Romantically Tragic

Stacey Kent. I wouldn’t call her a jazz musician/vocalist. Jazzy, perhaps, or pop-jazz, some might call it. But nonetheless her jazzy voice is quiet and subtle, a little slippery, as if she wasn’t sure she can reach higher notes, and we braced ourselves too… and then she galloped with beauty.

I love this review about her on New York Times:

The least ornate of pop-jazz singers, Ms. Kent pounces on lyrics with a no-nonsense directness. Emotions are muted but not stifled. High drama is absent.

Recently I love repeating one song in particular, from album Breakfast On the Morning Tram. Here it is:

So Romantic

You always had a taste for those movies
Like Casablanca and Song o’ My Heart
Where a complicated world
Or the call of adventure
Forces true lovers to part
When the hero turns his back so stoically
On all the happiness they might have had

You always considered it
So romantic
But I just considered it sad

It was so like you to choose such a moment
The sun setting over the square
A pavement cafe, the local children at play
The sound of an accordion somewhere
You suddenly said Fate was pulling us apart
Then you shrugged, like there was nothing more to add

I suppose you considered that
So romantic
Well, I just considered it sad

Perhaps you’re living in America now
Perhaps you’re in Timbuktu
A small part of me, even after this time
Has never stopped waiting for you
To live in this state of hoping
When hoping seems so utterly mad
I can’t help but consider that so romantic
Though I know I should consider it sad

The I is a quarter of me, and the You is another quarter. Or it used to be that way. Because things are different now, and I don’t want to be awfully tragic anymore; it’s exhausting. Nevertheless, when I first really listened to the lyrics, I remember thinking, Well, that’s just something familiar.

Anyway, it’s a sad song. And beautiful. Beautifully sad. Oh, and by the way, do you know the lyrics were written by Kazuo Ishiguro? Yeah.

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With every goodbye, you learn.

After a while, you learn the subtle difference

between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

and you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning

and company doesn’t mean security,

and you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts

and presents aren’t promises,

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes open,

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans,

and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul,

instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure,

that you really are strong

and you really do have worth.

And you learn

and learn…

With every goodbye, you learn.

 

Veronica A. Shoffstall

 

 

 

 

Feels like I’m losing you all over again, Bapak.

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