loveSONG

When David and I took up housekeeping, he wasn't doing a lot of songwriting. Instead of playing Thursday night gigs at Gregory's, he was cooking there every night. Though living paycheck to paycheck, we did get a CD player when they first came out and slowly, methodically, began to transfer our cassette collection to CDs. We listened to a lot of Sting and JT -- I introduced him to some edgier stuff like Van Halen and more obscure stuff like Rush. He was still listening to Peter, Paul & Mary -- and liked Supertramp (yuck), Alan Parsons, Jackson Browne and Santana. We blended our musical tastes and it worked! (except for the Supertramp) We both liked Bach and some other Baroque & Classical composers ... Through the years he always brought home new singer-songwriters' recordings for us to explore: David Wilcox, Shawn Colvin, Pierce Pettit -- and I brought Seal and Baby Face (don't knock it 'til you try it). New music was always moving through our home, mostly at high decibel levels. Our babies could sleep through anything.

Even after David returned to his songwriting as a full-time vocation, he always investigated new music. He enjoyed participating in songwriter showcases -- where performing songwriters would share the stage and do a round-robin kind of thing -- each playing one song at a time. He enjoyed playing "Name that Tune" (or band) in the car, exposing the kids to classic rock, folk rock, singer-songwriter and contemporary alternative music. Somewhere along the line, he stopped exploring. He became impatient and intolerant -- critical. It was strange, what was happening to his brain.

Recently I've been playing SongPop on Facebook. I lose miserably to my baby sister -- and to my cousin (young thang). I don't know ANY rap, Today's Hits (unless it's some Indie artist ;-) or Country Music. And how did Guns 'n Roses end up in "90's Alternative?!" I'm even failing miserably in the Love Songs category -- but I do very well in the 80's Collection, Classic Rock and Classic Folk Rock. My reaction times still aren't as fast as those girlies and it's maddening! But the fact that I don't know many of Today's Hits has me a little troubled. I used to always have the radio on and was able to keep up with new stuff. Could it be that today's music just isn't what "yesterday's" music was? To some extent, yes. I mean, I'm not really interested in learning the words to "Baby" by that baby boy what's his face. I do like Mumford & Sons, though. Are they being played on the Today's Hits radio stations? I am, however, impressive with my familiarity with college music. I can identify Florence and the Machine within a few measures of a new song -- Fleet Foxes -- Sufjan -- even Andrew Bird. Ha! I'm quite popular with my peers -- introducing them to new, good music. It's hard to believe that banjos, oboes -- even accordions -- are now acceptable in contemporary music. (It's not your grandpa's blue grass.) I just can't get enough of the new Decemberist's album and I'm not generally crazy about them! They don't show up on SongPop.

But getting back to David. This change in his personality -- his disinterest in other music -- was disturbing. When he was home, the kids were basically not permitted to play music of their chosing in the house or in the car. One who had spent a lot of time and attention keeping up with new artists had become indifferent to and distainful of their music. Even when it was I who asked him to listen to a song by a new singer, he was negative and impatient. It was so strange for him to respond that way; it was very sad for me. When he was not at home I made a point of encouraging the kids to play their stuff in the house -- loudly, if they wanted to -- and in the car so that they would be encouraged to explore rather than discouraged to explore musical genres. Their healthy father would have wanted that. Because music was such a large part of all of our lives, it was a deep loss to us when he turned that corner.

Long before I ever even met David, song was a way of life for me. Both of my parents were musicians. In fact, they, too, met in a choir. Singing around the piano or playing some sort of instrument was a daily activity in our home. My mother was a wonderful pianist. She could sight-read anything! She could play the boogie woogie or Handel's Messiah. We were all singers, so she played and we sang. My dad, too. One year when he wasn't travelling for work so much, he got a banjo and a ukelele and my parents taught us American folk songs to teach us to sing harmony. We always sang in the car: You Are My Sunshine, Red River Valley, Do-Lord -- Daisy On My Toe :-) I sang in choirs and played in bands -- was even the drum major for the marching band. I was a music performance minor student in college and enjoyed the choirs, the orchestra, theory and conducting. Music was always a significant part of my life.

David and I met our college's choirs. After we started seeing each other, I was better introduced to his songs. They were one reason I fell in love with him. His voice was like a drug; his guitar a lure and the words to his lovely melodies were significant. When we married, I figured that the music in our individual lives would be blended. It was, to a certain extent, but not in the way that I dreamed it would. His music was nearly sacred to him; later it became a ministry where he reverently dedicated his gift to God's glory -- believing that he was ordained (marked) and set-apart for that (as many of us are in some way or other). I did record some harmonies on a few of his CD's -- and perform with him a few times, but our life together was not about our music. He generally favored keeping our musical lives relatively separate. What might have been a mighty, binding link was, instead ... simply not. I don't have much uncleaving to do in this area.

One day not quite two years ago I plugged David's iPod into a little set of speakers that I had brought for him. I played a song from his iPod. He gave me a puzzled look and asked me who it was. I said, "That's you, David." He said, "No it isn't." I said, "Yes, it is." He looked at me again as recognition transformed his face. He finally knew that it was his voice and his song. He did not listen much longer, though. He was moving on from that life. He had asked me a few days before that if I thought we had a bright future. I knew that he had a bright future and told him so ... but also added that I didn't think my immediate future was very bright. We had been having one of our "limited" conversations that spotted the last few weeks of his life. He was unable to delve any more deeply than that -- unable to take my hand and form a song on his lips to comfort me.

But like a dear friend so eloquently said at his memorial service, he had already said everything to us through his songs. All of his wisdom, all of his answers to our questions, all of his devotion and affection -- already spoken.

I love the sparkle in your smile. I love the twinkle in your eyes. I love the sound of your hello. It echoes like a lullaby. I love the gentle of your touch. I love the strength of your embrace. I love the tender in your hands. I love the courage in your face. I love the sweetness of your sigh. I love the golden of your hair. I love the freedom of your faith. I love your willingness to dare. I love the puzzle of your laughter. I love the blueprint of your way. I already love you more tomorrow than I love you right here, now today.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
~ David M. Bailey (Feb. 26, 1966 - Oct. 2, 2010)