Friends of mine have joked over the years that when it comes to music, I’m stuck in the past. They’re largely right. Most of the stuff I listen to is at least a few decades old, but it’s not because I yearn nostalgically for an earlier chapter in my life (I don’t). I just like the music styles and offerings of certain eras more than others (including some before I was born).
Very rarely does music take me back to specific moments in my life, but it does happen. “Hold On to the Night” by Richard Marx evokes the memory of a particular high school dance. “Someone” by the Rembrandts will forever be intertwined with a doomed relationship (though I still think it’s a great song). Extreme’s “More Than Words” brings me back to my coming-of-age teen years working at a local restaurant (where a number of lifelong friendships began).
And then there’s singer Chris Isaak. It’s not a specific song of his that embodies a life-moment, but rather two full albums: Forever Blue and Baja Sessions.
The years I look back on as the lowest of my life fell between the time I graduated college (in the mid 1990s) and when I met my wife-to-be, Sarah (in 2000). It was about a five-year period, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t all that long. But at times it felt like an eternity.
I lived alone in a single-bedroom apartment behind a barbecue restaurant, and though I had some good friends, and mostly enjoyed my job and the people I worked with, I often felt lost. I worried a lot about the direction of my life. I didn’t meet a lot of new people, and most of those I did seemed to already have their acts together (at least better than I did). Truth be told… I was pretty lonely.
Sure, I liked my independence. I really did. I didn’t have a lot of responsibilities outside of work, which afforded me the time and space to pursue a number of interests… including bike-riding, travel, photography, a couple of online side-businesses, and eventually writing (the creative soul is wickedly inspired by torment and solitude). The experience also filled me with introspection, which I’m convinced is good for one’s character and soul.
Yet, loneliness is misery, and misery loves company. That’s why I formed a bit of a kinship with Chris Isaak’s music during that time.
To be clear, I was an Isaak fan well before “Forever Blue” released in 1995. Like most of his fans, I came onboard with “Wicked Game.” But that was just the beginning of my journey with the singer.
I once read Isaak’s music described as “a scrapbook of heartbroken valentines,” and listening to Forever Blue made feel as though I was browsing through that scrapbook, deriving personal meaning from each page. The songs were inspired by the end of a three-year relationship between the singer and his girlfriend. “It's got some dark things, some sad things, some angry parts,” Isaak has said of the album. “There's resignation in there and acceptance and some hope.”
As I listened to it many nights (as I struggled to fall asleep), I felt all of those emotions as if they were my own (because they were). The same was true of Isaak’s next album the following year, “Baja Sessions,” which included acoustic versions of earlier songs, and covers of iconic heartache-heavy tunes. Both were CD-player mainstays for me.
When I listen to those songs today — as my wife and I did last week from a front-row seat (woo-hoo!) when Chris Isaak performed in my town — I no longer feel the sadness I felt back then. But I do remember it, and I find myself experiencing some gratitude for the commiseration and consolation those songs provided at that time in my life.
The lyrics of so many of them are forever etched in my mind.
I know somebody and they cry for you
They lie awake at night and dream of you
I bet you never even know they do
Nobody ever warns you, or tells you what to do
She walks away, you're left to stay
Alone forever blue
Look at all you lucky people, look of all the things you do
Look at all you happy people, I wish I could be like you
Thank you, Chris, for the gift (and timeliness) of your music. It helped me through some things.
Have a favorite Chris Isaak song? Tell me which one in an email or in the comment section.
The Hullabaloo
Last week on the Daly Express podcast, I had on two great guests (in separate episodes): Tom Nichols of The Atlantic, and Cathy Young of The Bulwark. We talked about a number of political and cultural topics.
Here are a couple previews:
You can watch the full video versions on BernardGoldberg.com, or listen to the audio podcasts on Spotify or Apple Podcasts.
Random Thought
Obligatory Dog Shot
The Chosen One.
Catch Up on the Sean Coleman Thrillers
All of my Sean Coleman Thriller novels can be purchased through Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Books-A-Million, and wherever else books are sold.
Featured Vinyl
Yes, this section is back for a limited time (since I’ve had some good record-store luck lately)!
Way back in 1977, REO Speedwagon convinced their record label that their strength as a band was in their live performances. As someone who’s seen them live multiple times, I can vouch for that. I honestly think they’re one of the best live bands I’ve ever seen.
Anyway, their label listened, and “Live: You Get What You Play For” became REO’s first live album — a two LP set. It went platinum and includes, in my opinion, the best recorded version of “Ridin' the Storm Out” (which was written right here in Colorado many moons ago).
It’s a great listen.
That’s all for now. Thanks for reading today’s Daly Grind.
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Take care. And I’ll talk to you soon!