If 2020 has been nothing else at all, what it has been is a year of mourning, mourning deaths to Covid-19 and others, mourning parents lost in senior citizen communities, who can’t see us and whom we can’t see, loss of concerts, and parties, loss of weddings and loss of even funerals. We mourn so much. 2019 was a different time and some of it will never return and some of it shall.
I lost my brother Fayez Lababedi at the age of 71 and, naturally, there has been an immense rush of emotion, as I attempt to help his daughters and sisters, and myself, mourn the loss.
But that isn’t what I want to write about.
I want to write about finding music that doesn’t, necessarily, reflect my mourning, but that when I listen to it I can put my mind where I need it to go to mourn my brother. Having said that, three of the four albums I’ve been listening to are exactly about mourning the dead. The fourth one isn’t, though it has a great deal of loss in it and also it is what I mourned my father to in 1973.
Not all mourning is equal but all mourning cuts to the heart of relationships. Losing a child is not the same as losing an adult, yet the close connection between people means that the personal loss is always bigger than even age disconnects. Yet, one thing I’ve noted about the loss of someone you love is how their life changes instantly. If they were old and ill before they died, they are no longer old and ill when they have died. Life is a circle, and also a straight line, and when somebody dies their lives become a straight line for you, where you can stop at any part on the line and look at it but also at any stop you chose to see: for me my brother is both the seventeen year old coming home from boarding school .with an electric fender in his arms and the big brother giving away money to the poor at Sabra Refugee camp. Anywhere I want to stop, I can stop. You can see the passed one again in its full power and youth, and not need to look at the mountains and troughs.
Faced with the loss of Fayez, I didn’t go his music (a Kenny Rogers, Eagles and Dolly Parton fan), but to Carole King’s Tapestry… her classic make up break up baby, where so many songs seem filled with a timeless loss, from “So Far Away” to “It’s Too Late” to “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” there is a fragility to her emotions that echo how we feel when we lose someone, and, as I mentioned earlier I listened to it on repeat after my father’s death, it leads forward as well: the world moves and so does she.
I went from there to John Adams’ devastating eulogy for the victims of 9-11, On The Transmigration Of Souls, a composition for orchestra, chorus, children’s choir, and pre-recorded tape commissioned by the New York Philharmonic and Lincoln Center’s Great Performers (and an anonymous but prominent New York family) shortly after September 11. Adams has called it a memory space and listening to it as it reaches to the heaven and calls down the names of the victims, the voices sound as though they are in prayer and the atmosphere is, in fact, a remembrance of those passed. It is a place you might put your mind when you want to be abstract and realist at the same time.
Ghosteen isn’t that, it is Nick Cave’ And The Bad Seeds’ album of the deepest loss imaginable, Nick’s fifteen year old son accidentally tumbling to his death. “Once there was a song that was yearning to be sung,” is the opening line as Nick turns unspeakable horror into linear compositions of extreme aloneness and yearning, you have never heard “I love You” sung with so much tenderness. The album is so sad that it is difficult to listen to, especially if you are feeling a similar sense of loss. What you get, if you are in pain, that as lonely as pain is, you are not alone.
Finally, I thought I was a fan of Sufjan Stevens but I’m not. I am a fan of Carrie And Lowell, his 2015 release named for his step-father and also his late mother, “I was recording songs as a means of grieving, making sense of it. But the writing and recording wasn’t the salve I expected. I fell deeper and deeper into doubt and misery. It was a year of real darkness. In the past my work had a real reciprocity of resources—I would put something in and get something from it. But not this time.” It is between Tapestry‘s melodiousness, and Ghosteen‘s lateral compositions: it is a form of wall of disquieted and morose sounds that are clearly songs.
Between them I could sift through thoughts of my brother, and the loss of living.
Creem – America’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll Magazine, Reviewed Issue By Issue – May 1986 (Volume 17, Number 9)
They’ve got me a bit wrong. I’m not completely chaste
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Gospel was in her blood
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an armed and loaded female power track…
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Morgan will be pulling off singles for at least the next year
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A cold and nonchalant delivery for a song that rocks hard
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essence of a certain American masculinity
Creem – America’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll Magazine, Reviewed Issue By Issue – February 1986 (Volume 17, Number 6)
the perceived threat to authority is more class-based than generational
Beautiful words from a beautiful person . I knew Fayze and I know Iman both kind and caring human beings, whom I’ll always love and know . Xx
Beautifully written. I love what you write about the continuum where we can stop and pause and reflect at any given moment of a person’s life. So true. Loss of a loved one is so difficult and yet part of what we all must go through. I lost my daughter three years ago to suicide. A day at a time. It took awhile to mourn her with music. Slowly we return and rejoin and hopefully, at times, rejoice in the gift of life.
I truly can’t imagine anything more difficult than your loss, Marla – IL
That was beautifully written. That must’ve felt good to write and explain how you feel and how you cope with your loss. Music really does heals everything for many people, it soothes the savage beast. I know when I lost my sister in April, I would walk every day, 3,4 times a day just listening to music. It was the only way I could cope with all the responses and the hurt and clear my head to think and dream. Iman, I hope you mourn in a peaceful way and stay strong. Love and miss you.
I love you too, Anne, thank you