot close-up of the singer's face.  To the best of my knowledge, O'Connor has never attempted to branch off into acting, but the emotional range she displays in this video, via head movements and facial expressions alone, would put some Academy Award winners to shame.  She is by turns anguished, wistful, defiant, pleading.  She truly lives the song.  I challenge anyone with a heart to watch this video and not be moved.

Falling in Love with You - It takes a lot of moxie to cover a song that was a huge hit, in an entirely different style than the original, and release it as the first single off your album.  UB40 did just that when they recorded this classic Elvis tune.  They made what was originally a soulful ballad all their own, as an upbeat reggae number, in a way that pays genuine tribute to the original without overwhelming or diminishing it in any way.  The song deals with love unexpected and perhaps contrary to plan, but whereas Elvis lays his heart on the line with wistful melancholy, UB40 revels in this overwhelming love and finds triumph in it.  Which version you prefer will be a matter of personal taste, but it would be hard to call one or the other the more definitive version.

Amber - I'd never heard of Afro Celt Sound System before I bought the Journeys CD, and I haven't happened to come across any more of their music since.  Of course, they aren't exactly mainstream.  The fusion of Irish, African, and modern dance beats and styles sounds more like an interesting experiment than a formula for good music - until you hear it.  In a world where "multiculturalism" too often means either keeping the "other" at a distance while making a big show of tolerance, or assimiliating beyond recognition, there's something beautiful about Irish lyrics sung harmoniously over a distinctive African beat.

Dante's Prayer - Loreena McKennitt's haunting voice is perfectly suited to these ethereal lyrics, creating a mystical song of timeless yearning.  This is a deeply spiritual song about looking to have a meaningful life and a connection to something higher, even when hope is hard to find.  "I did not believe because I could not see / Though you came to me in the night / When the dawn seemed forever lost / You showed me your love in the light of the stars . . . When the dark night seems endless / Please remember me."

All I Need Is Everything - In this powerful song of spiritual longing and material reality, nothing comes easy and contradictions are inherent in every pursuit: "Time to get up off my hands and knees / 'Cause if I beg for it, it won't come . . . This voice calling me to you / It's just barely coming through / Still I clearly hear my name . . . Feel the slip and the grip of grace again."  Every time I listen to this song, it strikes me in a new way - and I don't think there's a single line in the song that doesn't take my breath away with its poetry.  I love the raw honesty in Karin Bergquist's voice.  I think I'm going to be downloading some more Over the Rhine before very long.

These Dreams - This song, which I've loved from childhood, was one of my reasons for purchasing the album in the first place, and it's one of my favorite tracks.  In light of my lifelong interest in oneirology and dream analysis (as well as my experience as a vivid, occasionally lucid, dreamer), I'm truly impressed by how accurately this song captures the experience of dreaming: the almost overwhelmingly intense details ("Figures up ahead / Moving in the trees / White skin in linen / Perfume on  my wrist") and vague sense of unreality ("The sweetest song is silence / That I've ever heard / Funny how your feet / In dreams never touch the earth"), as well as anticipation or unrest ("In a wood full of princes / Freedom is a kiss / But the prince hides his face / From dreams in the mist").

Don't Dream It's Over - The theme of this song is a relatively simple one: the struggle to maintain a strong bond with another person in world of pressures that often make it difficult.  What makes this song so special is the pure poetry with which it treats its subject, making it alive and immediate, yet with slightly blurred edges that leave plenty of room for personal interpretation.  It is a song about relationship, and yet the verses speak of freedom and priorities rather than emotion: they are almost as detached and impersonal as the world that makes it so difficult to keep love alive.  "There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost," the singer muses philosophically, then adds the declaration, all the more powerful for coming as such an offhand surprise, "But you'll never see the end of the road / While you're traveling with me."  The tenderness in this song is more implied than stated, but all the more powerful for being hard-won.

American Pie - Not many pop songs can get away with being over eight minutes long, without feeling at all gratuitous or excessive.  This is one of the few that can.  The lyrics are famously enigmatic, a history of classic rock 'n' roll peppered with religious references.  (McLean has always declined requests to provide an official interpretation of the song, but DJ Bob Dearborn's thoughtful analysis has never been surpassed.)  Perhaps the most impressive thing about the song is its timelessness: ultimately, this is a song about coming of age and watching the world change, a young man watching everything he once held sacred done away with or corrupted by time, and the sense of confusion and wistfulness is powerful enough to speak to a generation of listeners who have neither personal memory of, nor emotional investment in, the evolution of the rock music scene in the 1950s and '60s.

It occurred to me once that the mark of a truly great pop song is simultaneous versatility and depth: you can play it in the background at a party and it adds to the mood without calling too much attention to itself, yet at the same time it rewards the attentive listener with an insightful and emotional experience that only gets better with repeated listenings. By that standard, every track on this album could be considered a great pop song, deep and yet accessible, speaking to a variety of human experiences in a way that simultaneously provokes thought, recognition, and the desire to nod your head to the beat and sing along.

Autumn Fever

"So," my friend asked, "how are you?"  It was a Friday morning at the very beginning of October, a day of fierce almighty storms that battered the house with hot thunder and rain so sparse and windblown it was almost dry.

"I'm all right," I replied.  "Feeling something change inside me.  I'm restless."

"You feel like you want to do something?" she asked.  "Like there is a burst of energy in you or you're longing for something?  Perhaps feeling a bit anxious for something?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, amazed how she had managed to elaborate my feelings so perfectly.

"Autumn," she diagnosed succinctly.

It didn't take much reflection before I realized she was right.  I have always loved the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness," in a most deep and personal way.  I was born in the very heart of autumn; gifted with a spirit of soil and mist, and a proclivity to austerity and decadence.  When the leaves begin to turn, I feel myself called back to a home I never knew, to an unsettling and familiar wildness.

With the coming of autumn I am feral and expansive and lonely - so full of feeling I can hardly stand it, and yet I wouldn't trade it for the world.  I want to spin in circles and run into walls and be honest and honest and honest.  I want to take risks and drink clear cold water.  I want to write a song and stub my toe and sing and bleed.  I feel so primal! and I want to love: without a destination or a target, if I must, just loving for the sake of loving.

I feel fearsome.  Powerful.  Tremendous.  Untouchable.  Charmed.  Strange!

It is hard to capture the delicate tremulous expansiveness of it in words alone.  When I go out to walk in the brisk moist autumn air, whether it be by day when the whole world is the bright color of scattered light, or by night when the streetlamps color the mist like the haze from a fire - I take my iPod.  Everything sounds different against a backdrop of infinite possibility, but there are certain songs that enhance the effect.  In this climate of sky and soul I want to hear music as plaintive and pensive as my own meditations, wide and acoustic and resonant.

Here is a playlist of the songs I love to hear in these days of brilliant gloom, songs that capture some of the beautiful yearning ache that surrounds me at this time.  I have tried to reflect all the moods of the autumn here: tender and fierce, hopeful and despairing.  It is my hope that I have captured in this list a small piece of the season's melancholy splendor, to dip back into at will the other three-quarters of the year.

TRACK LISTING:
Somethin' Grand (Madeleine Peyroux)
Black Winged Bird (Nina Persson)
Moving (Kate Bush)
La Soñadora (Enya)
Sibeling (Depeche Mode)
Scarborough Fair (Rosalind McAllister)
Who I Was Born to Be (Susan Boyle)
Anywhere Is (Enya)
The Ash Grove (Michelle Amato)
Circle (Edie Brickell & New Bohemians)
Pax Deorum (Enya)
Time to Say Goodbye (Sarah Brightman)
Fallen Embers (Enya)
Memory (Barbra Streisand)
Fields of Gold (Sting)
I Won't Stay Long (Sixpence None the Richer)

Although I'm sure any commentary on these songs would only be gilding the lily, I can't resist a few brief liner notes, as it were.

Somethin' Grand - This is a lovely, gentle song that somehow embodies that sweet restless feeling of great things on the horizon.  "Wide awake, breath taken / I'm shaken by my sight / Couldn't sleep, couldn't keep / Quiet secrets on the wind I hear."

Black Winged Bird - The sweetness of this pretty tune belies the strength and resignation and painful maturity of the lyrics: "I made up my mind to be a black-winged bird / Never turn my head for how things were . . . And I'll soar on my way / Sad as the state of things we can't change."

Moving - The music and the lyrics of the hauntingly unusual song are perfectly bound together, and the unabashedly plaintive yearning is evident.  "How I'm moved / How you move me / With your beauty's potency / You give me life / Please don't let me go / You crush the lily in my soul."

La Soñadora - This pensive tune casts a graceful spell, like waking up from a lovely but scarcely-remembered dream.  "I; the autumn . . . I have been an echo . . . I have been everything, I am myself . . . I am she who dreams."

Sibeling - This ominous, airy instrumental evokes the cries of seagulls on a day heavy with portents of storm.

Scarborough Fair - The plaintive futility of this English folk song could break your heart, if you let yourself think about it (which I suggest you do): "Tell her to make me a cambric shirt . . . Without no seam nor needle work . . . Tell her to find me an acre of land . . . Between the salt water and the sea strand / Then she'll be a true love of mine."

Who I Was Born to Be - This is a perfect hymn of new beginning: acknowledging the hurts and damages of the past, but soaring beyond them.  "When I was a child / There were flowers that bloomed in the night / Unafraid to take in the light / Unashamed to have braved the dark / Though I may not know the answers / I can finally say I am free / And if the questions led me here / Then I am who I was born to be."

Anywhere Is - The strong, sweeping melody could so easily overwhelm the lyrics if they did not possess a power all their own: "The moon upon the ocean / Is swept around in motion / But without ever knowing / The reason for its flowing / In motion on the ocean / The moon still keeps on moving / The waves still keep on waving / And I still keep on going."

The Ash Grove - This traditional Welsh folk song has lent its tune to several hymns and even a political ditty, but these lyrics by John Oxenford perfectly capture the nostalgia of the melody, celebrating the beauty of nature ("The ash grove how graceful, how plainly 'tis speaking / The wind through it playing has language for me") and the memory of lost loved ones ("Each step brings a memory as freely I roam . . . The dear ones I long for again gather here / From ev'ry dark nook they press forward to meet me").  And in autumn that ash grove might look something like this, which is enough to justify its inclusion here, I think.

Circle - This is a perfect song of defiant solitude, and it sounds just amazing outdoors on an autumn night, when "the streets are wet" and "the colors slip into the sky."  "I quit, I give up / Nothing's good enough for anybody else / It seems / And being alone is the best way to be . . . When I'm by myself, nobody else can say goodbye / Everything is temporary anyway."

Pax Deorum - The chanted Latin lyric that constitutes the greatest part of the song doesn't quite make grammatical sense, though it's clearly some sort of summoning invocation.  The power of the chant is more important than the meaning, though; this lovely piece evokes the awesome force of a storm rising, raging, and breaking.  Turn this one up loud.

Time to Say Goodbye - You don't have to know a word of Italian to hear the yearning in this beautiful song, but the lyrics are deeply powerful in their own right: "I'll leave with you / On ships upon seas / That I know / Exist no longer / It's time to say goodbye."  I can't listen to this song without wanting to love with all my heart, even if hurts.

Fallen Embers - This is an almost painfully beautiful song about the memory of something impossibly poignant.  "Once, as the night was leaving / Into us our dreams were weaving / Once, all dreams were worth keeping / I was with you."

Memory - There are songs of resignation, and their are songs of resolution.  And then there's "Memory."  Autumnal in setting ("The withered leaves collect at my feet . . . Burnt out ends of smoky days") as well as ambience, this song makes me ache and dream in the same tone.  "I remember the time I knew what happniess was / Let the memory live again . . . I must think of a new life / And I mustn't give in . . . Another day is dawning."

Fields of Gold - This truly haunting song seems to reveal a new mood to me every time I listen to it: joy, love, tension, loss: "You'll remember me when the west wind moves / Upon the fields of barley / You can tell the sun in his jealous sky / When we walked in fields of gold."  I'm not a huge fan of music videos, but I watched this one twice, then downloaded it.  It's simple, powerful, and perfectly suited to the song.  If you've never seen it, please don't deny yourself.

I Won't Stay Long - I can say for certain that my friend and I aren't the only ones afflicted with autumn fever.  Lyricist Sam Ashworth clearly gets it too.  I couldn't express the feeking of sweet autumnal melancholy better than the words of this song: "Leaves are falling, and something's calling me here / The state of depression that I'm walking in / Got the impression that I won't stay here long / I know I am like this, but still I don't know what to do / The sky is darkening, I can feel it in the air / My heart is sinking, I know winter's on its way."

The Five Stages of Heartbreak: The Soundtrack

Four months ago, when I was still crying every day, I wrote a short piece called "The Five Stages of Heartbreak," applying the Kübler-Ross model of the grieving process to the experience of getting dumped.  When I wrote it I wasn't nearly so far along in the process as I imagined myself to be, but I am immodestly pleased how well it holds up in the light of a little more perspective.  Of course, writing was one of the things that helped me get through those first difficult weeks and months.  Music was another.  It was in June that I discovered the great deals and rich variety to be had from Amazon's MP3 Downloads department, and I immediately began accumulating songs that spoke to my moods and conditions.  Listening to the soothing melodies and the sad lyrics, hearing my rough-edged pain reflected in a thing of beauty, helped ease me through the hard times and remember how much there still was to make life worth living.

This playlist includes many of the songs that sustained and nurtured me through the loss of my first love, as well as a few others that in one way or another capture the unique feelings of each stage of grief.  I present them in the conventional order suggested by Kübler-Ross (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance), though my own journey through the stages took a somewhat different order, starting with bargaining and denial, passing through depression to anger, and coming finally to a place of acceptance.  I've chosen three songs for each stage, with one bonus song for acceptance - which is, of course, the longest stage, the one that never truly ends.

TRACK LISTING:
Don't Speak (No Doubt)
It's No Good (Depeche Mode)
Someday Out of the Blue (Elton John)
Harden My Heart (Quarterflash)
Smile (Lily Allen)
I Survived You (Clay Aiken)
Everything I Own (Bread)
Pour Que Tu M'Aimes Encore (Céline Dion)
If Ever You're in My Arms Again (Peabo Bryson)
Just When I Needed You Most (Kurt Darren)
The End of the World (Skeeter Davis)
Look What You've Done (Bread)
Missing You (Amy Grant)
Please Remember Me (Tim McGraw)
Someone That I Used to Love (Barbra Streisand)
The Dance (Garth Brooks)

I'm not going to go into too much detail on what these songs mean to me.  I already told my story.  Instead, I prefer to let the songs speak for themselves.

Denial:

Don't Speak - One of the best breakup songs ever, this one is self-conscious in its denial of the inevitable: "I can't believe / This could be the end / It looks as though you're letting go / And if it's real / Well, I don't want to know . . . Don't tell me 'cause it hurts."

It's No Good - It's embarrassing to admit now, but I went through a phase after my breakup where I took everything as some kind of Sign from the Universe.  Bombarded constantly by coincidences that reminded me of her, I allowed myself a touch of comfort alongside the fresh spurt of pain: surely all of this meant that we were meant to be together, and she would want me back as soon as I had suffered enough, learned my lesson.  She just didn't know it yet.  The lyrics of this song come to mind: "It is written in the stars above / The gods decree / You'll be right here by my side . . . Don't say you're happy / Out there without me / I know you can't be / 'Cause it's no good."

Someday Out of the Blue - Even after I accepted that the conflict between us really wasn't just going to blow over this time, I hoped that with time and effort, we would find our way back to each other.  There were a few days I spent humming this song under my breath, over and over.  "I still believe / I still put faith in us / We had it all and watched it slip away . . . Maybe years from now / Or tomorrow night / I'll turn and I'll see you / As if we always knew / Someday we would live again."

Anger:

Harden My Heart - This is a nice, vigorous song to sing out loud when you're feeling angry - or pretending you're not the sorry little sad sack who just got dumped.  (It's actually a good thing if you're mad enough to howl when you sing this one - it makes it easier to hit those drawn-out high notes.)  "You gave me your word - but words for you are lies . . . I'm gonna harden my heart / I'm gonna swallow my tears / I'm gonna turn - and - leave you here."

Smile - This is the song I think is the likeliest contender to replace Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know" as the unofficial anthem of angry female dumpees everywhere.  The two songs are quite similar - vigorous and catchy beats, a dollop of profanity that packs an effective punch without coming across as gratuitously crass.  While Alanis's lyrics pack far more angst than Lily's, there's a winsome sweetness to "Smile" that belies its fundamental nastiness: "At first when I see you cry / It makes me smile / Yeah, it makes me smile / At worst, I feel bad for a while / But then I just smile / I go ahead and smile."  (Even if you're not much of a fan of music videos, this one is worth checking out.  And if you enjoy it, the Sims 2 version is equally delightful.)

I Survived You - This one is simultaneously resentful and triumphant.  "I see the picture clear now, the fog has lifted . . . couldn't help mistaking / That you could ever care for anyone / Anyone but yourself . . . But you would have to have a conscience, baby . . . And when you wrote me off like I was doomed / I survived you . . . I'll be damned if I have thoughts of you / Rain on my new beginning."

Bargaining:

Everything I Own - The evening my partner threw me out, my mother came to pick me up.  I waited for her down by the curb, shivering in the cold air of the late winter night - hoping to distract myself from my agony through physical discomfort, and perhaps on some level atone by my suffering for the hurt I had caused.  And while I was standing there, this was the song that was running through my head.  "I would give anything I own / Give up my life, my heart, my home / I would give ev'rything I own / Just to have you back again."

Pour Que Tu M'Aimes Encore - This is bargaining at its most desperate, plaintive, and poetic: "I will seek out your heart if you carry it away . . . I will seek out your soul through fire and ice . . . I will make myself new to rekindle the flames / I will become those others who please you so much / We'll play their games, if that's what you want / Shinier and more beautiful, to ignite a new spark / I will turn myself to gold so you'll love me again."

If Ever You're in My Arms Again - It was only that she didn't want to hear me say these things that kept me by and large from saying them, a fact for which I am now grateful.  "We had a once-in-a-lifetime / But I just couldn't see until it was gone . . . I swear from now on / If ever you're in my arms again / This time I'll love you much better."

Depression:

Just When I Needed You Most - This song so perfectly captures the feeling of desolation and loss that follows a breakup that it's hard not to quote the whole thing.  "Now most every morning I / Stare out the window and I / Think about where you might be / I've written you letters / That I'd like to send / If you would just send one to me / 'Cause I need you more than I / Needed before and now / Where I'll find comfort, God knows / 'Cause you left me / Just when I needed you most."

The End of the World - This is the sort of song I used to regard with a sniff of superiority.  I thought a person would have to be a bloody sentimental fool to equate the end of a relationship to the end of the world.  Well, it would seem that I am a bloody sentimental fool.  "I wake up in the morning and I wonder / Why everything's the same as it was / I can't understand, no I can't understand / How life goes on the way it does / Why does my heart go on beating? / Why do these eyes of mine cry? / Don't they know it's the end of the world? / It ended when you said goodbye."

Look What You've Done - There was a short time, as our love was crumbling around me and in the first weeks after the breakup, that I had vivid fantasies about her killing me - stabbing me in the heart.  It wasn't really that I wanted to die, and I certainly wouldn't have wished her to have to suffer the legal ramifications and emotional aftermath of such an act.  Perhaps the best way I can explain it is that, in a very real way, I had given my whole self away to her when I promised her the rest of my life, and I would rather see her consume that gift into oblivion than return it to me battered and rejected.  Or perhaps this song explains it better: "You have taken the heart of me / And left just a part of me / And look, look, look what you've done / Well, you took all the best of me / So come get the rest of me / And look back, finish what you've begun."

Acceptance:

Missing You - When acceptance finally comes, at first it takes the form of a sort of sad resignation - at least, that was how it came at first to me.  "I guess that I had dreamed / We would never be apart / But that dream did not come true / And missing you is just a part of living / Missing you feels like a way of life / I'm living out the life that I've been given / But baby I still wish you were mine."

Please Remember Me - One of the things that most helped me to carry on without her was the thought that she would be better off, happier, without me.  I felt, as long as she was somewhere in the world, happy and thriving, then I really had no right to complain about anything at all.  This song reduced me to tears over and over again, and at the same time, the gentle music and powerful lyrics lifted my spirits.  "You'll find better love / Strong as it ever was / Deep as the river runs / Warm as the morning sun / Please remember me."  And when one day, I listened to the song and couldn't decide whether it felt like the last message of my soul to hers or her soul to mine, I knew that hope had been reborn.

Someone That I Used to Love - The hardest part of moving on, I think, was losing my ex-partner as a frame of reference.  For over a year - even before we became a couple, when she was just my closest friend - she was the one who was always with me in my thoughts, even when I was alone.  When I had a decision to make, I asked myself what she would think.  When I went shopping, I was constantly on the lookout for little gifts I could bring home to her.  Suddenly, all that was over.  Even now, sometimes, "if I'm ever the least unsure I always remind myself / Though you're someone in this world that I'll always choose to love / From now on you're only someone that I used to love."

The Dance - This is acceptance, final and complete.  A trace of sadness, but no regret.  This may be the finest expression of the last stage of grief since Tennyson's In Memoriam was published in 1850.  This song has consoled me through times of loss for over ten years, and I find it almost comforting to think that it will be there through many more to come, reminding me what really matters in the end:  "I'm glad I didn't know / The way it all would end, the way it all would go / Our lives are better left to chance / I could have missed the pain / But I'd have had to miss the dance."

Songs of Myself

The other night, my friends and I had gathered online for our usual evening chat, and the conversation turned to music.  I asked everyone to name a song that would be his/her theme song if s/he had to choose.  One woman remarked that it was hard to choose just one, and I had to agree.

No one turned the question around on me and asked me to name a theme song, so I didn't have to narrow down the choices.  Upon further reflection, I decided I shouldn't have to.  Life is a rich enough experience that a person's entitled to more than one theme song.

It was with this in mind that I put together the following soundtrack to my soul, as it were; an album-length playlist of theme songs, along with the reasons I chose them.  It's a bit of an exercise in self-indulgence, and I don't honestly expect anyone to read the whole thing unless s/he is terribly interested in the strange private world I inhabit.  Nevertheless, this list of songs was challenging and fun to pick out, and will, I earnestly hope, constitute a sort of pieced-together portrait of the enigma that is Truth Unleashed.

TRACK LISTING:
We Belong (Pat Benatar)
That's the Way It Is (Céline Dion)
Once You Had Gold (Enya)
People Are Strange (The Doors)
An Emotional Brain (The Amygdaloids)
Then Again (Court Yard Hounds)
I Am a Rock (Simon and Garfunkel)
I Made It Through the Rain (Barry Manilow)
Because You Loved Me (Céline Dion)
Somewhere (Barbra Streisand)
King of Pain (The Police)
The Bottom Line (Depeche Mode)
Burn (Jo Dee Messina)
Sometimes When We Touch (Dan Hill)
Strong Enough (Sheryl Crow)
The Music of the Night (The Phantom of the Opera)

Now, for the reasoning:

We Belong - This is the answer I usually give when I am asked to name my favorite song.  The music contains a soaring tension that is splendedly repeated in the chorus, and if I'm listening alone, it's one that always makes me get up and dance.  (It's by far the most frequently-played song on my iPod, since I can't seem to listen to it without pressing the replay button four or five times.)  As with the rest of my "theme songs," however, it is the lyrics that make this song especially dear to me.  This is a song about living life with a passion, in the thrall of immense and ineffable forces, and diving into this sometimes painful existence with joy and courage, embracing a distinctive and sometimes isolating worldview.  Just as much, it's about having a companion for the journey.  The relationship described by the song is marked by ambivalence and sometimes hurt, but ultimately by love.  In fact, the pain and the love and the ambivalence are all bound up as one; to consistently "cut [a person's] feelings to the bone" requires intimate understanding, after all.  Catherine Earnshaw's declaration of her love for Heathcliff comes to mind: ". . . he's more myself than I am.  Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. . . . I am Heathcliff - he's always, always in my mind - not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself - but as my own being. . . ."  I have never shared this depth of love with another person; although I burned several CDs of love songs for my ex-partner, "We Belong" was never on any of them.  It simply didn't apply to her and me.  One of the few whimsical romantic notions I permit myself is a vague idea that when I find someone to whom I could rightly dedicate this, I'll have found my life's companion.

That's the Way It Is - Laugh if you must, but I shall always believe this theme song was given to me, chosen for me by Something beyond myself.  I'd loved the song from the first time I'd heard it, but it didn't become special to me until the day I came back to California after my ill-fated first attempt at higher education, which ended with a downward spiral into clinical depression and two months in the hospital.  The woman who is now my mother's partner met us at the airport.  On the drive home, the two of them sat up front and talked while I brooded in the backseat, listening to the radio.  The songs didn't particularly entertain me; they felt remote from this hour of failure and grief.  There was a long set of songs sung by male vocalists, and surely a female singer was long overdue.  I found myself hoping they would play "That's the Way It Is."  I knew it was unlikely, however; the song had been out for several months and was no longer in such frequent rotation that one could count on hearing it often.  Still, it was just what I needed: a cheerful song urging, "When you're ready to go and your heart's left in doubt / Don't give up on your faith."  As I stared glumly out the window at the familiar landscapes I had hoped to have left behind forever, I was astonished to hear the first notes of this song.  "Turn it up," I requested, and as I closed my eyes to focus on the vigorous tune and uplifting lyrics, I felt a kind of peace settle over me for the first time since . . . I couldn't remember.  Surely I had not been abadoned after all.  Such a little thing had been given to me, meeting such a huge and raw need.  Perhaps hope, like love, "comes to those who believe it . . . when life is empty with no tomorrow."

Once You Had Gold - Those who read my recent post about my first visit to Idyllwild in ten years will know that I have suffered some bitter disappointments in the past decade.  Sad to say, the response of those around me to my misfortunes was either to blame me for them entirely or to write me off as a lost cause.  This song does neither.  The haunting, crystalline melody rings with compassion; the singer seems to understand that sometimes, despite any amount of effort, a person must see his/her world swept away by "rains / Out of the blue."  This is no syrupy sympathy, however, but a gentle urging to carry on in hope, even in a world in which "darkness and dreams" are so often bound together.  This song reminds me that it's okay to feel my pain . . . and also that there is a "new day" beyond it.

People Are Strange - I loved this song even before I'd ever heard it.  One day, when I was in the hospital, I saw a fellow patient wearing a shirt that read "WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE, FACES COME OUT OF THE RAIN / WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE, NO ONE REMEMBERS YOUR NAME / WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE / WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE / WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE."  Intrigued, I committed the lines to memory immediately and wrote them later in my journal.  Years later, I discovered that they were the lyrics to a song.  Having lived all my life as an outcast in some form or another - the precocious toddler adults found disconcerting, the brainy little loner who embodied "does not play well with others," the troubled and apparently sexless adolescent, the young adult living under a barrage of diagnoses - I know what a cruel place the world is "when you're strange."  Rarely has the feeling of alienation been expressed so clearly and succintly as in this song - or with so little angst.

An Emotional Brain - "An emotional brain is a hard thing to tame / It just won't stay in its place / Every time I think I got it / It gives me another face / Happy, sad, disgusted, or mad / These are the things it shows / I keep trying to reign it / But it goes and it goes and it goes."  Being blessed as I am with a plethora of neurological and psychological disorders that affect the emotions, how could I not love a song like this?  (If you think your emotional brain is a hard thing to tame, try living with an abnormality of the limbic system.)  This cheery song about a sometimes merciless biological reality never fails to put a smile on my face.

Then Again - Of all the songs on this list, this is my most recent discovery.  Court Yard Hounds's eponymous album was the MP3 Album Deal of the Day a few weeks ago, and although I wasn't familiar with their music, I thought the promotional blurb sounded interesting and I decided to give them a try.  Well, this song alone would have been worth the four dollars I shelled out for the album.  Listening to the lyrics, I found myself wincing - and smiling - in recognition.  Having always found myself in the scapegoat role in my family, in a number of my friendships, in my one romantic partnership, I often "have bitten my tongue 'til I can taste the blood."  All my life I have wished I had more gumption, more aggressive drive, more of whatever it would take to keep those with fewer qualms and inhibitions from running roughshod over me.  It's hard to pick a single line or verse from this song that resonates with me most; listening to this song is like hearing my years of self-doubt, recrimination, and frustration given voice at last: "Just to keep the peace and quiet / I'd forfeit my peace of mind / Then again, I never did understand me."

I Am a Rock - It's scary how much I can relate to this song, how much I always have.  This is the anthem of the sensitive soul, unable to withstand the world's cruelties, cutting itself off from human closeness out of sheer survival instinct.  I have been there.  I have been so afraid of further hurt that I made myself harsh and cold, rejecting potential friends before they could have a chance to reject me.  I have sealed myself off from love or the hope of love, insisting that only pain and weakness could come from giving away any piece of myself, proclaiming that entire self-sufficiency was the only way to keep myself useful and intact.  "I've built walls / A fortress deep and mighty / That none may penetrate . . . I touch no one and no one touches me."  The narrator of the song, however, for all his bluster, retains a telling streak of vulnerability.  He may be safe, but he isn't really happy.  "A rock feels no pain / And an island never cries," he sighs in the end, over the tender notes of a guitar humming like a series of gentle sobs.  I have, for the most part, put this way of thinking behind me, daring to reach out to others in love and friendship, accepting the risk of pain in the pursuit of something profound and sweet.  Yet when I feel threatened or hurt, the walls go right back up again, and I push away the ones I love just when I need them the most.  Being able to recognize, accept, and articulate that I do this has been a huge step for me; I don't know if it's a tendency I shall ever be able to overcome entirely.

I Made It Through the Rain - This might be the first song that I ever thought of as a personal anthem, and two decades later, it's still inspiring and consoling me.  I was no more than seven or eight when my mother told me this song always reminded her of me.  She knew I was a lonely outcast, that I had no friends at school or in the neighborhood, that I never quite seemed to fit in anywhere.  She thought of me as one of those special people who would "come shining through those lonely years."  Listening to the song again with myself in mind, I resolved that I would make it through the rain.  For the first time, I understood that I wasn't alone in my struggle.  Well, I was alone for now, of course, but there were others out there with a similar burden, and one day we would find each other, and I would be "respected / By the others who / Got rained on too / And made it through."  I believed, as never before, that there might be an end to the struggle that I was living, that joy might come in the morning.  I have never forgotten that promise, and I have "kept my world protected" ever since.

Because You Loved Me - I would not be who I am if not for the many wonderful people who have made a positive difference in my life.  Some have been there from the beginning; some I knew for only a few years, or months, or days.  Some were family, some were friends, some were acquaintances; some had Ph.D.'s, some were profoundly mentally ill, some weren't technically people at all.  The one thing they all had in common was the time and care they put into me.  Without them, I would not be what I am, where I am, or who I am.  No list of songs that claims to represent my essence would be complete without some tribute to them.  "You were my eyes when I couldn't see," dear ones.  "You saw the best there was in me," and thanks to you, I see it too.

Somewhere - This is another one that became dear to me early in my life.  I grew up always wondering what it felt like to belong.  In my family, in the neighborhood, at school, even at church, I was always the one who just didn't fit in.  I was a foreigner, an alien, a stranger in a strange land.  I had to close my mouth and conceal my most piercing fears, my most poignant loves, my most private truths, as I had learned early on that the reactions of others to my feral and pensive inner world ranged from inappropriate amusement to horrified disgust.  Still, as I struggled to conform on the surface, I never ceased to cherish a dream that I would one day have a place to come home to in my heart, among people of my own kind.  I dreamed of "a new way of living," one in which I would not be shamed for my emotional nature, my intensity, or the darkness in my soul that I have never denied, my intimacy with things painful and perverse.  I have denied and tried to suppress my need to belong, but the hope of finding "my people" - "somehow, someday, somewhere" - has never died in me.

King of Pain - Perhaps I internalized my role as the family scapegoat a little too well.  Perhaps I was simply blessed, and cursed, with an extraordinary degree of empathy.  At any rate, I have always had the tendency to absorb the emotions of those around me and take them to heart.  I know what it's like to have "the world turning circles running 'round my brain," the sufferings of humanity and all sentient beings and yes, even the indignities visited by this brutal existence on inanimate objects.  I have often wished I could take all the suffering, especially of my loved ones, onto myself, to spare them.  Perhaps, after my long years of emotional abuse and clinical depression, I almost believe I am strong enough and sufficiently practiced in the art of endurance to take on the weight of the world.  Sometimes in my mind I see myself gathering up sorrows like burning coals, filling my arms with them, then running down to the river and plunging in, losing myself but quenching the fire that would have done so much damage.  This song encapsulates my experience of seeing myself reflected in all the world's suffering, and taking a sort of pride in my portion, "my destiny to be the king of pain."

The Bottom Line - This song describes, better than any other, my experience of love.  Loving another person is a deeply spiritual experience for me, a compulsion that runs over me like a magnet over metal, realigning my particles on the atomic level.  "The apple falls / Destiny calls . . . I feel love's wheels turning," and I am changed, diverted, given.  I no longer know where my own footsteps are taking me; I only know that I am willing to go, whatever may be at the end of the road.  It feels profound and natural, inevitable, like a flower turning its face toward the sun, or a river building itself up over the miles to lose itself in the sea.  Sometimes it is ecstasy; sometimes it is torture; but at all times it is right, the only thing I could possibly do.  I don't think I could ever describe the experience as vividly as this song does, though I could happily spend my whole life trying.

Burn - This is another newly discovered favorite.  To me, this song embodies what I believe love can become at its finest: encompassing, supportive, and complete.  The narrator is willing to offer the one she loves her encouragement and assistance in anything he might wish to accomplish, asking only that she see in the end that her devotion has borne fruit in his life.  The song includes one of the most vibrant and intriguing metaphors I have ever seen: "I'll lay down on your bed of coals / Offer up my heart and soul / But in return / I want you to burn . . . for me."  Nothing great is possible without sacrifice, and the narrator of this song offers all that she is for the purpose of seeing the one she loves become what she knows he has within him to be.

Sometimes When We Touch - What is it with me and passionate dissonance?  If "We Belong" is the song I'd love to dedicate to the love of my life, "Sometimes When We Touch" is the song I like to imagine him dedicating to me.  Of course, there is conflict and ambiguity inherent in knowing and loving another person completely.  Past the initial rosy stage of infatuation, one becomes aware of the beloved's faults and flaws, and it's only natural to feel a little disillusioned, as if that idealized image had somehow been a lie.  This can be the moment that makes or breaks a relationship.  To accept a person completely - to love a person completely - means to embrace their flaws and their scars and their contradictions.  Only by hanging on through times of conflict and doubt can one come to know another person so honestly that a simple touch can leave him feeling utterly revealed and exposed.  This is how I want to love and be loved: seeing and seen without flinching, knowing and known to a depth ever more profound.  Perhaps this is too much to ask.  But this is love, as I understand it.  Also, the narrator's apparent integrity and touching vulnerability just melt my heart.

Strong Enough - Ah, another unrefreshingly complicated love song.  I'm beginning to embarrass myself here!  Why can't I have just one song with dopey, sappy lyrics about how I love you and you love me and everything's just so wonderfully perfect?  Because I'm too damn difficult, that's why.  I am intense and moody and perverse and I think too much.  These are not criticisms of myself, but facts that are a part of my nature.  Like the woman in this song, I push people away when I need them the most: "I'd be the last to help you understand . . . let me be alone tonight / 'Cause you can't change the way I am."  I need someone strong enough to bear with me and break through my defenses when the storms raging inside my mind get to be too much.  I need someone who will wrestle through with me to the other side, when my solid and sensible self takes up residence in my mind again.  Whoever would love me must be up to the challenge of reckoning with all of me, which is a lot to ask of anyone.  I didn't choose to be so complicated, but I am, and I have never been easy to love.  And there you have it.

The Music of the Night - If I had to choose just one theme song for myself, this would be it.  Everything I know and love and believe is in this song.  This is the music I hear inside of my head when I'm not listening to anything else.