'That one song'... no, I'm not referring to your favorite song from a band or artist, but the one that your relationship with the music wouldn't be the same without. It can be the song through which you discovered them, the song through which you discovered something about the nature of music, or the song through which you discovered something about yourself. They are the songs that echo within us through time, because the beat of each one locks in rhythm with our hearts.
Those songs may or may not coincide with our favorites those artists have to offer, but the connection is a different one. Our favorite songs are the ones we not only love to listen to, but need to listen to, because it feels like part of us would be missing otherwise. 'That one song' is the one whose discovery is the only reason we know about that missing piece at all.
Today, I'm looking at some of my favorite bands and artists to remind myself which is 'that one song' for me. Often, it's easy to get lost in the swirling tempest of thoughts, and the details are buried under the sands of time. Music is too important to let the sediment build up and hide the truth until I am the subject of an archaeological dig.
Meat Loaf
'That one song' is "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)". My relationship with Meat Loaf (with Jim Steinman perhaps more so, to be honest) is the most important musical relationship in my life, which has only become more important with age and 'wisdom'. Over the last few years, as existential crises have become more of a regular part of life, Meat Loaf is who I turn to when I need something to pull me out of my spiral. It might sound odd to say Meat Loaf is essential to my mental health, but in a way that's the truth. None of that would be possible without this song in particular, because it is the one that started it all. Without this song, the voice in my head would never have had heard Jim Steinman's to know someone else out there likely understood the thoughts that plague me. The lyric to this song in particular has evolved with me in ways that have proven almost prophetic.
My favorite song, though, is "I'd Lie For You (And That's The Truth)", the Dianne Warren penned sound-alike that started the next album cycle. Since I first heard it thirty years ago, I have been swept up in the melodrama of the composition, studio legend Tim Pierce's subtly searing guitar solo, and the concept of the truth being both the best and worst thing we can tell someone. Often, I have felt as if lying is the only way to take the next step forward, as even pulling the moon from the stars and giving it as a gift wouldn't be enough. Now... where could I have ever gotten that idea?
Tonic
'That one song' is "If You Could Only See", which is a song that defined twenty-five years of my life. For all that time, Tonic was my favorite band, this was my favorite song, and I thought I knew myself. This was the song I was taping off the radio again and again to get every last second in the space on my compilation cassette, this was the song that gave me the push to ask for a guitar so I could start to absorb music on a different level, this was the song that sparked everything that exists in the thick stack of lyrics and chord progressions that sits under my desk. Perhaps I would have been better off not traveling down a road I didn't realize was a dead end, but I did take that journey, and it was all because of this song.
My favorite song, though, is "You Wanted More". I wrote my own song at one point that asked a direct question; "What do you know about me, other than I'd sell my soul/To know you looked at me without wanting something more?" I don't know if I realized at the time I was writing an echo of what Tonic had already put in my mind. The need to feel as if I am 'enough' is one that is persistent, and seldom satiated. It's no wonder I gravitate toward songs that don't make me feel worse about those shortcomings.
Dilana
'That one song' is "Falling Apart". We create in our minds a narrative about who the musicians we listen to are, and how their lives and ours intertwine, and occasionally the nodes of connection tie themselves into a permanent know. That is what this song did from the very first time I heard it, as I not only heard a voice unlike any other, but I heard a song that echoed in my own thoughts. My illusions were replaced over time with knowledge of the soul that bled through the speakers, which only crystalized everything I thought I know in those first few moments. More than just music, this song was the sound of finding a kindred spirit, that rare moment when you discover one of 'your people'.
"Falling Apart" remains my favorite song. That connection has only deepened over the years, with the two of us breaking at the same time, the pieces almost interchangeable as we build ourselves up enough to face the next sunrise. She sang, "I'm so bloody fucked up", and I knew exactly what she meant, I still know exactly what she means, despite my not actually knowing anything about anything. She, and this song, make me feel like maybe I do.
The Wallflowers
'That one song' is "I've been Delivered". It's hard to remember a time before words dominated my thoughts. I've been speaking in metaphor for so long, and priding myself in twisting turns of phrase, that the junction leading me down that path is a moment in life that deserves a commemorative plaque. That would belong to this song, which is the one responsible (or culpable, depending on your view) for unlocking the poet inside me. It was hearing the line, "I can't fix something this complex, any more than I can build a rose", that sparked my imagination in ways I had never contemplated. I may not have mastered the complexity, or fixed anything with my words, but what would I be without them?
My favorite song, though, is "Letters From The Wasteland", for being a song that marries Jakob's obscure poetry with a muscular form of classic rock that felt to me like everything the 70s was supposed to be, but never was. The line that ends the chorus, "may take two to tango, but boy, it's takes one to let go" has proven itself to be true time and again. The song is a reminder that you cannot hold onto people who want to walk away.
Jimmy Eat World
'That one song' is "23", the closing number from "Futures". That is an album of longing and painful memories, which explains why I love it as much as I do, yet it ends on an optimistic tone. The final lyric says "don't give away the end, the one thing that's still mine". I have often worked in monochrome so that any sliver of light will look like a silver lining, and the writer in me appreciates the hope of being in control of the future. I have questioned fate many times, coming to the conclusion hat free will doesn't make any difference to the way events feel, and the fact that this song can give me any sense of better days waiting on the horizon is the sort of thing that seldom slips through my cracks.
My favorite song, though, is "Dizzy", which might be the perfect example of the band's brand of hopeful melancholy. There is sadness to the tone and chord choices, but the swell of the chorus fills me with something resembling hope. And then there's the line, "if you always knew the truth/then the world will spin around you/are you dizzy?" That is one of those lyrics that sounds simple, but speaks to deeper meanings. It asks if being the center of the universe is everything it's cracked up to be, since the swirl around us might drive us mad more than pump up our egos. Having never been there, I love that thought.
Blues Traveler/John Popper
'That one song' is "Miserable Bastard", from John Popper's solo album. I could say that "Hook" was a precognition on my part about the cynicism that would later define my personality, but I'm not going to do that. It's hard to draw distinction between most of the songs on "Four", because I listened to that album hundreds of times when it was one of barely a handful of CDs I had. It's this song from John Popper's solo album that I continue coming back to, because it was around that time when people started noticing the fact and calling me bitter about life. I was the proverbial miserable bastard, and the line "I need to feel rejection to feel anything at all" resonated more than the Peter Pan references. While I would later see more of myself in the Cyrano talk of "Sweet Pain", this song was a rallying cry for a long time.
My favorite song, though, is indeed "Hook". Even if the cynicism of the song is not as intended as I have always thought, being able to read it that way brings a wry smile to my face. Truthfully, the reason it is my favorite Blues Traveler song has less to do with Popper's lyrics and melody, and everything to do with that harmonica solo being perhaps my favorite solo ever. Trying to whistle along as he blares the highest notes is one of the true joys of music.
Halestorm
'That one song' is "Innocence". The moment that crystalized for me that Lzzy Hale's voice is one of the rare things in life that traces the electrical pathways inside me in a way that calms those nerves was hearing her scream as the last chorus of this song entered my ears. While I am often confused by emotions and experiences, the passion of those few seconds were obvious even to me. From that instant, Lzzy's voice felt like a piece of the patchwork making me us, whether she was being playful and mischievous, or baring her darkness. She became a woman for all seasons, to borrow a phrase, and one of the few treasured voices of this life. I could say something about Lzzy singing, "I just want to take your innocence" but that's a conversation I don't want to have.
My favorite song, though, is "Killing Ourselves To Live". The grind of the riff is irrationally sexy, as is Lzzy's gritty performance. There is a rumble in her voice that is hard to explain, but could be metaphorically explained as the boiling tempest of a burning soul. Halestorm has never been more anthemic than they are on this song, and I find in the lyric a message that being together, no matter how short the time may be, will always be better than having more time if we have to spend it on our own. Songs that move us fill that hole, at least to some degree, while we wait for fortune to smile upon us.
The Smiths/Morrissey
'That one song' is "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out". I've said more than once that I hate myself for enjoying Morrissey, both for who Morrissey is, and what the music says about me. Morrissey's is the voice of self-loathing, and this song is a reminder of one of the moments in life that most makes me wish precision lobotomy could remove individual memories without causing larger damage. I was introduced to Morrissey by someone who wound up making me question whether entire episodes of life could be created solely within my own mind, and Morrissey's melodrama felt like a way to be able to laugh at the things about myself I hated. I'm still laughing, and I still hate them. What this song told me is that maybe my imagination is all I need... of course it's broken now, so that's gone to shit. How appropriate.
My favorite song is indeed this one. While I love the sad melody of "Friday Mourning" just as much, there are few Morrissey lyrics that stay with me. This would be one of them, and it's because I understand the sentiment of death feeling like a better option than rejection. To have only a moment of happiness, but to have it be the final moment, is preferable to spending a lifetime wishing for something you once had, or maybe never had. It also reminds me of a song called "I Want To Be Buried In Your Backyard" by Nightmare Of You, which I think was a version of Morrissey more attuned to my senses, even if it was only for one album.
VK Lynne
'That one song' is "Butterflies In A Beehive". Art is a vital and necessary part of life, which can be hard for artists to remember, in a bit of irony. Often, as we worry that the work we pour our hearts and souls into are being utterly ignored, we lose our faith in art as anything but a form of therapy. It's only when someone outside the creative bubble reminds us that everyone else relies on the artists to bring color and joy into the world that we can feel our sense of purpose rejuvenated, and we are reminded that even if we only bring that joy to ourselves, that is more than existed before we created something out of nothing. It is a lesson I have needed to learn more than once, and one I need to be reminded of again at this very moment. Art is feeling distant and faded in my mind, and it's a fascinating question whether the feeling of nothingness is better than the knowledge of it.
My favorite song, though, is "Crawl". I am a sucker for power ballads to begin with, so the dramatic swell of the song as VK begins to belt out the chorus is practically irresistible. So to is the message of stepping out of one's skin to become a new, and hopefully better, version of oneself. That kind of metamorphosis is a tempting thought, one I wish I believed in. I'm more prone to thinking that shedding my skin would reveal a rusted shell where my soul was supposed to have been installed. Still, I like hearing the hope that someday the wires that make me the mess I am will short out in a way allowing me to feel normal for once. It's certainly no fun to be stuck inside yourself.