darkness on the edge of town
Thanks to the folks at DirecTV, we have XM Radio in our house. Thanks to XM Radio, we have a channel called “The Village” that is all acoustic singer-songwriters. I play it when Ginger isn’t home, just as she listens to the disco station when she is alone in her car. When she came in from her meetings the other night, she left it playing while she got settled; I was writing. When she came back into the room, I had moved to the living room and was sitting on the couch. When she asked what I was doing, I answered, “Listening.”
The song was “My Father’s House” by Bruce Springsteen from his
album, which ought to make most anyone’s top ten list. The whole record is achingly sparse and beautiful. The song says,
After the song was over, Ginger came back into the room and said, “You want to know why you’re depressed? You listen to depressing music.”
We both laughed.
The evening came back to mind when I got to work this morning and one of the chefs (who also lives with depression) chose Springsteen’s
as our morning prep music. I told him the same story I told you and we laughed again, then we moved on to talking about what the singer and the songs have meant to us over the years. Somewhere after we stopped talking and I was kneading the dough that would become the English muffins (our homemade hamburger buns), Bruce started singing “Promised Land.”
For a guy from New Jersey, Bruce has spent his fair share of time in the dark and in the desert – at least in his songs. He’s always taking to the road, with despair driving and hope in the sidecar, the two inseparable traveling companions somehow, moving between the wounds of all that has been left unfinished and unatoned and the wonder of the cleansing storm that wipes things clean. We’re all on the same road between houses that hold the hurts that don’t heal, the places that have been vacated or abandoned, and the mansions that are being made for us, fueled by both hope and despair.
And I’m sure when we get to the Promised Land there will be no disco.
Peace,
Milton
