I truly think that's what art is about, whether we make it obvious or not. It's all biography for me. Hopefully, it inspires others to share more of themselves. Thank you for reading, Harvey!
This is heartbreakingly beautiful. I’m sorry you lost your mom and dad. Knowing you can still find a part of them in songs brings me a bit of comfort. Your elegant inquiry into the nature of time, the ghosts of our pasts, presents and future, and the lifelong grieving process, brings tears to my eyes because of the accuracy and vulnerability of your storytelling.
The line “But I do believe humanity is more interconnected than we take the time to recognize. Past, present, and future play like songs on a seemingly random mix tape we often cannot appreciate until it’s too late. Then, the tape snaps inside the cassette, with the abruptness of death, and friends and loved ones and even a great album can glue the loose, twisted pieces of broken tape back together”—yes! This essay says everything. although I’m not religious, I feel this same thing when it comes to grief, loss, and seeking the sublime by taping the broken pieces of life back together again. As human beings we are all interconnected; through interconnection we are able to compose a mixed cassette of random radio signals that tune into the loved ones we’ve lost, while being the guided by memories, music, and the gentle hands of our friends. Thank you for sharing these painful memories and opening up about death, a topic we tend to avoid at all costs until sometimes it’s too late. I love this openness, how you look into the darkness of grief and yet still find a way home.
Thank you for this lovely note, Jessica. This remains one of my favorite things I've ever written. I'm really glad to hear anything about it resonated with you.
I was in no way prepared for the intense emotional reaction I had while reading this. The Cary Brothers version of Take Me Home, Country Roads video completely wrecked me. 😭 I felt like I was watching our family’s home videos from the 60s. I was with my mother when she died. Although it was peaceful, even beautiful, I felt lost, my father having died 5 years before. I have always loved John Denver, through marriage, divorce, re-marriage, kids, life, death, and everything in between. He was the soundtrack of my family’s trips out to Colorado every other year (with 4 kids in the car, my husband and I needed something to keep sane). I remember where I was when I got the news of his death and I cried. 💔 Thank you for this beautiful piece of your life. Peace.
I'm so glad to hear this piece resonated so powerfully with you, Sally. It's the most I can hope for as a writer. Thank you so much for reading and this lovely note.
This is achingly beautiful and obviously deeply personal, so let’s make this about me. I know you want this to be a vibrant community and I want so much to contribute meaningfully to the conversation, but then I read a piece like this and think, “What can I possibly add?”
I came to my writing career through stand up comedy, and my first instinct is always “Yes and…”. If you don’t have anything funny to say, if you’re not trying to top the last joke, why say anything at all?
It’s been a long time since my stand up days, and I now realise that adding a topper to somebody’s joke isn’t the same thing as adding to the conversation, but especially online I still struggle with the notion that I should be actively contributing — if I haven’t got a “Yes and,” then I should sit back until I have something positive to add. I try to fight that, because sometimes it’s enough to just say “Yes.”
Which is a very, very long way of saying: “Yes.” And… “thank you.”
Thank you for such a lovely note, truly. Sometimes it really is just enough to say you appreciated something. I think social media has conditioned us to believe art requires more than that, or anything else we deem appropriate enough to share. But in the flesh-and-blood world, you rarely stand before a painting and say more than, "Well, that's impressive. I like it." Don't get me wrong, more thoughtful answers are appreciated, too. We all like to know when anything we create impacts another person. But sometimes a "That'll do, pig" is enough to make a writer smile! Well, unless they have body image issues. Heh.
As we both have shared, the more personal, the better the reception. Maybe not at first, but over time. Sometimes people aren't ready for what you have to say. But you still have to say it because it's, well hells bells, what you have to say. That's as good a reason as any in my book. Cheers Mike
I just loved this so much. I think our emotional connection to music and the added impact of our memories and relationships is an incredible thing. You express this very well. I had also never come across that cover of Take Me Home Country Roads before. I like it a lot, and the video. Thank you.
As always, thank you for reading and taking the time to comment. This is one of the most personal things I've ever written. Music has made such a difference in my life.
Beautiful piece of writing! So many touch points to my own life and losses and wonders and connections lost & found. Made me smile & cry. Sunshine On My Shoulders was a favourite of my late mother. Thank you for sharing
For some reason, Take Me Home, Country Roads always brings to mind the few summers I spent with my grandfather fishing in the countryside of his small village in Hungary that I later grew to hate as I became older. But those summers were as pure and magical as it gets. And I know I can only relive them in my memories.
Thanks, Akos. And isn't it remarkable that a singer-songwriter from America, who sang such geographically specific songs about his life there, could help your recapture any of your childhood memories with your grandfather?
Cary Brothers is masterful when he covers any song. He truly makes it his own. And John Denver is a national treasure. He died far too young. I’ll always believe that great music can get us through any hardship, grief, or loneliness, as well as joy. It’s powerful when we recognize that
Given the near, nay, actual, spiritual state Country Roads assumes in your life, Cole, I’m wary of recommending Jason and the Scorchers terrific cover, which you may already be familiar with. But if you’re not, then it’s worth a whirl.
You can tell your friend I absolutely loved her film, and as a first feature, it is very impressive. And it made a star of Jessie Buckley, too.
As for the subject of time, distance and contact with our past and the here and now, your piece hit so many bull’s eyes for me. Sometimes I can’t believe the life I lived, though I obviously did, and wonder if we live two lifes: the real and the one we wish we’d lived. Or, better still, a third: the two combined, resulting in something else altogether…who knows, hey?
How things are and how they should be is one of life’s greatest challenges, is it not?
Lovely thoughtful piece, Cole. Thank you!
PS Met Johnny Mathis very briefly once, and though I was never what you’d call a fan, though I always acknowledged his fabulous voice, I can happily report he was a lovely bloke. Truly and sincerely humble, and very generous with his time. A really nice man.
I think my mother would’ve wept if I had met Johnny Mathis. I’ll check out the Jason and the Scorchers cover. I love covers. I’ve never heard a song so good it exist in multiple forms given how wild the adaptations are. I even have crazy opinions about these, like how Brandi Carlile’s “Hallelujah” is actually better than Leonard Cohen’s.
I can’t believe how much your story resonated with me. I’m so sorry you lost your mother and not having the time to reconnect. I can assure you that she is so proud of the father you have become. I know your children miss not knowing their grandmother, for that’s why she was grand! It's incredible how you could work as a music journalist without actual knowledge or credentials, but you made it look like you were born to be this journalist, and your mother will always be a part of that part of your life. Now, you're a successful screenwriter with much more to offer to your family and the world. You'll always have a piece of that Rocky Mountain High on your record player, which will never leave you. Thank you for sharing your beautiful story with us. ❤️
I don't understand how any culture produced an adult so clearly incapable of ordering her own Happy Meal at McDonald's, but then also elevated her to a great position of power without any sense of irony.
i can imagine the moment when you saw the photo of your mamma with those records. ive got my mother's vinyl which include at least one of those John Denver albums, but im blessed to still have my mamma with me.
Thank you, this was so beautiful to read. So many memories of my childhood are tied up with the mix tapes my Dad played in the car - the soundtrack of my childhood on a handful of cassette tapes that have long been lost. I remember a lot of the songs, but I wish I still had the original tapes, an insight into my Dad's mind and soul. And also this thought: Iove the access to so uch fantastic music we have nowadays, but sometimes I really miss the tactile nature of music appreciation, the heavy press and clack of a cassette player buttons, the care needed with the arm and the needle on a vinyl player.
I miss the tactile nature of music appreciation, too, as you put it. I started collecting vinyl more than a decade ago for this reason. It brings me endless joy. Thank you for reading and for the lovely note.
Wow. Another fantastic, poignant time-travelling piece. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself on here.
I truly think that's what art is about, whether we make it obvious or not. It's all biography for me. Hopefully, it inspires others to share more of themselves. Thank you for reading, Harvey!
Yes the best art certainly comes from something true inside. Your writing's inspiring me!
Mission accomplished, then!
This is heartbreakingly beautiful. I’m sorry you lost your mom and dad. Knowing you can still find a part of them in songs brings me a bit of comfort. Your elegant inquiry into the nature of time, the ghosts of our pasts, presents and future, and the lifelong grieving process, brings tears to my eyes because of the accuracy and vulnerability of your storytelling.
The line “But I do believe humanity is more interconnected than we take the time to recognize. Past, present, and future play like songs on a seemingly random mix tape we often cannot appreciate until it’s too late. Then, the tape snaps inside the cassette, with the abruptness of death, and friends and loved ones and even a great album can glue the loose, twisted pieces of broken tape back together”—yes! This essay says everything. although I’m not religious, I feel this same thing when it comes to grief, loss, and seeking the sublime by taping the broken pieces of life back together again. As human beings we are all interconnected; through interconnection we are able to compose a mixed cassette of random radio signals that tune into the loved ones we’ve lost, while being the guided by memories, music, and the gentle hands of our friends. Thank you for sharing these painful memories and opening up about death, a topic we tend to avoid at all costs until sometimes it’s too late. I love this openness, how you look into the darkness of grief and yet still find a way home.
Thank you for this lovely note, Jessica. This remains one of my favorite things I've ever written. I'm really glad to hear anything about it resonated with you.
I was in no way prepared for the intense emotional reaction I had while reading this. The Cary Brothers version of Take Me Home, Country Roads video completely wrecked me. 😭 I felt like I was watching our family’s home videos from the 60s. I was with my mother when she died. Although it was peaceful, even beautiful, I felt lost, my father having died 5 years before. I have always loved John Denver, through marriage, divorce, re-marriage, kids, life, death, and everything in between. He was the soundtrack of my family’s trips out to Colorado every other year (with 4 kids in the car, my husband and I needed something to keep sane). I remember where I was when I got the news of his death and I cried. 💔 Thank you for this beautiful piece of your life. Peace.
I'm so glad to hear this piece resonated so powerfully with you, Sally. It's the most I can hope for as a writer. Thank you so much for reading and this lovely note.
This is achingly beautiful and obviously deeply personal, so let’s make this about me. I know you want this to be a vibrant community and I want so much to contribute meaningfully to the conversation, but then I read a piece like this and think, “What can I possibly add?”
I came to my writing career through stand up comedy, and my first instinct is always “Yes and…”. If you don’t have anything funny to say, if you’re not trying to top the last joke, why say anything at all?
It’s been a long time since my stand up days, and I now realise that adding a topper to somebody’s joke isn’t the same thing as adding to the conversation, but especially online I still struggle with the notion that I should be actively contributing — if I haven’t got a “Yes and,” then I should sit back until I have something positive to add. I try to fight that, because sometimes it’s enough to just say “Yes.”
Which is a very, very long way of saying: “Yes.” And… “thank you.”
Thank you for such a lovely note, truly. Sometimes it really is just enough to say you appreciated something. I think social media has conditioned us to believe art requires more than that, or anything else we deem appropriate enough to share. But in the flesh-and-blood world, you rarely stand before a painting and say more than, "Well, that's impressive. I like it." Don't get me wrong, more thoughtful answers are appreciated, too. We all like to know when anything we create impacts another person. But sometimes a "That'll do, pig" is enough to make a writer smile! Well, unless they have body image issues. Heh.
Thank for this, Cole.
I'm glad to hear it resonated with you at all. Jim. Thanks for reading.
AMAZING story, Cole. Wow. I'm floored.
Thanks, Michael, I really appreciate that. This is definitely one of the most personal essays I've written.
As we both have shared, the more personal, the better the reception. Maybe not at first, but over time. Sometimes people aren't ready for what you have to say. But you still have to say it because it's, well hells bells, what you have to say. That's as good a reason as any in my book. Cheers Mike
I just loved this so much. I think our emotional connection to music and the added impact of our memories and relationships is an incredible thing. You express this very well. I had also never come across that cover of Take Me Home Country Roads before. I like it a lot, and the video. Thank you.
As always, thank you for reading and taking the time to comment. This is one of the most personal things I've ever written. Music has made such a difference in my life.
Beautiful piece of writing! So many touch points to my own life and losses and wonders and connections lost & found. Made me smile & cry. Sunshine On My Shoulders was a favourite of my late mother. Thank you for sharing
Thank you for the lovely note, Paul, and thank you for reading. I'm glad to hear it spoke to you in any way.
For some reason, Take Me Home, Country Roads always brings to mind the few summers I spent with my grandfather fishing in the countryside of his small village in Hungary that I later grew to hate as I became older. But those summers were as pure and magical as it gets. And I know I can only relive them in my memories.
Great piece, Cole.
Thanks, Akos. And isn't it remarkable that a singer-songwriter from America, who sang such geographically specific songs about his life there, could help your recapture any of your childhood memories with your grandfather?
It absolutely is.
This a true honor to read, Cole. Thank you
That's a lovely thing to read about your own writing. Thank you, Jim.
Cary Brothers is masterful when he covers any song. He truly makes it his own. And John Denver is a national treasure. He died far too young. I’ll always believe that great music can get us through any hardship, grief, or loneliness, as well as joy. It’s powerful when we recognize that
I'm glad to meet a Brothers fan, Shayne. He's a dear friend; I love him very much.
Given the near, nay, actual, spiritual state Country Roads assumes in your life, Cole, I’m wary of recommending Jason and the Scorchers terrific cover, which you may already be familiar with. But if you’re not, then it’s worth a whirl.
You can tell your friend I absolutely loved her film, and as a first feature, it is very impressive. And it made a star of Jessie Buckley, too.
As for the subject of time, distance and contact with our past and the here and now, your piece hit so many bull’s eyes for me. Sometimes I can’t believe the life I lived, though I obviously did, and wonder if we live two lifes: the real and the one we wish we’d lived. Or, better still, a third: the two combined, resulting in something else altogether…who knows, hey?
How things are and how they should be is one of life’s greatest challenges, is it not?
Lovely thoughtful piece, Cole. Thank you!
PS Met Johnny Mathis very briefly once, and though I was never what you’d call a fan, though I always acknowledged his fabulous voice, I can happily report he was a lovely bloke. Truly and sincerely humble, and very generous with his time. A really nice man.
I think my mother would’ve wept if I had met Johnny Mathis. I’ll check out the Jason and the Scorchers cover. I love covers. I’ve never heard a song so good it exist in multiple forms given how wild the adaptations are. I even have crazy opinions about these, like how Brandi Carlile’s “Hallelujah” is actually better than Leonard Cohen’s.
I can’t believe how much your story resonated with me. I’m so sorry you lost your mother and not having the time to reconnect. I can assure you that she is so proud of the father you have become. I know your children miss not knowing their grandmother, for that’s why she was grand! It's incredible how you could work as a music journalist without actual knowledge or credentials, but you made it look like you were born to be this journalist, and your mother will always be a part of that part of your life. Now, you're a successful screenwriter with much more to offer to your family and the world. You'll always have a piece of that Rocky Mountain High on your record player, which will never leave you. Thank you for sharing your beautiful story with us. ❤️
Thank you for writing all of this, Yolanda. It was a lovely note to read on NYE and meant a great deal to me, truly.
How did the culture of Colorado produce both John Denver and Lauren Boebert??? The two couldn’t be more orthogonal.
I don't understand how any culture produced an adult so clearly incapable of ordering her own Happy Meal at McDonald's, but then also elevated her to a great position of power without any sense of irony.
loved this. bizarely i still know all the words to grandmas feather bed. not the most poetic but certainly joyful
I'm glad to hear anything about it resonated with you, Nick. Thank you for reading.
i can imagine the moment when you saw the photo of your mamma with those records. ive got my mother's vinyl which include at least one of those John Denver albums, but im blessed to still have my mamma with me.
Thank you, this was so beautiful to read. So many memories of my childhood are tied up with the mix tapes my Dad played in the car - the soundtrack of my childhood on a handful of cassette tapes that have long been lost. I remember a lot of the songs, but I wish I still had the original tapes, an insight into my Dad's mind and soul. And also this thought: Iove the access to so uch fantastic music we have nowadays, but sometimes I really miss the tactile nature of music appreciation, the heavy press and clack of a cassette player buttons, the care needed with the arm and the needle on a vinyl player.
I miss the tactile nature of music appreciation, too, as you put it. I started collecting vinyl more than a decade ago for this reason. It brings me endless joy. Thank you for reading and for the lovely note.