Blogs are so passe and pretentious. Oh well, here's my blog about music that's stuck in my head when I wake up in the mornings along with adventures of the Cash family and wacky wacky crazy wacky shenanigans.
This song is new to me. I've blogged about Martha Wainwright before. I don't know what it is about her music. I just find her approach so refreshing. Her voice is raspy. Her music is sincere.
Anyway, what's cool about this song is that her mother, musician Kate McGarrigle wrote it before dying a few years ago. In that same period, Martha herself was becoming a mother for the first time. In that realm, she felt it was important to cover the song on her latest album.
Honestly, I just haven't had the time to delve too much into what this song is about. My daughter is an expert in Greek Mythology. I was told that Proserpina is the Roman equivalent to Persephone, who is the Goddess of Spring. I find the melody and arrangement of this song both beautiful and haunting. Knowing that it was a great musician's last song makes it even cooler. I'm happy that Martha Wainwright was able to share this piece of art with the world. Forgive me for having little other to say about it, I'll let the song speak for itself.
I'm starting to miss blogging. So I guess I'll try it until I get tired of it again....
I love this song, and it was playing in my head this morning. Just listen to it, it's incredible:
"Jesusland" by Ben Folds
This song is about America. You can interpret it as you please. I love the way the piano rolls on this song with the underlying cello. Whatever you think of the lyrics, I have to believe you are moved in some way by what Ben Folds has to say.
If only one person hears this song without having known it before, I will feel like I've accomplished what I hope with this blog.
This is a song that frequently plays in my head in the mornings. You probably know it:
December, 1963 (Oh What a Night) by The Four Seaons
As a parent of young children, the wife and I don't get enough sleep. This song plays in my head often as my alarm goes off early in the morning after having a rough night with the kids. Just last week my daughter got the stomach flu and the baby had an earache. I think I figured out that I got 10 hours of sleep in 3 nights.
I could blog about what a bother this is, but I think I've written enough about the kids and how they disrupt my sleep. I kept thinking all week about what I could share that would have to do with "oh what a night."
I know this song has nothing to do with bad nights, but bad nights are the reason I have the song stuck in my head. I've had many bad nights in my life, but one in particular stuck out that I feel the need to share.
About 10 years ago, I was on my way to visit a friend in New York City. There was a cheap direct flight available through JetBlue. The flight was a red eye, I had taken it before. One challenge for me is that it's virtually impossible for me to sleep sitting upright. I can fall asleep just about anywhere as long as I have a blanket and I can lie down. I was planning on it being a long night, but had no idea what was in store for me on this flight.
I noticed on my ticket that I was assigned to sit on the back row. I did not like this, but like I said, I had already resigned that this would be a bad flight so I accepted it for what it was. To my surprise, and relief, once I sat down it was evident that I would be on the back row alone. Awesome! I would be able to get a blanket from the flight attendant and lie down on the 3 seats and sleep!
The flight took off and proceeded as normal. It was just past midnight and I was exhausted. I had my blanket and once the seat belt sign was off I was going to crash and it was going to be perfect!
(A side note. I am an incredibly passive person. I have gotten much better as I've gotten older, but 10 years ago I was neither confident, or mature enough to handle the situation that you'll soon learn about. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm ashamed about the way I handled this.)
The seat belt light was turned off, and almost as soon as I unlatched the belt, I was tapped on the shoulder. The woman standing before me was dressed like a prostitute. I'm not kidding. I couldn't believe it. "It's crowded up front. Can I sit by you?"
Pathetic and passive 23-year-old Brady did not want anybody to sit by him on this flight. But "of course" was the response I gave to this scantily-clad woman. I don't remember how the whole conversation went after she sat down, but it was something like this:
Scantily-Clad Woman: Oh, thank you. I was certain I wouldn't be able to get any sleep on this flight.
Me: Yeah, me too.
SCW: Why are you going to New York?
Me: To see a friend.
SCW: I'm going to meet my boyfriend. We met online. I'm sorry I'm dressed like this, I just got off work. I'm an exotic dancer. I had to rush from the end of my shift right to this flight, I didn't have time to change.
Me: (Jaw drops to the floor)
The flight went on and my patience with this woman quickly dwindled.
She wouldn't stop talking to me. She found out I was a Mormon, she spent an hour or so trying to convince me to drink and told me stories about her life, the man she was meeting, her job etc. Once she finally shut up, she laid down on the empty seat on the row, occupying two seats. Relieved, I did my best to try to put my head against the walls of the plane and sleep. At one point she tried to put her head on my lap and I had to tell her I wasn't comfortable with that.
(Another side note. I tell this story as a means for relating the events as they happened on this night. It's not very often that I have such a close encounter with an exotic dancer. It's not my intent to paint a bad picture of people in this sort of profession. I'm sure there are plenty of respectful and pleasant people in this line of profession. This woman, to be blunt, was ridiculous.)
The worst part happened next. She got up to use the restroom. When she returned she was not well. She looked pale and told me she was feeling really sick. As a Mormon, I confess, that I am sheltered and have little to no encounter with narcotics. I have seen some movies, and while this gives me no street credibility, it appeared she had been punched in the nose, was having either really bad allergies or she had a negative reaction to something she snorted. She was sniffing like crazy and her nose had faint traces of blood.
This all carried on for the last hour of the flight. She kept saying she was going to puke and literally clung to me as she suffered. This was fast becoming the longest night of my life and I noticed dawn breaking as the flight prepared to land at JFK airport.
But no, my story doesn't end here. The woman could barely walk as we were leaving the craft. Begrudgingly, I allowed her to hold on to me for support. I should have turned her over to the airline for support. Who knows why I didn't? Alas, I found a wheelchair for her and wheeled her to baggage, helped her with her bags and allowed her to cling on to me for another moment outside the airport as I found her a cab and sent her on her way.
It was a long night, to say the least. Maybe I did the right thing by helping her. Maybe not.
A few days later I was out with my friend in New York and we met some friends of hers who had also flown in from Utah. During our lunch I was telling them this story and they said to me "Oh, you're that guy who was with the hooker on the airplane! We saw you!" Of course they were on the flight as well!
Yep. They saw me, along with hundreds of other people. What a night! More than ten years have passed, but I still cringe when I think about this awful flight.
This week's song is from Talking Heads' former front man, David Byrne.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS LIFE by DAVID BYRNE
The video I have here was done by a fan and is incomplete, but it has the complete song. I love the strings on this song. David Byrne has 2 albums from the early 2000's that feature some great string arrangements. Be sure to check them out if you're the checking out kind of person.
"The other side of this life," the meaning of this song seems to be clear to me in spite of my limited skill to interpret lyrics. This is about dying, and the afterlife. This feels fitting to tie into the bizarre thing that happened to me a few weeks ago.
In 2005 my Grandpa Mick died. I was close to him, he was a big part of my life growing up. Throughout his life he had several rings, including 3 different wedding rings. I was lucky to be able to inherit one of these wedding rings.
For about 3 years or so I wore the ring every day on my right hand. Not only does the ring have special meaning for me, I like the way it looks.
I was devastated about 2 years ago when the ring disappeared. I rarely took it off, but when I did, I would place in on the corner of my dresser so as not to lose it. If I remember right, I had placed it there one night before going to sleep and the next morning it was gone, without a trace.
I looked everywhere for it. I tore my dresser apart and checked every nook and cranny of my bedroom. I was riddled with guilt and lost sleep over the loss. About every 3 months I would look again for it without success. I lamented the loss to my wife and told her to keep her eyes peeled, even though I was starting to lose hope that it would ever turn up.
But sure enough, it did turn up about 2 weeks ago!
On that morning I had already left for work and my wife had moved a few things around in the fridge. The next time she went to the fridge, there was the ring, sitting there in plain sight on the top shelf!
I'm baffled by all of this. The only logical story that makes sense is this: The ring fell from my dresser two years ago. My daughter, Lucy, was playing with it and placed it in the door of the refrigerator. Next, a sticky jar of jam ended up on top of the ring where the ring stuck. A few years pass and Megan moves the jar, and the ring goes with it, but somehow falls onto the top shelf.
(side note) This makes it sound like we never clean our fridge. It may not be as clean as some folks' fridges, but I can assure you we do clean it.
Based on the bizarre circumstance of this whole story, my other theory makes more sense: The ghost of my grandpa Mick took the ring for safe keeping. He opened our fridge looking for a can of coca cola classic. (The man loved coke, I'll bet he drank a six pack of it each day of his adult life up until he died at 97.) Once he saw the coke wasn't there, he decided to play a trick on me and placed the ring in the fridge. The man had a sense of humor, so who knows?
Whatever the mystery, I'm grateful to have the ring. And I hope grandpa's having a great time on "the other side of this life."
