How far my life's evolved in a short time" or.... "Finding Mr. Noodle."
Was watching Elmo's world last night. annoying little muppet, but Fiona's a big fan.
(How BIG a fan?
She has a Elmo chair that she refuses to sit on, and refuses to put any other toys on, jammed into the corner of her ladybug tent at the moment. It takes up like, half the freakin' tent. But you do NOT mess with the Elmo chair, thanks much.)
Anyhow, during each segment, he opens a door and they ask Mr. Noodle, or "Mr Noodle's brother, Mr. Noodle" how to do something.
Mr. Noodle's a sad looking guy in a bushy wig and bushy fake 'stashe, who isn't very bright but does physical comedy very well.
How does Mr. Noodle catch a ball, play an instrument, dance, etc etc etc.
Anyhow, watching Mr. Noodle, and what little of his face that you could see, he looks vaguely familiar. But they don't do a ton of closeups, and he's heavily made up...
"Think that's the guy from Northern Exposure, the circus guy that wouldn't talk because Words were like rock's, and weighed him down so he couldn't fly?"
I love my wife, she immediately understands the reference.
(it WAS a pretty great couple of episodes)
"He kind of looks like Rick Moranis' partner in My Blue Heaven, certainly dances in the loose-limbed manner that the guy in the movie danced..."
More kudos to Wendy for getting THAT reference.
So I spend valuable internet time, doing a WIKI on Mr. Noodle. That’s what my life has come to, apparently.
And I found Mr. Noodle, and more importantly, I was right on with my guesses. I paraphrase, of course:
Bill Irwin, born 1950, famous actor and clown.
Most notably a stage actor (he’s won two Tony’s) he's also had roles over 20 movies, including Eight Men Out and My Blue Heaven, and was best known on television for his role as Enrico Ballati, "The Flying Man", on Northern Exposure, as well as Mr. Noodle, on Sesame Street.
So props to my ability to remember faces, and to Mr. Irwin, for being a great actor, dancer, and clown.
But I still dislike the little orange muppet.
As an aside, Grover, my favorite Sesame Street character, is probably pumping gas somewhere now.
I think they down-sized him when Elmo caught on.
He was the MAN, before Elmo debuted.
A lot of the old sesame street books, for example, starred Grover.
Monster at the End of the Book? Grover.
Just read one about him wanting to be a firefighter when he grows up, too.
He's not even hanging on The Street anymore.
Man, that had to be hard for him, when they brought in the new stud, and he saw his own stock drop, the new guy getting some of his plum roles, and then getting their own segment.
Maybe plastic surgery?
Try to reinvent yourself as a character actor?
What do you do when “I’m just a monster, doing my best” isn’t enough anymore?
Oh the heartache of a fickle three year old's viewing habits…
Monday, March 8, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Yin and the Yang, The good/bad balancing act.
Ah, life.
Should be congratulating myself right about now, because the sign on the interstate said it would take me 20 minutes to get to my exit, and I did it in 18.
That's what I SHOULD be doing.
Instead I'm sitting in my basement, gas fireplace on full power, sipping quickly cooling coffee and typing this.
The idea that life's about balance and timing, has been illustrated clearly this morning, and at great length.
read on...
Fiona slept through the night, which is awesome, and doesn't happen very often of late. Whoo hoo!
She started calling to us at 5am, which is fine. Wendy gets up, I stick my hand out from under the covers, and joke "whew, sure feels cold out there."
30 seconds later, from Wendy...
"It really DOES feel cold. the floors are freezing..."
She heads to the back of the house, I get out of bed, put on my glasses, check the thermostat, and... it's 56 degrees in my house.
No "Whoo hoo!!!"
"Oh, Man!" from the back of the house.
"What's up?"
"Your daughter's soaking wet, so are her sheets."
No "Whoo hoo!"
I stumble around the house, check to make sure it's a furnace problem, and not a gas problem, crank up the fireplace in the basement, and start riffling through our records, to find the name of the repair guy that came out last time. (almost three years ago, as it turns out."
Left a message for him with his service, and then called in to work.
Got to spend a little more time, and spend it leisurely, with my family this morning, before Wendy took Fiona to her well heated day care.
that's a "Whoo hoo!"
And We've an old house full of old appliances, so we understand that this shit's gonna happen.
Fiona wet the bed, and the furnace stopped working. On the same night where I didn't have to get out bed, and climb into her (probably wet) bed to get her to go back to sleep.
Not a "Whoo hoo" per se, but good timing, if you wish to look at the bright side, which I DO.
And the furnace repair bill that's bound to happen today???
I got my annual bonus check from work, and deposited it yesterday.
And Wendy's first decent check from her new job?
Today.
Again, darn nice of the old furnace to keep us warm all winter when it was 5 degrees out and we had far less discretionary income.
So I was forced to use a vacation day.
I've got quite a few.
And now I've got the house, cold though it may be, to myself. For the first time in... I can't remember how long.
I'll get some work done, lots of work probably, screw around a bit, maybe shut my eyes for an hour, run some errands...
It's gonna be a good day. Even though my coffee IS ice cold now.
And I'll be able to start it, once I hear back from the furnace guy, and know when to expect him.....
Should be congratulating myself right about now, because the sign on the interstate said it would take me 20 minutes to get to my exit, and I did it in 18.
That's what I SHOULD be doing.
Instead I'm sitting in my basement, gas fireplace on full power, sipping quickly cooling coffee and typing this.
The idea that life's about balance and timing, has been illustrated clearly this morning, and at great length.
read on...
Fiona slept through the night, which is awesome, and doesn't happen very often of late. Whoo hoo!
She started calling to us at 5am, which is fine. Wendy gets up, I stick my hand out from under the covers, and joke "whew, sure feels cold out there."
30 seconds later, from Wendy...
"It really DOES feel cold. the floors are freezing..."
She heads to the back of the house, I get out of bed, put on my glasses, check the thermostat, and... it's 56 degrees in my house.
No "Whoo hoo!!!"
"Oh, Man!" from the back of the house.
"What's up?"
"Your daughter's soaking wet, so are her sheets."
No "Whoo hoo!"
I stumble around the house, check to make sure it's a furnace problem, and not a gas problem, crank up the fireplace in the basement, and start riffling through our records, to find the name of the repair guy that came out last time. (almost three years ago, as it turns out."
Left a message for him with his service, and then called in to work.
Got to spend a little more time, and spend it leisurely, with my family this morning, before Wendy took Fiona to her well heated day care.
that's a "Whoo hoo!"
And We've an old house full of old appliances, so we understand that this shit's gonna happen.
Fiona wet the bed, and the furnace stopped working. On the same night where I didn't have to get out bed, and climb into her (probably wet) bed to get her to go back to sleep.
Not a "Whoo hoo" per se, but good timing, if you wish to look at the bright side, which I DO.
And the furnace repair bill that's bound to happen today???
I got my annual bonus check from work, and deposited it yesterday.
And Wendy's first decent check from her new job?
Today.
Again, darn nice of the old furnace to keep us warm all winter when it was 5 degrees out and we had far less discretionary income.
So I was forced to use a vacation day.
I've got quite a few.
And now I've got the house, cold though it may be, to myself. For the first time in... I can't remember how long.
I'll get some work done, lots of work probably, screw around a bit, maybe shut my eyes for an hour, run some errands...
It's gonna be a good day. Even though my coffee IS ice cold now.
And I'll be able to start it, once I hear back from the furnace guy, and know when to expect him.....
Monday, February 22, 2010
included with the rent....
On another site, I participated in a discussion about quirky neighbors, odd living situations, etc.
Since I wrote it out, felt it was a shame to waste it, and decided to post it here as well.
I’ve moved around quite a bit, so much so that I still am surprised to find myself in the same house now for over 10 years.
We still get the itch, but have learned to stop scratching at it.
Anyhow:
Almost any college living situation has its’ share of bad stories, so I’ll skip through those, and begin after “real life” started.
My first apartment post-college, was in the ghetto/student ghetto of Kalamazoo, MI. A cool/ not too safe neighborhood, full of old homes that had been turned into multi-units.
The guy who lived downstairs with his wife and kid (in a one bedroom apt.) had a drinking problem, and I had to knock on his door a couple of times when he’d be listening to his trance music (Dead Can Dance, as example) at ridiculous levels.
I always knew his wife and kid were gone, when the music would start up.
His apartment smelled of sweat and garbage.
I had to call the cops once because of the noise.
The odd part of this situation – he was the owner and my landlord.
His wife fed the neighborhood strays, and there was more than one occasion when one pushed in my screen window, and started prowling around my house.
At night.
When I was asleep…
When he didn’t bother to pay the electric bill, and the electricity got turned off, I ratted him out to the housing authority, and packed up my sh*t.
The first apartment I lived in after I got married – there was a truly screwed up woman living upstairs. She would do things like drive her car off the retaining wall on the edge of the property, and it would be nose down in the church parking lot next door, while the back end was blocking our driveway.
One morning, she heard my puppy crying, and discovered we had forgotten to lock our door, so thought nothing of coming into our place, and taking our puppy upstairs with her for the day.
She forgot to leave a note. We came home to a shut door, and an empty dog crate.
We found out that she would sit outside of our place, on the fire escape, and talk to our dog through the window almost every day, because he sounded sad…
We’ve friends who told us that every time they heard Crazy Mary by Pearl Jam, they thought of her.
Our very favorite rental experience by far, still was not without its’own idiosyncrasies.
Our house: converted utility building, possibly a chicken coop, on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
Our neighbors: Cows, and Jehovah Witnesses.
It was actually awesome…
Then there was the young, wholesome looking, smooth talking drug addict that lived next to us in our apartment near the beach in Gulfport, MS. We first met him when he knocked on our door and gave my wife a huge story about needing cash (and only cash will do) to pay a garage to get his car back before he had to be at work.
My wife’s gullible, but not THAT gullible, so we didn’t give him money.
(Sidebar: Is there a reference manual for drug addicts? We’ve heard the “Need cash and cash only to get my car back from garage story” either directly or indirectly several times over the years, by people that live 1000 miles apart…)
Anyhow: 2 days later, the 80+ year old woman who lived next door with her husband knocked on our door. She said she had been waiting for someone to pay her back the money our apartment mate (!!) had borrowed two days earlier, and since they were on fixed income, she was getting desperate.
I fully planned to beat this guy bloody, when I saw him next. A week later there he was, and I stormed out to confront him, only to meet his parents, who were very upset, and I noticed he looked like crap, dirty, disheveled, maybe a bit bruised. His parents were carrying his suitcases. Never saw him again.
Every time I have to shovel my own snow, mow my own yard, pay a plumber, or a roofer, I briefly think about how nice it would be to NOT own my own home. And then I remember…
Since I wrote it out, felt it was a shame to waste it, and decided to post it here as well.
I’ve moved around quite a bit, so much so that I still am surprised to find myself in the same house now for over 10 years.
We still get the itch, but have learned to stop scratching at it.
Anyhow:
Almost any college living situation has its’ share of bad stories, so I’ll skip through those, and begin after “real life” started.
My first apartment post-college, was in the ghetto/student ghetto of Kalamazoo, MI. A cool/ not too safe neighborhood, full of old homes that had been turned into multi-units.
The guy who lived downstairs with his wife and kid (in a one bedroom apt.) had a drinking problem, and I had to knock on his door a couple of times when he’d be listening to his trance music (Dead Can Dance, as example) at ridiculous levels.
I always knew his wife and kid were gone, when the music would start up.
His apartment smelled of sweat and garbage.
I had to call the cops once because of the noise.
The odd part of this situation – he was the owner and my landlord.
His wife fed the neighborhood strays, and there was more than one occasion when one pushed in my screen window, and started prowling around my house.
At night.
When I was asleep…
When he didn’t bother to pay the electric bill, and the electricity got turned off, I ratted him out to the housing authority, and packed up my sh*t.
The first apartment I lived in after I got married – there was a truly screwed up woman living upstairs. She would do things like drive her car off the retaining wall on the edge of the property, and it would be nose down in the church parking lot next door, while the back end was blocking our driveway.
One morning, she heard my puppy crying, and discovered we had forgotten to lock our door, so thought nothing of coming into our place, and taking our puppy upstairs with her for the day.
She forgot to leave a note. We came home to a shut door, and an empty dog crate.
We found out that she would sit outside of our place, on the fire escape, and talk to our dog through the window almost every day, because he sounded sad…
We’ve friends who told us that every time they heard Crazy Mary by Pearl Jam, they thought of her.
Our very favorite rental experience by far, still was not without its’own idiosyncrasies.
Our house: converted utility building, possibly a chicken coop, on a farm in the middle of nowhere.
Our neighbors: Cows, and Jehovah Witnesses.
It was actually awesome…
Then there was the young, wholesome looking, smooth talking drug addict that lived next to us in our apartment near the beach in Gulfport, MS. We first met him when he knocked on our door and gave my wife a huge story about needing cash (and only cash will do) to pay a garage to get his car back before he had to be at work.
My wife’s gullible, but not THAT gullible, so we didn’t give him money.
(Sidebar: Is there a reference manual for drug addicts? We’ve heard the “Need cash and cash only to get my car back from garage story” either directly or indirectly several times over the years, by people that live 1000 miles apart…)
Anyhow: 2 days later, the 80+ year old woman who lived next door with her husband knocked on our door. She said she had been waiting for someone to pay her back the money our apartment mate (!!) had borrowed two days earlier, and since they were on fixed income, she was getting desperate.
I fully planned to beat this guy bloody, when I saw him next. A week later there he was, and I stormed out to confront him, only to meet his parents, who were very upset, and I noticed he looked like crap, dirty, disheveled, maybe a bit bruised. His parents were carrying his suitcases. Never saw him again.
Every time I have to shovel my own snow, mow my own yard, pay a plumber, or a roofer, I briefly think about how nice it would be to NOT own my own home. And then I remember…
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Because it was there – story#2: Party in the Park
Why NOT trespass in a city park, after hours, for purpose of underage drinking and other questionable-at-best behavior?
I mean, what could be a more safe and sensible plan than THAT?
And, I’m kind of ashamed to admit, the Captain Sensible for this particular plan – me.
I was the person who first said “let’s go to the park!” when a group of us were puzzling over just where we might go to enjoy our ill-gotten bounty.
Fairly easy to be spotted from the road??
Check.
Frequented, as it turns out, by less pleasant individuals than ourselves, IE: violent public school kids?
Check
Had a similar reputation to rest areas, and Cook County Forest Preserve parking lots?
Check.
We
Were
Really
Bored.
But it was a big, beautiful park, with lots of trees and benches and a nice stream that curved it’s way through.
We ended up finding a particular spot, a spot with a huge flat stone used as a bench, along a shaded walkway, partially obscured by a rock wall, that sat on a hill overlooking the stream.
It became “ours.”
If memory serves, we even named it, “The Rock” I think.
It was a brief favorite destination, introduced to many friends and friends of friends, over the course of many “nothing better to do” evenings.
These places had limited shelf lives for us.
Perhaps we all suffered from short attention spans, or some of the girls decided they didn’t feel comfortable there. Maybe it was just a change of the seasons, resulting in colder nights and snow, but it was not long before we’d moved on.
I mean, what could be a more safe and sensible plan than THAT?
And, I’m kind of ashamed to admit, the Captain Sensible for this particular plan – me.
I was the person who first said “let’s go to the park!” when a group of us were puzzling over just where we might go to enjoy our ill-gotten bounty.
Fairly easy to be spotted from the road??
Check.
Frequented, as it turns out, by less pleasant individuals than ourselves, IE: violent public school kids?
Check
Had a similar reputation to rest areas, and Cook County Forest Preserve parking lots?
Check.
We
Were
Really
Bored.
But it was a big, beautiful park, with lots of trees and benches and a nice stream that curved it’s way through.
We ended up finding a particular spot, a spot with a huge flat stone used as a bench, along a shaded walkway, partially obscured by a rock wall, that sat on a hill overlooking the stream.
It became “ours.”
If memory serves, we even named it, “The Rock” I think.
It was a brief favorite destination, introduced to many friends and friends of friends, over the course of many “nothing better to do” evenings.
These places had limited shelf lives for us.
Perhaps we all suffered from short attention spans, or some of the girls decided they didn’t feel comfortable there. Maybe it was just a change of the seasons, resulting in colder nights and snow, but it was not long before we’d moved on.
Because it was there – story#1: The Cure – In Orange
It was a slow night in the small city. Had a couple of beers at a friend’s house, and combed the local paper looking for an acceptable band at one of the three clubs where one could find live music – no luck.
Maybe a movie? Geez, we’ve been to the movies a lot…. Hey! Midnight showing of a concert movie by the band The Cure. We like music. We liked the Cure, enough. We were really bored.
So many of these tales involve those four words.
We
Were
Really
Bored.
So, off we go to The Cure – In Orange, probably with a beer in a coat or pants pocket. Three straight guys, no dates.
Great plan.
The audience ended up being far more entertaining than the movie, and we stood out a bit, to put it mildly.
We weren’t wearing black clothes, or eye liner. The androgynous goth boys and their uber-pale female friends stared at us like WE were the freaks. Cuz we were, basically, in that environment.
In addition to the aforementioned, there were small groups of younger (14 or so) girls lumped together throughout the theatre, with skin pigmentation and who looked fairly well adjusted.
We settled in to watch the movie, and…. It sucked. Sound wasn’t great; their song selection was obscure at best; and it sounded like the entire band had knocked back a bottle or two of cough medicine before they took the stage.
This was my impression of the first half of the movie. I have no review of the second half, perhaps it got better.
Why no review of the 2nd half?
We were already leaning toward walking out, mid movie, when it happened.
Robert Smith looked into the camera, and….smeared his lipstick with the back of his hand, and then smiled, just a little.
And we heard an “Oooohhhhhhhh..” as much of the crowd let out a collective sigh, sounding like nothing but a bunch of folks who maybe, just maybe, had just had their first sexual experience.
My two friends and I looked at one another, and without a word, all got up out of our chairs, and headed for the exit.
Maybe a movie? Geez, we’ve been to the movies a lot…. Hey! Midnight showing of a concert movie by the band The Cure. We like music. We liked the Cure, enough. We were really bored.
So many of these tales involve those four words.
We
Were
Really
Bored.
So, off we go to The Cure – In Orange, probably with a beer in a coat or pants pocket. Three straight guys, no dates.
Great plan.
The audience ended up being far more entertaining than the movie, and we stood out a bit, to put it mildly.
We weren’t wearing black clothes, or eye liner. The androgynous goth boys and their uber-pale female friends stared at us like WE were the freaks. Cuz we were, basically, in that environment.
In addition to the aforementioned, there were small groups of younger (14 or so) girls lumped together throughout the theatre, with skin pigmentation and who looked fairly well adjusted.
We settled in to watch the movie, and…. It sucked. Sound wasn’t great; their song selection was obscure at best; and it sounded like the entire band had knocked back a bottle or two of cough medicine before they took the stage.
This was my impression of the first half of the movie. I have no review of the second half, perhaps it got better.
Why no review of the 2nd half?
We were already leaning toward walking out, mid movie, when it happened.
Robert Smith looked into the camera, and….smeared his lipstick with the back of his hand, and then smiled, just a little.
And we heard an “Oooohhhhhhhh..” as much of the crowd let out a collective sigh, sounding like nothing but a bunch of folks who maybe, just maybe, had just had their first sexual experience.
My two friends and I looked at one another, and without a word, all got up out of our chairs, and headed for the exit.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The other day, I was reminded of an event from my youth. The event’s not of importance, really, but the reason for the event kind of IS, as it’s going to be the topic of the next few posts.
I grew up in a small city, one that did not offer a wealth of outlets, opportunities, stuff to do if you will, when you’re in your teens, and starting to really develop socially.
So our social lives revolved around whatever was available to do.
Why did the man climb the mountain?
Because it was there.
Why’d that group of kids risk getting in big trouble by drinking at night on the shore of a small lake next to the grounds where an asylum used to stand?
Because it’s actually the plot to a bad horror movie, and I’m unable to differentiate between real life and cinema?
NO!
Because it was there.
Why did the kids go watch The Last Starfighter THREE times at the theatre attached to the run down shopping mall?
Because it was there.
(As an aside, The Last Starfighter hasn’t stood up all that well to the test of time. Buckaroo Banzai in the 7th dimension, however – still rocks)
Anyhow, you get the idea.
We hung out in places that we probably shouldn’t have, spent our limited $$$ on whatever movie didn’t sound too crappy and countless nights of bowling; and we drank cheap beer and wine coolers in dumb outdoor locations because being at home alone, bored, was too terrible of an alternative.
Most of the time it made for evenings out that were fun enough, we never really got into half as much trouble as we could have, and nobody died.
It wasn't a John Hughes movie, and most nights are completely unmemorable, but I have to label it a success, in retrospect.
Anyhow, I hope to touch on a few specifics in upcoming posts, and maybe, hopefully, the result will be entertaining.
I grew up in a small city, one that did not offer a wealth of outlets, opportunities, stuff to do if you will, when you’re in your teens, and starting to really develop socially.
So our social lives revolved around whatever was available to do.
Why did the man climb the mountain?
Because it was there.
Why’d that group of kids risk getting in big trouble by drinking at night on the shore of a small lake next to the grounds where an asylum used to stand?
Because it’s actually the plot to a bad horror movie, and I’m unable to differentiate between real life and cinema?
NO!
Because it was there.
Why did the kids go watch The Last Starfighter THREE times at the theatre attached to the run down shopping mall?
Because it was there.
(As an aside, The Last Starfighter hasn’t stood up all that well to the test of time. Buckaroo Banzai in the 7th dimension, however – still rocks)
Anyhow, you get the idea.
We hung out in places that we probably shouldn’t have, spent our limited $$$ on whatever movie didn’t sound too crappy and countless nights of bowling; and we drank cheap beer and wine coolers in dumb outdoor locations because being at home alone, bored, was too terrible of an alternative.
Most of the time it made for evenings out that were fun enough, we never really got into half as much trouble as we could have, and nobody died.
It wasn't a John Hughes movie, and most nights are completely unmemorable, but I have to label it a success, in retrospect.
Anyhow, I hope to touch on a few specifics in upcoming posts, and maybe, hopefully, the result will be entertaining.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah
Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah
Seems kinda random, doesn’t it? I mean, for a topic.
Heck, I have to explain it, before most will even understand what it means.
Jeff Buckley was a musician, who drowned in the Mississippi River in the mid 90’s, right around the time the first hint of future stardom surfaced.
He had released a critically acclaimed record (“Grace”), had a single that received air play, and was poised to break huge, probably with the release of his follow up record.
My memory’s not clear on it, because I didn’t know much about him at the time, but he might have drowned in Memphis, perhaps while taking a break in recording or rehearsing.
Add to the story the fact that he was the son of Tim Buckley, who was himself a critically acclaimed musician that died tragically young.
Hallelujah – A great song by Leonard Cohen.
“Who’s Leonard Cohen?”
Oh, please. That’s another entry.
Suffice to say he’s a guy who’s been writing great songs for 40+ years; songs that are best known as hits for other artists.
Which brings this narrative back around to Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah.
Buckley recorded Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. I’d actually read about the version, but hadn’t heard it. And since the one single that was released before Buckley’s death, Last Goodbye (there’s some irony, right there) didn’t resonate with me, I gave little attention to those who heaped such praise upon the recording.
Then one day not too long ago, I’m driving in the car with my wife and daughter, and this song came on.
And it was achingly beautiful. So much so that tears were welling up in my eyes, just listening to it. And when I realized what I was listening to, the tears started flowing a little harder.
“My god. His voice…" I thought to myself.
“What are we listening to?” my wife asked, in a slightly hushed tone it seemed.
“Jeff Buckley doing a Leonard Cohen song.” I choke out in reply.
“It’s…”
“Yeah.”
So there you go. A heartbreakingly beautiful rendition of a superbly written song, performed by an artist I never cared for when he was actually walking the earth.
Did it make me re-think my musical tastes?
Of course not.
Do I want to seek out a copy of a 15 year old CD for which I had no interest at the time, based solely on one song? No, not really. Thought it may prompt me to buy my first musical download, ever.
Do I, sadly, listen to the live recording of Cohen performing his own song, and while appreciating it find myself saying “Buckley got more out of it”? yep,I must confess that I do.
Seems kinda random, doesn’t it? I mean, for a topic.
Heck, I have to explain it, before most will even understand what it means.
Jeff Buckley was a musician, who drowned in the Mississippi River in the mid 90’s, right around the time the first hint of future stardom surfaced.
He had released a critically acclaimed record (“Grace”), had a single that received air play, and was poised to break huge, probably with the release of his follow up record.
My memory’s not clear on it, because I didn’t know much about him at the time, but he might have drowned in Memphis, perhaps while taking a break in recording or rehearsing.
Add to the story the fact that he was the son of Tim Buckley, who was himself a critically acclaimed musician that died tragically young.
Hallelujah – A great song by Leonard Cohen.
“Who’s Leonard Cohen?”
Oh, please. That’s another entry.
Suffice to say he’s a guy who’s been writing great songs for 40+ years; songs that are best known as hits for other artists.
Which brings this narrative back around to Jeff Buckley - Hallelujah.
Buckley recorded Cohen’s “Hallelujah”. I’d actually read about the version, but hadn’t heard it. And since the one single that was released before Buckley’s death, Last Goodbye (there’s some irony, right there) didn’t resonate with me, I gave little attention to those who heaped such praise upon the recording.
Then one day not too long ago, I’m driving in the car with my wife and daughter, and this song came on.
And it was achingly beautiful. So much so that tears were welling up in my eyes, just listening to it. And when I realized what I was listening to, the tears started flowing a little harder.
“My god. His voice…" I thought to myself.
“What are we listening to?” my wife asked, in a slightly hushed tone it seemed.
“Jeff Buckley doing a Leonard Cohen song.” I choke out in reply.
“It’s…”
“Yeah.”
So there you go. A heartbreakingly beautiful rendition of a superbly written song, performed by an artist I never cared for when he was actually walking the earth.
Did it make me re-think my musical tastes?
Of course not.
Do I want to seek out a copy of a 15 year old CD for which I had no interest at the time, based solely on one song? No, not really. Thought it may prompt me to buy my first musical download, ever.
Do I, sadly, listen to the live recording of Cohen performing his own song, and while appreciating it find myself saying “Buckley got more out of it”? yep,I must confess that I do.
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