My favorite pop song is "The Heart of the Matter," by Don Henley. There, I said it.
At some point, allegedly, Joni Mitchell remarked that a song is a thought you have as you're inspecting the rear-view mirror. The point you wanted to make. The thing you remember--a bit too late--as you're driving away.
Nora Ephron said, "If you slip on a banana peel, you're a punchline. If you then write a story about how you slipped on the banana peel, you're suddenly in control of the joke."
Don Henley can be simple and direct, because he knows he has a compelling situation. He is addressing an ex-lover, having heard she has "moved on":
I got the call today.
I didn't want to hear.
But I knew that it would come.
An old, true friend of ours was talking on the phone:
She said you found someone.
Then the words do something thrilling; they go in directions uncommon for a pop song.
I thought of all the bad luck, the struggles we went through.
How I lost me, and you lost you.
What are all these voices outside love's open door?
Make us throw off our contentment, and beg for something more.
And this song makes me think of Phillip Lopate, who encourages students to "think on the page," dare "to generalize." If you can't draw conclusions from your story, then why tell the story?
These times are so uncertain.
There's a yearning undefined, and people filled with rage.
We all need a little tenderness.
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
And a Sondheim-ish clear-eyed assessment of life's difficulty:
There are people in your life who've come and gone.
They let you down; they hurt your pride.
You've gotta put it all behind you, cause life goes on.
You keep carrying that anger, it will eat you up inside.
These aren't revolutionary insights, but just the spectacle of a man with a broken heart, looking squarely at suffering, is interesting to me. I couldn't ever change the station if this song were on, in one of its various iterations: Don Henley, India Arie, Megan Hilty. I think this is a case of someone "knocking it out of the park." I'll always stand by that assessment.
At some point, allegedly, Joni Mitchell remarked that a song is a thought you have as you're inspecting the rear-view mirror. The point you wanted to make. The thing you remember--a bit too late--as you're driving away.
Nora Ephron said, "If you slip on a banana peel, you're a punchline. If you then write a story about how you slipped on the banana peel, you're suddenly in control of the joke."
Don Henley can be simple and direct, because he knows he has a compelling situation. He is addressing an ex-lover, having heard she has "moved on":
I got the call today.
I didn't want to hear.
But I knew that it would come.
An old, true friend of ours was talking on the phone:
She said you found someone.
Then the words do something thrilling; they go in directions uncommon for a pop song.
I thought of all the bad luck, the struggles we went through.
How I lost me, and you lost you.
What are all these voices outside love's open door?
Make us throw off our contentment, and beg for something more.
And this song makes me think of Phillip Lopate, who encourages students to "think on the page," dare "to generalize." If you can't draw conclusions from your story, then why tell the story?
These times are so uncertain.
There's a yearning undefined, and people filled with rage.
We all need a little tenderness.
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
And a Sondheim-ish clear-eyed assessment of life's difficulty:
There are people in your life who've come and gone.
They let you down; they hurt your pride.
You've gotta put it all behind you, cause life goes on.
You keep carrying that anger, it will eat you up inside.
These aren't revolutionary insights, but just the spectacle of a man with a broken heart, looking squarely at suffering, is interesting to me. I couldn't ever change the station if this song were on, in one of its various iterations: Don Henley, India Arie, Megan Hilty. I think this is a case of someone "knocking it out of the park." I'll always stand by that assessment.
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