This songs matters to me, because: (your explanation here)

hmmmm.

 

There are times when the song that comes to mind doesn't make much sense in the context of the event. Wednesday was one of those times.

To provide a little bit of background: I have been covering the Maryland women's lacrosse team over the past two years. This year, I've covered more games and have started to feel more comfortable that I know what I'm seeing out there. Before last year, I'd never watched a women's lacrosse game and I was only a casual fan of the men's game. And they are virtually two totally different sports. Before my first-ever game, I scrambled to the Internet to find out everything I could so I wouldn't be the totally clueless newbie.

During that time, I met the guy from the campus radio station who has been doing the play-by-play for the team. In the past few days, I've found that we have even more in common than I thought, but we'd always gotten along in press box forays. One night, I was helping him get drunk on his 21st birthday, and he offered to drive me up to Princeton, N.J. to cover the Maryland women's game there, since I otherwise haven't done road trips. Needless to say, the bean counters at my shop would have an apoplexy if I tried to get reimbursement for mileage up to New Jersey.

Anyway, the day came and the guy picked me up from the Metro station and I rode with him and his color analyst, a freshman. Had he not offered me the ride up so readily, I might have felt like a fifth wheel since I was neither a broadcast person nor a current student at Maryland. However, the guys never let me feel that way. We had fun talking about every topic under the sun, from what women's lacrosse assistant coach Jen Adams makes to politics to Philadelphia's stadium complex. We had fun ribbing the freshman for forgetting LaMont Jordan and Jermaine Lewis (who went to my high school, BTW).

We ended up getting slightly lost (we were on I-95 in Philadelphia before we realized we should have hit I-295 to get to the New Jersey Turnpike and we got lost on the way to the Class of 1952 Stadium on Princeton's maze of a campus. But thanks to the freshman's Princeton alumnus grandfather with the former and assistance from the team's SID on the latter, we were able to get to Class of 1952 Stadium. Fortunately, it was Senior Day for the Tigers, which gave my compatriots time to set up their broadcast stuff and me time to gather the game notes.

Games between Maryland and Princeton usually go down to the wire. Four of the previous five games were decided by one goal, including a three-overtime marathon which Maryland won last year. Not this game. Maryland rallied from a two-goal deficit early on and throttled Princeton, 18-9. After the game, we all drove back, stopping off at Friendly's for the freshman and Wendy's for both me and the other guy. Then it was on to College Park.

Meanwhile, the whole time I was on that trip, one song played constantly in my head: Turn It On Again by Genesis. I don't know why that particular song was the one that stayed in my brain constantly, but I suppose it fits somehow.

A week or two ago, I was talking to another current student while hanging out at a local campus bar. He made the statement that college is supposed to be the best years of our lives, then he said, "you're living it now, several years afterward." From wild tailgate parties to road trips to jamming out to a guitar-heavy song by "playing" my duck umbrella as if it were a guitar, I guess I have been.

 

Well, my story won't have the depth or the impact of many here, but two different songs are important in my life and the way i have gone about things...

After becoming the first and only member of my family to earn a four-year degree, I got a full-time job at the newspaper where I worked as a part-timer, but longed to officiate sports. I had started umpiring while in college and had found my calling. I continued to officiate for a year while working full time and then decided to attend Harry Wendelstedt's umpire school and go for a pro umpire's job.

On my way to Daytona Beach, the first song I heard on the radio that day was Alan Jackson's Chasin' That Neon Rainbow. To me, that's what I was doing, chasing a dream job, much like the singer of that song. While my dream didn't work out at umpire school, I have continued to umpire and now work for the publication that lets me combine journalism and umpiring. When I hear that song, I think about taking the chance that I took of quitting my job and going for broke. And I also realize that my dreams didn't work out then, but my success in umpiring has continued to happen and this year I've been assigned to my first conference tournament and an NCAA regional.

And that leads me to my second song, The Dance by Garth Brooks. In my 41-plus years, I've done a lot of things that I shouldn't have done and many more that I should have. In the past 10 years, I've lived in four different states and worked five different main jobs. Professionally, I'm as happy as I've been in a long time, but the road has been far from smooth. When I hear that song, it's like it was written for me and about me. Our lives are better left to chance. I could have missed the pain, but I'd have missed the dance.

 

F_T.. taking 95 through Philly instead of 295 to the Turnpike was the better way to go to Princeton. I live 5-10 minutes from Princeton and I made a wrong turn on campus my first time going to Class of '52 Stadium as well. Wendy's is easy to get to from the Princeton campus, but I'm blanking on where there's a Friendly's that's easy to get to.

 

Normally, when people think about how music plays a role in our lives, the song that comes to mind is one they've heard at key moments.

This time, a song that wasn't played or sung will help me on this journey through a story that happened last night. But before I get there, I'll take you back just over a decade.

When I went back to school in the late 1990s, deciding to finish my bachelor's degree, I knew one thing. I wanted a career in which writing was central. At the time I registered for the University of Maryland, journalism was the career I wanted to get away from. I had enough from my time at my community college rag to last me a lifetime. Or so I thought then.

I was going to get a bachelor's degree in English with a concentration in language, writing and rhetoric. I had little patience for reading works from other writers. I wanted to learn how to create my own. I just wasn't sure what form that would take. Eventually, I'd find my way and I'd occasionally wonder if I should have majored in journalism. But I digress.

Through my time at the university, there were three people whom I probably spent the most time with of anyone there. One eventually became my roommate. We met in a Spanish class and hung out afterwards. Now, we barely speak. One became my editor at The ECLIPSE, then a biweekly student news magazine at the university. She and I have remained friends and have stayed somewhat in touch ever since. The third was someone I met outside the arcade at the student union. He and I started a random conversation and before you knew it, we'd start seeing each other regularly. His name is Ben.

Needless to say, we hung out pretty regularly during my time at the university. Some of the time involved playing video games. Some of it involved conversation. OK, a LOT of it involved conversation. He was an artist who could draw like nobody's business. I'm a writer who's lucky to get past drawing stick figures. He was an avid breakdancer. I think I have two left feet, even though some of my karaoke friends will disagree with that sentiment. But we connected in a lot of ways. That connection deepened one night when I let him read a poem I'd written, even though I knew he would figure out I was gay immediately upon reading it. Sure enough, he did. And he was one of my great supports through my coming out process.

We hung out again for the first time since our college days back in 2003 at the Santa Fe Cafe's wing night Aug. 13, 2003 (there are many good reasons I remember this date; I was unemployed then and it was Dad #1's 49th birthday). We had fun reminiscing in person and I remembered that night well because, for the first time since our friendship began in 1998, we hugged.

Fast forward to last night. I saw Ben for the first time in nearly five years at Crickett's Fat Daddy Saloon, where I do karaoke. We made arrangements and met up there for a night of karaoke and reconnecting. It also turned out that two of my dearest friends (Stellar and Noelle) were there, along with some of the usual suspects. When Stellar and Noelle come, it's like I have a ready-built group I'm part of. We've hung out together at karaoke the past few times our paths have crossed. Anyway, the fact they were there and I got to introduce them to one of my closest friends from college gave me an incredibly warm feeling that didn't end until after I'd gone to bed.

There were three things that were interesting. One was the fact that he still had my cell phone number after all the years since we'd lost touch. I sent it to him just in case he'd deleted it, but thanks to the magic of Blackberry, he wrote me and let me know he still had it. The second was the fact that he came out to me last night. It was funny because I saw signs that it was possible five years ago during late night phone conversations, but last night was the confirmation. It was hilarious hearing him talk about some of the guys there and telling me his gaydar was going off. The third was that he was quite a bit more touchy-feely with me than I remembered from our college days: more pats on the back, touching my leg when he would try to get my attention, etc. I certainly don't mind, even though I'm normally reserved about touch. When Stellar took a picture of the two of us with my camera, he leaned his head onto my shoulder. That brought back memories of other times that gesture graced me with its presence.

He was blown away with some of the voices of the regulars there. I told him, "there are a lot of great voice here, then there's me." I mentioned that line to another of my friends when she raved about his voice. Her response? "What-EVER!" I had such an awesome time that I decided not to put in my usual pissed-off rocker "Fall From Grace" or even "Stand Back" as my Stevie Nicks song of choice. Instead, I put in "Gypsy." Yes, it was that kind of night. In a good way.

I read something that said only children usually don't like it when their friends meet each other. I'm the polar opposite. I love it when my friends meet and get along. One thing that's fun for me is to be able to mention one friend by name to another. It also made me feel good when Noelle told me she was glad I brought Ben over to hang out with them. She said he was a really nice guy. That's another thing I like about having my friends meet each other. I feel good when they can become friends.

The song that I'll remember from that night wasn't one that Ben sang. It wasn't one that anyone there sang. It was a song I put in when I thought I might get an extra song in: Tangled Up In Blue by Bob Dylan. I don't even know why that song was the song that I'll remember from that night. Perhaps because it was the song that played in my head all day Friday and I took that as a signal to try the song. Perhaps the first verse talking about parents not being good enough or about paying dues played a role. Or maybe a gender-changed version of Dylan's talking about one person who never left his mind after years apart until that day when they met again.

But whatever the reason, Dylan's anthem of found, lost, found and lost love really speaks to my point of view. Tangled Up In Blue.

 

That's a hell of a story, F_T. I am very happy for you.

 

That's a good tale, F_T. But I have a problem with one line: "I think I have two left feet. ..." You'd be fortunate to have two left anythings. All of you would.

 

I was never a big fan of Wild Horses, the Sundays, but it will always remind me of a kid I worked a couple of summers with in college. Over the summers, I had a cush gig with the Ohio Department of Transportation. Now, Mansfield, Ohio wasn't exactly metropolitan, but I was in a crew with a couple of VERY rural kids and really only connected with some of them when it came to music. One of my summer friends was hard-core country music fan, and regularly had control of the radio. I was in hell until midway thru the summer he revealed a real devotion to this one song. We heard it over and over. One day, heading back to the garage, we we were cruising along in two vans. He was in the first, and was involved in a head-on accident in which the other driver hydroplaned into our lane. Our people were unhurt but shaken. The other car ended up on its roof in a water-filled ditch. This kid and I were only ones with any first aid skills (both Eagle scouts), and ended up trying to help the other driver until EMS arrived. He died. Riding back afterwards, my friend was taking it pretty hard. In the days that followed, we heard Wild Horses more and more from our chatty-turned-pensive friend. A month later, he was dead after falling asleep at the wheel during a trip to Toledo to check out attending UT.
Never hear that song without thinking of Jason Murphy.

 

My song doesn't have a profound story behind it, but it means a lot much me to me anyway.

My song is Aint No Sunshine (Bill Wither's version.) The purpose is two-fold for me. There is the obvious meaning of my one-and-only daughter moving out and leaving my home to attend college. No more comments from me on that meaning, or I will be crying as I type.

The second meaning is tied up with the fact that her high school years were spent with her and I both immersed in the Winter Guard scene. (If you are not familiar with Winter Guard, do a Google search or PM me for information on what an amazing artistic "sport" it is.) Anyway, she was on the guard at her high school for four years and a two-time state champion and I was considered head Guard mom for four years, so it obviously consumed our lives. At the last competition of her Winter Guard days, the most amazing Independent (college-age) Guard performed a routine to this song. We were not together at the time in the arena, but immediately text messeged each other, as we were both so moved by the performance. It gave us both goose bumps.

Again, not an earth-shattering story. But it brought tears to my eyes to type the details, and I guess that was the point of the thread to begin with.

 

Do I have to bust out the Phil Collins on yo azz? I think I do.

"I can't dance, I can't talk/The only thing about me is the way that I walk/I can't dance/I can't sing..."

 

Seeing the tributes to Tripp McNeely (James Melroy) on here led me to do some thinking. I turned to one of my usual songs to help me get through a period where I felt that punched in the gut feeling. But it didn't do the trick.

I'm struggling to write this without crying.

I looked up Fleetwood Mac's Goodbye Baby on my iTunes and started playing it. The song has been around the Fleetwood Mac/Stevie Nicks fan community for years as a raw piano demo. In the fan community, the song was known as "The Tower." It was the center of major speculation, with some people thinking the song is about Stevie reportedly having an abortion.

Like many of her songs, the real power is in the lyrics. The song begins with Stevie all but whispering, "don't take me to the tower and take my child away," but shortly after comes some of the most heartbreaking lyrics I've heard in a while: "And I who went to sleep as two/Woke up as one now/Only you remain." Those words could have been about abortion or about a lover leaving in the night without saying goodbye. Or about a lover dying.

"You close your eyes and travel back/To the time when the night went fading fast/And the words you'll never, never forget, oh no/As you slipped away." More difficult imagery through some incredibly poetic lyrics, but the words only set up the chorus for the real downer.

"Goodbye baby/Hope your heart's not broken/Don't forget me/Yes I was outspoken/You were with me all the time/I'll be with you one day." Whoever it is who left, it sounds like Stevie is saying she'll see him when she's breathed her last. She hits once again with the next verse, singing, "and I who went to sleep in tears/Woke up in tears for all of the years/And I who never, ever said goodbye/As I slipped away," which reminds me of the regret we feel when we can't -- or don't -- say goodbye before we run out of chances to.

And, as I'm wont to do, I stood up at an imaginary microphone to sing along, hoping to pay tribute to James. I mentioned it before, but I'll say it here: I cried. I couldn't fight the tears. Not that I knew James very well, and not that the song carried all the meaning that it obviously does for Stevie, but this deceptively simple song carried more than enough emotion to make the room really dusty.

 

Most people who know me with my Stevie Nicks fanaticism also know I have very little tolerance for covers of her songs (hi buckweaver!). However, I heard one cover recently that I just can't get out of my head, and I really don't want to.

I can't pinpoint where I noticed the video on YouTube, which link I followed, which video led me to it. I just know that when I clicked on the link with more than a little skepticism, I was floored. A guy sat down at his keyboard and played Edge of Seventeen. In my opinion, he played it beautifully.

Since the song is heavily guitar-driven, the fact that someone would play it on the keyboard itself was intriguing. Playing it without hearing vocals was also unusual, since the song is so well known for Stevie's emotionally rendered lyrics. However, the guy playing the keyboard managed to convey passion and emotion in the song without singing a word.

That version moved me enough to send him a quick note on YouTube. Shortly thereafter, he wrote back, greatly appreciative of the well-deserved compliment I paid him. Before long, I favorited several videos of his playing Stevie songs. In each case, he manages to capture the emotion behind the song and I often find myself singing the vocals to accompany his playing.

On Friday night, while my folks were in D.C. to watch the fireworks, I went home because rain dampened any desire I had to watch the local fireworks displays. On a whim, I decided to play the piano cover of Edge of Seventeen and ... record myself singing over it.

To provide a little bit of context, Edge of Seventeen is one of those songs I rarely ever perform at karaoke. My former roommate, an accomplished singer in his own right, heard me sing it and panned my rendition of it. He's also told me when I have sung certain songs well (such as the Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers classic I Need To Know), so I rarely perform it. I usually only do so when the grief over John Lennon's and her uncle's deaths that led Stevie to write the song hits me hard.

So with that said, and perhaps with memories of Tripp still lingering in my subconscious, I turned on Audiocorder, clicked on the YouTube video of the guy's keyboard playing of Edge of Seventeen and sang along. He said he recorded himself a couple of times to make sure it was right. I did my recording in one take. But that one take would have to be all for me.

Later that night, I sent him the mp3 of my vocal over his playing. Considering the back story behind my seldom singing Edge of Seventeen, I was more than a little nervous. Considering the fact that I'd never heard compliments about my singing until I was 28, I still have strong self doubts about my vocal abilities. With all that said, it was heartening to see his e-mail. He was touched by my passionate vocal. He said he only turned the speakers down once because I suddenly got loud during the climax (doing a VH-1 Storytellers-esque scream).

I did a combination of that VH-1 Storytellers rendition and the live version from Stevie's newest greatest hits compilation Crystal Visions. That time, Stevie sings a song that's known for a forest fire of unbridled intensity with the smouldering embers of experience still keeping things hot. It allowed me to sing the song more in my range. It also allowed me to have one version of my vocals on Edge of Seventeen that I could at least tolerate.