WSPC SESSION NOTES FOR FEBRUARY 2014: HEALING

FROM THE DJs STUDIO DESK:

From its inception, Synesthesia has been conceived and designed to be a space that is solely celebratory about music--no "criticism" and definitely no bashing or self-congratulatory snark allowed whatsoever. While I have ensured that this site remain wholly positive, I have noticed a certain sense of melancholy that has pervaded itself into the proceedings to a degree.

Over the last three months, my opening "Session Notes" features have, by coincidence or intention, all featured some sort of eulogy, from commemorating the life and music of Lou Reed, to remembering the respective assassination and passing of both John Lennon and George Harrison and just last month, I paid tribute to Chicago's Larry Lujack, the very first DJ to open up the universe and mystery of radio to me and my soul. And now, with 2014 reaching its second month, I have felt that the year has begun, and seems to be continuing upon, a series of sad notes.

Just within the last two weeks, we have lost folk music icon Pete Seeger, and the surprise death of Philip Seymour Hoffman, a death which truly has me reeling as he was one of my most favorite actors. Much closer to home, I have been reading notices, through e-mails and from friends upon Facebook, about beloved family members, including pets, that have either been enduring serious health issues or, even more sadly, have passed away since the beginning of this year. And then, even for myself, there was the passing of my Grandmother near the end of last month and I have since returned to the "WSPC studios" from her funeral, at which I was a pallbearer just one week ago.

Mere moments after being informed of my Grandmother's passing, I wrote the following tribute to her on my Facebook page, words which my Mother requested that I read at her funeral, a request I most certainly honored:

"I was just informed by my Mom and my cousin Susan, that this morning at 10:42 a.m., my Grandmother Exzine Ryan, who had a massive stroke near the beginning of this month, passed away peacefully in Chicago. She was 93.

My Grandmother was as formidable as they come. With her husband and my Grandfather, Mr. Elihu Ryan, she fully raised not only their five children but also two of their grandchildren (Susan and her brother Adam), and played a powerfully guiding hand in the raising of other grandchildren and family members, including myself. My Grandmother was short in stature but she was tough and tireless...I swear that I do not think that I EVER saw her go to bed for the evening for she was ALWAYS working.

My Grandmother, above all else, was love itself. I have never known a person who just exuded the power and grace of love like she did. She was warmth. She was the greatest blessing made into a human being. In her later years, whenever I had the opportunity to visit her, she would always exclaim, "How sweet it is to be loved by you!!!!!"

No Grandmother...even now, I must offer a correction. How sweet it is to have been loved...SO COMPLETELY LOVED...by YOU!

I can't say goodbye to her for I have never known life without her...and as far as I am concerned, she is a part of EVERYTHING now, so there's no need to say goodbye. She will always be with me."

Immediately after writing this tribute, I played The Beatles' "Across The Universe," "Within You, Without You" and "The Long And Winding Road" and John Lennon's "Love" as musical tributes representing the sense of endless love my Grandmother was throughout the entirety of her life.

The lyric "limitless, undying love surrounds me like a million suns," from "Across The Universe" is particularly meaningful as I think those words describe what she was, is and will forever mean to me.

In addition to habitually announcing those classic Marvin Gaye lyrics to everyone who arrived at her doorstep in her final years, my Grandmother would also, always find herself announcing with equal exuberance, "What's love got to do with it?" Yet unlike the bitterness of the Tina Turner song, my Grandmother would shift the meaning to always invoke just how magnanimous and beautiful the power of love truly is.

During her funeral service, it did not surprise me to hear about her vast knowledge of church hymns (so much so that she habitually made requests of the choir to sing beloved selections, even in the period after she was physically unable to attend--incidentally, all requests were satisfied). Sitting in that pew, I laughed quietly to myself as I was transported back to some memories during my adolescence when I would listen to the syndicated radio program "The B.B. King Blues Hour" as I would get myself prepared for Sunday church services, a ritual that my Mother disapproved of as the juxtaposition of the songs and sounds of Saturday night troubles and Sunday morning spirituals clashed in her mind.

My Mother once told me of how much my Grandmother disapproved of blues music when my Mom was younger ("Turn that alley cat music OFF!" my Grandmother would apparently shout to my Mom and her brothers and sister). I never knew of any sense of musical disapproval as my frequent visits to my Grandparents' home was typically filled with all manner of music, which flowed so freely and without judgement.

One such visit sticks in my memory quite powerfully as it really illustrated to me the elusive and connective power of music to the soul. There was a time when I noticed that my Grandmother had fallen in love with a song that was a massive hit on AM radio. It was during the early Summer of 1979 when I was 10 years old and was still listening to WLS-AM with Larry Lujack daily. The song in question was "She Believes In Me" performed by Kenny Rogers (released April 16, 1979).

It was a song with a pretty melody that never, ever made much of an impressions upon me. It was the kind of song that would not ever make me turn the radio dial but it was also one to just sit through to get to something better. But, my impression towards the song was definitely altered when I saw the effect it had upon my Grandmother. I really didn't think that she paid much mind to whatever music was playing in her home but I was profoundly mistaken when I surprisingly heard her singing along with it one day. And of course, this being AM radio, with hit songs played over and again, Kenny Rogers' selection was no exception. For each day I spent at my Grandmother's home listening to WLS, whenever that song would play, my Grandmother would sing along, eventually arriving at the point where she would command me to raise the volume. And one time, after experiencing the full four minutes and eleven seconds all over again, my Grandmother looked at me, her face and possibly her spirit sated with pure content, and exhaled to me, "That is a beautiful song."

Despite those memories and emotions, I am certain by this point, you are all wondering exactly where I am headed with all of this. All I ask is that you remain patient because I do have a fixed point in mind. I wanted to turn your attention to a song written and performed by Tracey Thorn and Ben Watt, the duo otherwise and best known as Everything But The Girl.

The song is entitled "The Night I Heard Caruso Sing" and it can be found upon their album "Idlewild" (released April 1988). It is a mournful piano driven song, a quietly pensive selection sung by Watt and at this time, I wanted to focus upon a certain set of the lyrics.

"I've thought of having children, but I've gone and changed my mind
It's hard enough to watch the news, let alone explain it to a child
To cast your eye cross nature, over fields of rape and corn
And tell him without flinching not to fear where he's been born

Then someone sat me down last night and I heard Caruso sing
He's almost as good as Presley and if I only do one thing
I'll sing songs to my father, I'll sing songs to my child
It's time to hold your loved ones while the chains are loose"

I brought up this song and the lyrics in which the narrator references this crucial night as a point where perhaps a piece of music brought a sense of emotional balance in a precariously unbalanced world. I believe that music will always find us when we need it. We may not seek it. We may not even be looking for it. But somehow, it always seems to find us. In times of strife and emotional turbulence, I do often turn to music but yes, like you, I may not be looking for it but it finds me. It can be used as a momentary distraction from whatever confusion or pain we may be experiencing and it of course can also be used as a source of solace. But sometimes, music is able to provide us with an extreme precise source of counsel and healing in ways that may not be initially understandable but if our ears our open, perhaps we can receive whatever message music may be attempting to deliver.

When I listen to that song by Everything But The Girl, especially now as I have reached middle age, the words and messages contained therein carry a deeper significance than it did when I was 20 years old and first heard the song. For in a world with so much trauma and tragedy, it is also a world where the human voice in song can soothe the soul and remind us again of the importance of holding our closest even closer and maybe even find some way to return some beauty into the same world that gave us music itself.  At this time, with this pervading sadness that is feeling to be especially prevalent, I turn to this song, and really, any song that can possibly help to heal.

Today, I received more sad news from an acquaintance about an elderly family friend of hers who, just this week, is dealing with the death of her husband and is now hospitalized herself. Something sorrowful feels as if it is in the air, dear readers and listeners. Whether that is reality or perception, this DJ is urging all of you to try and keep your eyes, ears, and hearts open to those around you. To offer a kind word if possible. To treasure your families and friends even more than you already do. And if you have some music to share, then that is all the better, for that person just may be in a place where they really need to hear it.