The company I work for gave us a gift last night. An intimate, private concert featuring Pat Monahan, Luis Maldonado and Jerry Becker, aka Train. It was lovely. The vocals were in turn jubilant, raw, honest and even a little shaky at times. The instrumentals, somewhat improvised but amazing when you consider the difference between the living room settings vs. sold-out arenas they are accustomed to. The space between songs was awkward - made even more so by a couple of goofy stories and a really bad dad-joke. But gratitude for the respect and opportunity offered to these musicians was evident. And they sang and played with great heart and big smiles. You don't think of rock stars as being victims of the pandemic but they're missing out on life as they know it, just like us. And so, we came together and shared in few moments of house-to-house musical therapy.
Being familiar with many of the songs they've recorded over the years, I sang a little backup from my recliner. I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty good. Calling All Angels.. Hey, Soul Sister...Meet Virginia... Save Me San Francisco... Marry Me... and, of course, they ended with Drops of Jupiter. Perhaps the most well known - to me at least. What I didn't know was the story behind the song. In a straightforward manner, all traces of awkwardness gone, Pat Monahan recounted the time in his life from which it sprang. His mother had recently passed away after a long battle with cancer and he wrote the song about her, about what he imagined she might be doing, what he was feeling. I found this from an interview years later: "Loss of the most important person in my life was heavy on my mind, and the thought of 'what if no one ever really leaves? What if she's here but different. The idea was, she's back here in the atmosphere."
Now, as I consider myself an amateur theologian, I know this may not be sound doctrine. News flash... most of the time I get my gospel from the Scriptures and trusted scholars, not pop music. Radical concept, I know. Nevertheless, there I was listening to a song of mourning-and-hope from a son to his mother, and I was soul-struck. I began to cry. Ugly cry. And to consider those absent ones now relegated to my own "atmosphere." My Mama, gone now 20 years plus a few days. My Daddy, just a few years behind her. And my big brother, who decided he could no longer tolerate living in this world eight years ago. Eight years exactly. Today. The serendipity was not lost as I sat and wept and hummed along... did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day... was it everything you wanted to find.... did you miss me (us)? I don't really have many questions about Mama's death. Or Daddy's. But his still has me scratching my head. And most days the answers make about as much sense as drops of Jupiter. What is that anyway? But there in the quiet of my chair, I found a little comfort in the words of a fellow grappler. And a little hope, too. Because, unlike the lyricist, I don't think we will find that heaven is overrated. In fact, I believe that's where the lonely ones ultimately find peace. And rest. So today, I remember him at his best and offer thanks for all joy he brought to my little universe.
The leaders of our company had no way of knowing how timely last night's concert was for me -and for others. One colleague joined from her husband's hospital room and the doctors and nurses working with them were encouraged and uplifted. On the surface it was simply three guys in their homes, glad to perform for a group of people they couldn't even see. But it really was a gift. A holy space to reflect and remember and, yes, to mourn... A virtual handkerchief to catch these drops-of-Jupiter-sorrows. Thank you, Citi. Selah.
"Drops Of Jupiter"
Now that she's back in the atmosphere With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey, hey, hey She acts like summer and walks like rain Reminds me that there's a time to change, hey, hey, hey Since the return from her stay on the moon She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey, hey Hey, hey, hey But tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded And that heaven is overrated? Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star– One without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there? Now that she's back from that soul vacation Tracing her way through the constellation, hey, hey, hey (mmm) She checks out Mozart while she does tae-bo Reminds me that there's room to grow, hey, hey, hey (yeah) Now that she's back in the atmosphere I'm afraid that she might think of me as plain ol' Jane Told a story about a man who was too afraid to fly so he never did land But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day And head back to the Milky Way? And tell me, did Venus blow your mind? Was it everything you wanted to find? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there? Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you even when I know you're wrong Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance, five-hour phone conversation? The best soy latte that you ever had and me But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet? Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day And head back toward the Milky Way? And tell me, did you sail across the sun? Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded And that heaven is overrated? And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star One without a permanent scar? And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself? Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na And did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day? Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na And did you fall for a shooting star, fall for a shooting star? Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na And now you're lonely looking for yourself out there
by Pat Monahan, Charlie Colin, Robert S. Hotchkiss, James W. Stafford, M. Underwood
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