Not a week ago a (beloved) creative soul and I were having a conversation about how music is, in a manner of speaking, a time machine. While the words I received in this conversation were likely much more eloquent, they reminded me of something I had written when Prince passed away, as a sort of punctuation mark to a meme being shared all over social media. (Or at least by my friends, the music nerds of the universe.)
Meme:
Punctuation Mark:
“This! For me especially musicians who pass, because of a song’s ability to immediately transport me to another time and place. To bring back long forgotten memories. And to elicit laughter or tears, or sometimes both, as a result of those memories. It’s not about “fan girling” it’s about being awestruck by talent, and creativity. And saddened at the thought of that being now relegated to only what is past, no matter how brilliant that past may be.”
The number of beautiful, memorable voices creating magic at any one time on this planet is much higher I’m sure than I can imagine. But there are some that stand above, or at least apart. They may not be ‘pitch perfect’ or the most gifted in their range top to bottom, but they have something about them; something in the tone or timbre, the depth and breadth, or lightness, or all of those things, combined. The phrase ‘je ne sais quoi’ applies perhaps more perfectly to this, the instrument of the human voice, than anything else it for which it is used.
With the understanding that the appeal of a voice is something very personal, the voice of Dolores O’Riordan was, for me, absolutely one of those voices, set apart and unmistakable. Light, but rich and full all at once, and she used it so masterfully. When I heard today of her passing, a thousand and one memories and emotions went running through me. First was the sadness at the passing of one so talented and so fucking young. (Younger than me… another one younger than me.) And memories of places, and faces, and even sometimes scents, to which her voice, and the music of the Cranberries, were a part of the soundtrack. And I felt the sting of this loss, the ‘now relegated to only what is past’ while the tears, and the laughter, were rushing all around me.
Like my memories of Chester, the memories of The Cranberries are most strongly centered in the magic period of time in metro-Phoenix, when everything was music! Going to local shows, or concerts, working with bands, and for a record label. Surrounded by the huge, small group, of the crazy talented makers of music, and lovers of music. When there were innumerable impromptu road trips to see bands, and always singing, and dancing, and music, music, music, while making memories.
… like my memories of my brilliant boys in Tripping With Grace, for whom I was the booking agent, playing The Cranberries aftershow. Even though The Cranberries were firmly planted in the mid-90’s pop thing, they weren’t really OF the mid-90’s pop thing, due in no small part to that voice. Tripping With Grace, with their cerebral lyrics, and quasi-Beatles sound, who also did, but didn’t, fit that mid-90’s pop box, were the perfect compliment to them. So, along with the person most central to my Cranberries memories in that time, my dear, nutty, never know whats gonna happen next when you’re hanging with her, friend, Gail, I swam to the depths, when I wasn’t flying to the outer stratosphere of, my happy place. Singing my heart out with Dolores, while laughing, and dancing under a star filled sky, in the perfect December air at Mesa Amphitheater.
As I write this more memories still, of then and there, and the Cranberries, and ’90’s music. Of Gail with the henna red hair, and the fairest skin, and light green eyes, the ubiquitous scent of her Estee Lauder ‘Beautiful’ perfume, singing at the top of her lungs, ALWAYS at the top of her lungs, “in your heeeeaaaad, in your heeeaaadddd, Zombies, Zombies…” Usually while driving, and chair dancing, with the windows rolled down… giggling that unmistakable Gail giggle. Whether we were hanging at my place, or driving to Cali to check out a band, or going to Sedona to hike the red rocks, or just driving from north Phoenix to Tempe, (which took almost as long as driving to Cali if Gail was driving,) there was always laughing (except when there was fighting and sorry for that time I pinned you up against the wall and threatened to kick your ass, I was really mad, love you) music, dancing, and signing. If it wasn’t The Cranberries it was Del Amitri, or The Extinct, or Deep Blue Something, or Alanis Morrisette. The Wallflowers. Collective Soul. Dishwalla. Counting Crows. Oasis. Beck. Or any of the 80’s hair bands we could never get enough of. (Extreme! Lillian Axe!!) Or Kenny Loggins… (!!!) And of course all of our Arizona loves, making such beautiful sounds, up close and personal. Always. Music.
More recent but equally deep memories now asking for their turn are the “private karaoke” nights, with a few friends and my daughters. Whether at the band practice space or once we moved to Arizona, and the P.A. had it’s own room in my house, Lauren or Ari, or both, would sing a perennial favorite, “Zombie” and make their mommy proud. With this memory just now comes the realization that my girls are older than I was when I attended that Cranberries show, (which was just yesterday FFS!!!) and it doesn’t seem possible. That too is part of the magic time machine that is music I suppose. Its ability to reach across the ages and across ages.
I suppose it stands to reason, or lack of reason, or whatever, that at almost the same time I was learning of her, Dolores’ passing, one of the crazy talented makers of music from Arizona in the mid-90’s, was creating a Facebook post in which I was tagged, with photos of cassettes (what’s that kids, you don’t know what a cassette is??? Go smack your parents for failing in your music education! lol) of many of the local bands that were part of the inner sanctum of the harder side of the music scene back then. (And now I hear The Police “With one breath, with one flow, you will know, Synchronicity…” and I go back to the 80’s and my 3rd concert ever, which was The Police, because, music = time machine.)
A final thought, as yesterday I had a bit of a think inspired by a podcast about death, but really more about living, and this, another reminder today; … life is really fucking short. Try to remember to ‘see life as fun, and take it if you can’ (bastardization of “Ode To My Family” lyric), and let there always be music, and laughing, and dancing. And love. And if you don’t have those things where you are, or not enough of them, or not the way you like them, get the fuck out of there, and come find me, and we’ll have those things together! (Don’t worry, I no longer pin people to the wall and threaten to kick their ass. Promise.)
*When You’re Gone – The Cranberries
(2:45 AM. Tired. Not gonna proof this before launching it. Ignore errors. Or laugh at them, and message me about the laughing about the errors. I probably meant this to be more poetic than it is, but I’m not really sure what it says anymore because, 2:45 AM, so, Whatevs.)
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