Long Playing

 The apocryphal tale goes something like this: Wandering around the Pearl Street Mall in a daze, I was seeking comfort in something familiar. Just days before, our most special and amusing friend on the planet had died, and those of us who knew him were seeking solace if not meaning. I found mine, as I had so many times before, in a record store. 

There it was, leaning against the railroad ties that served as the new releases section at Rocky Mountain Records and Tapes. The new album from Oingo Boingo: Dead Man's Party. I didn't pick it up right away. I stared at the cover art, with its skeletons cavorting about in celebration of Dia de Los Muertos. When I finally held it in my hands, I flipped it over to inspect the track listing. There was "Just Another Day," the title tune, "Heard Somebody Cry," "No One Lives Forever," and that was side one. I bought it and rushed back to the apartment that I had been so anxious to escape to listen to this music that had obviously been sent to us as a message from beyond. 

We wore that record out. It spoke to us in our pain and confusion. How could our roommate and partner in crime be gone? No one lives forever. What could we do to celebrate his memory? Halloween was just a few days away, why not a Dead Man's Party? Like the man said, 

No one beats him at his game
For very long but just the same
Who cares there's no place safe to hide
Nowhere to run no time to cry
So celebrate why you still can
Cause any second it may end
And when it's all been said and done
Better that you had some fun
Instead of hiding in a shell
Why make your life a living hell?
Have a toast, down the cup
Drink to bones that turn to dust

So we lived. And we partied. And we used those songs to keep us moving in the darkness. 

Somewhere in there, we all got old. But that tragedy of losing a friend in our twenties still stings. Forever young. Forever the funniest guy in the room. Forever lost. Forever. Thirty-five years into that forever, another record came out to remind us that there is joy in memories. Bruce Springsteen released a meditation on love and loss. 

Faded pictures in an old scrapbook
Faded pictures that somebody took
When you were hard and young and proud
Back against the wall running raw and loud

Song titles like "Last Man Standing," "Ghosts" and "Song For Orphans" remind me of the time when I was sure that music was being made for us survivors. Bruce is seventy years old. He's lost friends and bandmates along the way. He wrote this album of songs to remind us all that there is still music to be made. And heard. And savored. 

Because as the road continues to roll out in front of us, we can't avoid looking back. At those we left behind. And those who are to our left and right, still stumbling into that darkness, but glad to know we don't have to go there alone.