Repeater: Bird Of Sorrow

glen-hansard

Grief came first like an earthquake. Shaking and tossing everything we knew and leaving us shattered. But we did the work you are supposed to when things are broken. We picked up the debris and did our best to put everything back in place

But grief hides and waits. And it came back. First with aftershocks that we walked over and around until the tsunami swept over us and left devastation, despair and a landscape that was unrecognizable. 

We stood in the place we once held sacred and strained our eyes trying to find familiarity. We watched helplessly as bold and dark brushstrokes crisscrossed the painting we wanted to fill with light. But we keep painting anyway, each of us taking turns at the easel. Until finally, finally we stood back and saw the final masterpiece was no less beautiful. 

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This song helped me. 

It played on repeat while I stood in place.

It played on repeat while I kept painting the landscape of our life together. 

It played on repeat while I loved and loved even when I was scared. 

It plays now and reminds me of sorrow.

It plays now and reminds me of vulnerability.

It plays now and reminds me of us. 

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Even if a day feels too long
You feel like you can't wait another one
You're slowly giving up on everything
Love is gonna find you again

Love is gonna find you, you better be ready then

You've been kneeling in the dark for far too long
You've been waiting for that spark, but it hasn't come
Well I'm calling to you, please, get off the floor
A good heart will find you again

A good heart will find you, just be ready then

Tethered to a bird of sorrow
A voice that's buried in the hollow
You've given over to self-deceiving
You're prostrate, bowed, but not believing.
You've squandered more than you could borrow
You've bet your joys on all tomorrows
For the hope of some returning
While everything around you is burning

Come on, we gotta get out, get out of this mess we made
And still for all our talk, we're both so afraid
Will we leave this up to chance, like we do everything?
Love is gonna find us again

Love is gonna find us, we gotta be ready then

Tethered to a bird of sorrow
A voice that's buried in the hollow
You've given over to self-deceiving
Your prostrate bowed would not be leaving
You've squandered more than you could borrow
You've bet your joys on all tomorrows
For the hope of some returning
While everything around you's burning

But I'm not leaving you
I'm not leaving you
I'm not leaving
I'm not leaving, yeah, yeah
I'm not leaving
I'm not leaving, yeah, yeah
I'm hanging on
Hanging on
What's gonna come?
I'm hanging on now
Hanging on, hanging on, hanging on
Hanging on, hanging on, hanging on

With the faithful
With the faithful
I'm hanging on
What's gonna come?
What's gonna come?
Hanging on
Hanging on

~Glen Hansard "Bird of Sorrow"

7 Songs From the 80s: When Angst Was A Good Friend

80s-songs

I was recently asked by a friend — with whom I spent a lot of time in the 80s — to share seven memorable songs from that time. I enjoy any chance to think about music and how it has shaped me. And it would be no surprise to anyone who looked inside my journal from that decade to see these songs are all about longing and angst and heartbreak. I've always felt connected to others by music and knowing others felt the same way was comforting. 

Nothing magical happened to me during those years. I never got the boy, I wasn't popular, I wasn't all that memorable. It was hard then, but I'm glad went through it. I remember those days as a time I was caught between two versions of myself: the nervous observer the outer world saw and the dramatic and bold girl who only made herself known inside the sanctuary of a candy-coloured bedroom. I spent a lot of time on my own, writing the lyrics to songs in my best cursive and folding them over and over on themselves, so I could glue them into that journal. Maybe I thought it was better to let someone else tell my story during that time; it was easier than trying to figure out how to tell it myself. 

In that way, not much has changed. I am still the kind of music fan that identifies with and becomes attached to lyrics and storytelling in songs. I still fall head over heels in love with moody, sad songs and play them on repeat until my family begs me to stop. As for which version of myself I eventually became, I think I landed somewhere in the middle. And I'm glad about that, too.

I've listened to these songs in cars with the windows rolled all the way down, in darkened school gyms during awkward dances, and on repeat through the foam-covered headphones of my Sony Walkman.

In the 80s, I was the same age as my two oldest children are now. Hearing these songs today, I don't feel any regret it wasn't a more spectacular decade for me. I've kept the journal to remind myself it's okay to be confused about who you are, and it's okay to spend time alone figuring it out. I look at it sometimes to remind myself how big my feelings were, when I'm trying to help my kids navigate their own big feelings. And I always feel such a sweet gratitude for these songs when I see those handwritten lyrics.

They knew the words when I didn't and they invited me to sing along.

CARS: Who's Gonna Drive You Home? (1984)

BILLY VERA & THE BEATERS: At This Moment (1981)

HEART: Alone (1987)

DEPECHE MODE: Somebody (1984)

BANGLES: Eternal Flame (1989)

PETER GABRIEL: Don't Give Up (1986)

KATE BUSH: This Woman's Work (1989)

 

 

A Year Of Music 2015: One Concert A Month

Glen Hansard - Beacon Theatre, NYC, 2015

Glen Hansard - Beacon Theatre, NYC, 2015

End of year celebrations always mean music for me. Whether it was the smoke-filled rec rooms of the '70s, where my parents played records and clinked glasses with the neighbours, or the teeny-bopper top 40 countdowns with friends and bottomless bowls of chips in the '90s—music has always been a way to highlight a year.

And what a year it has been. Another soul-filling and heart-lifting one-concert-a-month bonanza that saw us doing something very different with a three-day outdoor musical festival that took me back in time, while also reminding me how firmly planted I am in my 40s (and that's okay). One of my photos from that weekend was featured on blogTO

I also got on a plane and travelled to New York City to see a musician I adore and revel in being a reckless groupie. It was one of the most moving shows I saw this year, especially because I shared it with a good friend. We also had front rows seats to a historic filming of the Bahamas with our siblings at my favourite venue, Massey Hall. 

Speaking of planes, I travelled all the way to the ocean for a weekend retreat that included a creek-side, under-the-stars performance by three talented east coast musicians. I'll never forget the feeling of the music, the night sky and new friends squishing me on every side with joy and gratitude—at a time when I needed it most. 

Finally, but not least of all, I was gifted a once-in-a-lifetime experience with an up-close-and-personal sit down and intimate performance with The Indigo Girls (who absolutely define my coming of age) and was able to write about it and see it shared with a bigger audience in the Huffington Post.  Their performance with the Toronto Symphony Orchestra the following night, touched me deeply, and it was perfect that I shared it with my sister, while sitting beside good friends. 

Thank you to each of you who have delighted in my musical adventures. I hope I've brought new songs to your ears and filled your hearts with inspiration for getting back to something you love.

Here is my Spotify playlist for some of the artists we had the privilege of seeing in 2015. I can't wait to fill another one in 2016. 

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN