The Loft lets me down

I have never seen anything positive come from a buy-out or a merger. One (eventually) killed my job, one killed the King of Beers, and now one has reduced my favorite radio station to a pale shadow of its former self. I am just not happy.

Many years back, my brother-in-law gave me an XM radio for Christmas. Very quickly I stumbled upon the Loft. It was acoustic-ish, but not folk, it played deep album tracks from my old '70's favorites (Fogelberg, Browne, Zevon, Mitchell, Young, etc) and from then newer artists (Ryan Adams, Jayhawks, Son Volt, Wilco, Rocky Votolato, Ben Harper, EastMountainSouth, John Gorka, Casey Chambers, Michael Penn, Ray Lamontagne, Gomez, and so much more). Talk was minimal except for Pete Fornatale's Mixed Bag Radio and a few special features/events and the Loft Sessions provided tasty live treats on a regular basis. There was a special vibe that flowed throughout the day. Mike Marone started off the wake up sets easy, then the shows would build from there, cresting in the afternoon/evening drive, then settling down for the night shift. They kept it eclectic, you did not really hear "the hits"; they would dig three and four tracks into a new release and really give you a feel for the record. I listened to The Loft daily. Turned my friends onto it, many bought into the XM thing after listening in my truck. Hearing those non-hit tracks resulted in CD purchases. By all accounts, their programming and marketing was succeeding..... until now.

Things weren't so bad right after the merger of XM & Sirius. A new DJ. A new show. But then the programming of the old shows began to change. More songs being repeated. More "hit" songs. More "hit" artists. Good luck hearing anything from Jackson Browne that couldn't be heard on regular FM radio, let alone Dan Fogelberg, Steve Goodman or Harry Nilsson. I don't know what the edict was that went out, and I'm sure there's a gag order that goes along with it, but now The Loft is gentrified, homogenized and politicized. It changed the vibe, it changed the flow, it changed The Loft. I'm sure glad the CD player in my truck still works, coz The Loft is letting me down.

ed. 1/13...... Did Mike Marone read this last night? After weeks of disappointment, and abandoning the wake up sets for my own tunes, I was in a rush to get out the door this morning and forgot the CD, so I turned the radio on. Much to my delight, my morning drive consisted of:
Dan Fogelberg "Someone's Been Telling You Stories", Warren Zevon "Johnny Strikes Up The Band", 10cc "Dreadlock Holiday" and Jenny Lewis "Carpetbagger". Maybe there's hope for them yet. Thanks, Mike.

Does it play in Peroia?

Wednesday, Dan Fogelberg's birthday, dawned a beautiful midwestern summer day. An uncommon day for August, the morning was cool, the breeze was gentle, and I was filled with the freedom that a weekday off work on a such brilliant morning provides. Guitar, CD's and coffee in hand, I headed North to Peoria. Why? Who knows. It seemed fitting. Decades had passed since I last saw Peoria in 1982. While everything around it has changed, the Illinois River remains a constant, just like the Mississippi of my childhood.

Having had enough of tall buildings and concrete, I escaped to a park outside of town, spread my blanket under a comfy tree, played to the river and did some thinking. What do I value? What makes me whole? What is it I am waiting for? Why? Why...... The answers held more truth than I was accustomed to hearing from myself, but in its very speaking, part of the weight I'd been carrying for so long was lifted from my shoulders. I needed to believe.

With that moment of catharsis, I headed off to a local winery for a late lunch. Red wine, cheese and bread, then playing more music on the patio. No one minded, no one knew or cared that I had not really played out in years. They hummed along, some sang with the older tunes. We did indeed drink a toast to innocence, to Dan, to time. Then at 5:30 (6:30 EST) I played the song I'd been saving all day, "The Reach". Someone whispered, "I love this song." Harmony ascended and as if on que, the golden late afternoon sun kissed the arbor, setting everything aglow. It was magic.

Back on the road, I took the long way home. It was a sunset to savor, a day to relish. Unbeknownst to him, Dan gave me a lot of gifts in his lifetime. Now even from beyond, he gave me one more. Thank you, Dan. Happy Birthday.

Yet another tribute to Dan Fogelberg

Wednesday Aug. 13 would have been Dan Fogelberg's 57th birthday. No doubt he would have spent it sailing the Reach and points beyond. In concert, he often introduced his song "The Reach" by saying "this one here, folks, is one of my very favorites."


As written here before, Dan's music was often the soundtrack to my life. Wednesday will be no different. I'll pass it with friends, we'll sing his songs and our songs. Stories will be told, memories will be shared. This will be one of them:

A few days after Dan’s passing, Mike Marone did a special tribute show on “The Loft” on XM Radio. Dan’s songs, remembrances, interview clips, it was very poignant; you could tell he was a fan. It was dark, about 7pm, the snow was falling, I was driving somewhere. I never made it. I was crying so hard that I had to pull over in a grocery parking lot and sit there listening. After the show, I still could not move. The snow was coming heavy. Big, fluffy, beautiful snow, the kind that blankets everything in silence, the kind I love to walk in. So out I walked. It was calming, the Christmas lights twinkled, I bought a coffee and headed back to my truck. This is what I wrote, sitting there, watching the world turn white.

Songs On The Radio

There was a time when I gave my heart
With the innocence of a child
Thought it had been set aside
But I was wrong
So I grieve and cry as snow falls
Emptiness so hard to bear
Surrounded by the quiet
And his songs

Songs on the radio
Memories in my head
Tears fall on the steering wheel
Pulling over again
This man was not my lover
My family or my friend
Yet somehow he was all of these
How can this be the end?

Now the dreams I have are haunted
By an angel or a ghost
And the pain is there still heavy
In my chest
So I sing his songs in darkness
While I cradle my guitar
It will be dawn before I stop
And finally rest

Songs on the radio
Memories in my head
Tears fall on the steering wheel
Pulling over again
This man was not my lover
My family or my friend
But somehow he was all of these
How can this be the end?
Please don’t let this be the end.

Make Love Stay

It's June, the brides are swarming like bees. Picking out gowns, registering at every store imaginable, making lists of love songs for the DJ to spin.

So many songs account the first blush of love, just as many detail the pain of love lost. Same with movies, books, etc. Then there is the rest of us. Common knowledge holds that the honeymoon doesn't last forever. It's up, it's down, it's fireworks, it's an icebox, it's exciting, it's boring, but it is. While most would have us believe that we are either wildly, passionately in the throes of heated romance or dead, there have been thoughtful, touching tributes to trying to make it through. Dan Fogelberg wrote, "Now that we know the fire can burn bright or merely smolder, how do we keep it from dying away?" Jeff Tweedy of Wilco sings that "You're gonna need to be patient with me."

But perhaps the most brutally honest depiction of making love stay was in the 1946 movie called "The Best Years Of Our Lives." Middle-aged Milly is speaking to her husband who has recently come home from WWII, after her 20-something daughter told them that they didn't know what it was like for her, because their lives had been perfect, they'd never had any trouble. First she says to her daughter, "We never had any trouble...." and then she turns to Al, her husband of 25+ years, "How many times have I told you I hated you, and believed it in my heart. How many times have you said you were sick and tired of me, that we were all washed up? How many times have we had to fall in love all over again?" And the look in their eyes reveal every word as truth.

Having once been a starry-eyed bride-to-be myself, I know that looking forward and seeing something less than idyllic just isn't on the agenda. But later, "when the lonely nights are over" and you're wondering "how do we make love stay?" you'll need to be ready to fall in love all over again.

Dan Fogelberg - Sometimes a Song.

Today I bought the "new" Dan Fogelberg single from iTunes, "Sometimes a Song". It's classic Fogelberg. Deceptively simple melody, clean guitar work, lyrics that ache with emotion, signature layered harmonies. It's one of those songs that make you smile, makes you want to cuddle up with your lover in front of the fireplace on a chilly Valentine's Day and sip a lovely glass of port. It's a bittersweet thing for me, hearing this song that he wrote for his wife for Valentines Day in 2005; knowing he had so much more music to give, grieving that the muse is now still. But Dan will live on in our hearts and minds and souls through the legacy of his music and through those he inspired as well.

100% of proceeds from all digital sales of "Sometimes a Song" will be donated to the Prostate Cancer Foundation. Untold thanks to Dan's wife, Jean, for sharing this intimate gift with all of us. Me? I'm off to learn it by tomorrow so I can pick it for my sweetheart on Valentine's Day, one Dan fan to another, because sometimes a song really is the only way to show him how much he means to me.

Bad Blogger, Sad Blogger

Depression. Illness. Exhaustion. Stress. Obligation. Grief. Sorrow. Guilt. You name it; it stopped me in my tracks. No blog.

It was a rough holiday season. Health scares took up an unbelievable amount of time, energy and emotion, leaving both of us frustrated and drained. Thankfully, everyone is on the mend, no real catastrophes. Hence the guilt at feeling so blue when I should be feeling so blessed. But the whole thing started a spiral into darkness during what normally is my favorite time of the year.

Christmas. The preparations, the decorating, the carols, the cookies, the movies, the shopping, the wrapping of presents while sipping hot mulled wine. Lights and trees and celebrations, waking up to moonlight on new fallen snow. I usually love Christmas time. Sure, I made cookies for everyone, (and they turned out great) and I did my bit with the church choirs, but not much else got done. I’m not a good nurse-maid. I’m not a good patient. I’m not a patient nurse-maid. One frustrating personal crisis seemed to follow another. Joy was not in my soul, depression and panic attacks weighed on my heart. This year I actually uttered the words, “I wish Christmas would just be over.” And then Dan Fogelberg died.

No, you don’t understand. Dan Fogelberg died.

Dan’s music and my life are inextricably intertwined. I spent untold hours learning to play guitar to Homefree & Souvenirs. Play, lift the needle, back up, drop, play, lift the needle, back up, drop, over and over and over. The darkness and peace of Netherlands brought a glimmer of hope to me at my most angst-ridden moments of youth. At my urging, we sang Along The Road at my high school graduation. An emotional New Year’s Eve was spent sobbing over unrequited love with my best friend as Same Old Lang Syne provided the soundtrack. When I broke up with my lead guitarist, he sang The Last Nail to me. After meeting my husband, we discovered our LP duplicates included every Dan Fogelberg release. Song From Half Mountain graced our wedding. You can even hear my “whoo!” on the Songs From The West live CD that was recorded at the Fox Theatre here in St. Louis.

Everyone knew the cancer would eventually take him, but knowledge is not comfort. Upon hearing the news I spent hours cradling my guitar, crying over the strings, playing every Dan Fogelberg song I could remember. Lyrics and progressions that I’d not played in two decades poured from me like it was yesterday. Surely I was not doing this on my own. My hands ached, my heart ached, but who was I to weep? This man was not my lover, he was not my friend, he was not my blood, nor kin. And yet, he was all of those. Born of the heartland, raised by a river, consoled by nature, transcended in music; both of us, all of us. Songs of quiet, hymns to nature, love lost and found, raw rock energy, raging anger. These were the reflections of his life, wrapped around my life. Yes, he was all those; of course I wept, and I was not alone in my sorrow, or in my joy of remembrance. Thousands like me, touched by his spirit, sang hymns to the silence that night.

And so, with that cathartic break, I return. The humble Rural Gurl.