"Letters I've written / never meaning to send"
We've all done this in our head at one point or another. We've all had things we wanted - needed - to say to another person, but kept it as internal dialogue instead. We can keep it to ourselves and regret it, or we can muster up the nerve to say it out loud, but chances are, either way, there will be some regret later on...
"Why did I say that? I coulda kept it to myself."
Or...
"I had the chance right then and there. Why didn't I just say it?"
It's a zero sum game. If someone has left you so emotionally afflicted you've found yourself in either or both of the above scenarios, congratulations, you have a heart. Also, sorry, but you have a heart.
The Moody Blues was supposed to be my first live concert experience. I wanna say Clowes Hall, but I'm not totally sure, but they were booked to play and canceled for some reason a couple weeks before the show. My dad bought two tickets for himself and a friend, but after the friend dropped out, he asked me if I wanted to go. "My first concert? Yea!," I thought. Then it was cancelled the next day.
This was 1990 or so. I was 11 or 12 years old, but I knew enough of the Moody Blues' catalog from waking up to their records playing as my dad cooked Sunday breakfast.
Overwrought, heavy-handed, cheesy, melodramatic - all words I've heard (and used myself) to describe The Moody Blues. Like the band Chicago, they were fusing genres and toying with the pop format in their prime. And like Chicago, they toiled in mediocrity and squandered their passion as they got older and became more interested in churning out sap.
People tend to judge bands by where they are currently or, if they disbanded, where they ended up. "You're only as good as your last record," right? Fair enough - that may be true in the present tense, but that logic doesn't take into account the body of work.
On the flip side, fans are quick to forgive or pretend the most recent record never happened and pay $62.50 plus fees to sit 40 rows back (most likely with half the original lineup) once every couple years to watch a band run through the greatest hits on auto-pilot while ignoring the sad truth: the band you really want to see was from 30 years ago performing the songs with at least an nth of integrity, all for a fifth of the cost.
Time isn't kind to art, and if you happen to be flipping your radio station one day and hear "Ice Ice Baby," for example, you realize it's only being played now because of its ironic usage. No one actually likes that song. It's the same reason you hear "YMCA" at every fucking wedding reception: it's stock. Everyone knows it and takes it for granted. It's four minutes of making letters in the air with your arms and then it's forgotten.
Tired of me bashing shitty songs? Okay.
"We Will Rock You / We Are The Champions." One of the most widely known and used songs at sporting events, and while it's not used in a cutesy-kinda way like the above-mentioned abortions of music, it has become a standard. You hear the opening drum beat of "We Will Rock You" and within a half second, you know the song and you know why it's being played - to amp up the home crowd.
And I'm not being a cynic. This is one of the reasons music is my favorite form of expression. It can connect with you, grab a hold of you and beat you unmercifully (both songs you love and hate). Who walks around saying shit like "dude, I have Michelangelo's 'The Creation Of Adam' stuck in my head"?
But Eddie Grant's "Electric Avenue"? You bet your ass I've had that stuck in my head. And now, as I type this, it is! Isn't that amazing?
Where am I going with this? Well, as disposable as most forms and art and media are, there a few songs that many consider "stock" but are still worth listening to on purpose.
"Nights In White Satin" is one of those songs, personally.
One day, when I'm an eccentric millionaire, I will pay to not only time travel, but to transform into a tiny fly, so that I may be on the wall in 1966 or 67 when this song was recorded.
It is not only an achievement in early prog-rock, it's just a beautiful fucking number.
Here's a great live cut http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWzskiTvqO0
The song was originally released on 1967's Days of Future Passed and Justin Hayward, the song's composer and singer, also wrote the album's other hit "Tuesday Afternoon." Neither of which were given much attention for a couple years. "Nights" specifically because of it's nearly seven minute running time, but it eventually caught the ears and acceptance of radio programmers after other lengthy songs "Hey Jude" and "Layla" paved the way.
I often have to defend my taste in certain music because on the surface, it may seem, eh, less than "cred worthy," but I don't care. I'll take good hooks and raw emotion over bands spending thousands of dollars to intentionally sound like crap or technical guitar wankery any day.
When Hayward sings the chorus "And I love you, yes I love you / oh, how I love you," I believe he's feeling every word, every note of it.
Good music can not only appeal to the senses, it can encapsulate a moment.
This song takes me back to fond memories of not only my childhood, but of my father when he was still strong. I get a foreboding feeling as "Nights" ends though, because as in real life, those Sunday mornings in the kitchen with my dad came to an end.
When I hear this song, I feel anger, denial, bargaining, and depression. I hang in that moment for a while. I want to stay there. Not out of sadness, but because i can come and go into a simpler time in my life just for listening to a song. It is a reminder of where I came from and who I am today. Then, as the final notes fade, I go to acceptance.
When faced with a choice of wondering whether you should keep your feelings inside or letting them out, I say get 'em out.There is enough regret in this world.
Once someone is gone from your life, you'd much rather know you at least told them how you felt.
