The Soundtrack to Grief and Other Forms of Education
Even dealing with the muck of a thing like loss, I still feel like my life in San Francisco follows some sort of narrative arc dusted with a magical synchronicity. Clearly I've tried many things that haven't worked in easing the feelings around the death of my dad: new potions, old vices and general avoidance of life events. With enough curiosity and counsel from my better angels, however, I've found more skillful avenues for treating the subject like engaging in education (at a group level), reading up on astrology and listening to music.
For education, I've joined a grief group at the Institute of Aging in the city's Richmond District. It's a group of 12 of us who will hopefully become friends for life. The facilitator, Patrick Arbore, is an award-winning saint who started the Friendship Line, an alternative to the usual-suicide-prevention-hotline for elderly Californians. Patrick comes across physically and emotionally as a cross between Merlin and Santa Claus. He's been running these groups for over 30 years and it's astounding to see the man fit the path and the path fit the man as he strikes just the right notes with his itinerary for the class. (I use itinerary instead of syllabus because it feels like he has indeed taken us on a journey.) We've met for the past six Saturday mornings, focusing each week on a different item like the event of the death itself; the unbearable feelings connected to the event; memorabilia that celebrates the life of the deceased and coping skills. It has been a remarkable group even more so because it dovetails with my main class in shamanic healing, The Shaman's Way, where we are walking the medicine wheel. This month we start to face the West and meet Lady Jaguar, looking at shadow and the beauty therein. I'll never poke fun again at San Francisco's reputation for levity and flakiness; these classes and teachers are the real deal.
Leaving aside astrology for a moment, I need to talk about music.
While Hawaii has offered fresh visual stimulation to counter the first tastings of grief, music, both familiar and freshly discovered, has served as my auditory balm. What I call the Soundtrack to Grief can be divided into 3 volumes: 1.) sad music that has got your back and makes you feel not so alone; 2.) happy music that makes you sad and wistful and 2.) Friday morning car tunes that pump you up and nudge you into living life to the fullest.
1.) For sad music, I've been leaning towards alt-country and (for lack of a better term) "singer-songwriter." I've taken a break from female-driven-singer-songwriter-albums like Joni Mitchell's Blue and The Trinity Session by the Cowboy Junkies because they focus too much on romantic heartbreak. Instead, I've taken refuge with Elliott Smith, The Jayhawks and Sufjan Stevens's remarkable grief-homage-album, Carrie and Lowell, recommended by acquaintance and writer, Scott Heim. Sufjan came out of the woodwork with his idiosyncratic and melodic masterpiece, Illinois, in 2005 but Carrie and Lowell will hit a chord with anyone who has lost someone they love.
Of course, nobody has Elliott Smith beat in the department of all things dark and defeatist.
My friend, Eric, had recently made me a mix-CD (yes, I still listen to them in my 2006 Honda Element) of Rainy Day Music by The Jayhawks. They are early alt-rock pioneers from the Twin Cities, who play solid uncomplicated music stellar in its subtlety; it's also good driving music akin to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Band of Horses and Big Star. As you can surmise, Volume 1 of the Soundtrack to Grief brightens a bit towards the end.
2.) Ours was not a musical family - all I remember us doing was eating food, telling stories, listening to the kids and playing cards. The only time Dennis mentioned music was his appreciation for "The Mamas and the Papas." At age 15, I had a brief infatuation with this American 60's rock group, buying the cassette based on this knowledge and popping it in the player as he drove his Lincoln Continental, trying to draw out some stories. He had his own sojourn in California before he met my mother - ending up on Venice Beach which he wrote off as too weird. He claims to have met many people who had lost touch with reality.
So for Volume 2 of the Soundtracks for Grief, you need happy, nostalgic music that makes you sad and wistful. For me this includes Swedish chamber pop from the early 2000's (Club 8, Acid House Kings, Sambassadeur and Shout Out Louds) and 1960's pop and classic rock (Mamas and the Papas, The Turtles, The Beach Boys and The Lovin' Spoonful).
Volume 3 is best served with funk/soul (Marvin Gaye, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, Amy Winehouse, Duffy), glam rock (Scissor Sisters) and Deep or Disco House (Mark Farina) and funky techno (Green Velvet). This makes you want to get moving because even grief can get tiring.
For education, I've joined a grief group at the Institute of Aging in the city's Richmond District. It's a group of 12 of us who will hopefully become friends for life. The facilitator, Patrick Arbore, is an award-winning saint who started the Friendship Line, an alternative to the usual-suicide-prevention-hotline for elderly Californians. Patrick comes across physically and emotionally as a cross between Merlin and Santa Claus. He's been running these groups for over 30 years and it's astounding to see the man fit the path and the path fit the man as he strikes just the right notes with his itinerary for the class. (I use itinerary instead of syllabus because it feels like he has indeed taken us on a journey.) We've met for the past six Saturday mornings, focusing each week on a different item like the event of the death itself; the unbearable feelings connected to the event; memorabilia that celebrates the life of the deceased and coping skills. It has been a remarkable group even more so because it dovetails with my main class in shamanic healing, The Shaman's Way, where we are walking the medicine wheel. This month we start to face the West and meet Lady Jaguar, looking at shadow and the beauty therein. I'll never poke fun again at San Francisco's reputation for levity and flakiness; these classes and teachers are the real deal.
Leaving aside astrology for a moment, I need to talk about music.
While Hawaii has offered fresh visual stimulation to counter the first tastings of grief, music, both familiar and freshly discovered, has served as my auditory balm. What I call the Soundtrack to Grief can be divided into 3 volumes: 1.) sad music that has got your back and makes you feel not so alone; 2.) happy music that makes you sad and wistful and 2.) Friday morning car tunes that pump you up and nudge you into living life to the fullest.
1.) For sad music, I've been leaning towards alt-country and (for lack of a better term) "singer-songwriter." I've taken a break from female-driven-singer-songwriter-albums like Joni Mitchell's Blue and The Trinity Session by the Cowboy Junkies because they focus too much on romantic heartbreak. Instead, I've taken refuge with Elliott Smith, The Jayhawks and Sufjan Stevens's remarkable grief-homage-album, Carrie and Lowell, recommended by acquaintance and writer, Scott Heim. Sufjan came out of the woodwork with his idiosyncratic and melodic masterpiece, Illinois, in 2005 but Carrie and Lowell will hit a chord with anyone who has lost someone they love.
Of course, nobody has Elliott Smith beat in the department of all things dark and defeatist.
My friend, Eric, had recently made me a mix-CD (yes, I still listen to them in my 2006 Honda Element) of Rainy Day Music by The Jayhawks. They are early alt-rock pioneers from the Twin Cities, who play solid uncomplicated music stellar in its subtlety; it's also good driving music akin to Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Band of Horses and Big Star. As you can surmise, Volume 1 of the Soundtrack to Grief brightens a bit towards the end.
2.) Ours was not a musical family - all I remember us doing was eating food, telling stories, listening to the kids and playing cards. The only time Dennis mentioned music was his appreciation for "The Mamas and the Papas." At age 15, I had a brief infatuation with this American 60's rock group, buying the cassette based on this knowledge and popping it in the player as he drove his Lincoln Continental, trying to draw out some stories. He had his own sojourn in California before he met my mother - ending up on Venice Beach which he wrote off as too weird. He claims to have met many people who had lost touch with reality.
So for Volume 2 of the Soundtracks for Grief, you need happy, nostalgic music that makes you sad and wistful. For me this includes Swedish chamber pop from the early 2000's (Club 8, Acid House Kings, Sambassadeur and Shout Out Louds) and 1960's pop and classic rock (Mamas and the Papas, The Turtles, The Beach Boys and The Lovin' Spoonful).
M & P, Twelve-Thirty (Young Girls are Coming to the Canyon)
Sambassadeur, I Can Try
Volume 3 is best served with funk/soul (Marvin Gaye, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, Amy Winehouse, Duffy), glam rock (Scissor Sisters) and Deep or Disco House (Mark Farina) and funky techno (Green Velvet). This makes you want to get moving because even grief can get tiring.
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, "Tell Me"
Mark Farina, "Cali Spaces (Original Mix)"
Of course, this is not to dictate what music YOU should listen to when grief strikes but I find a general rule of thumb to let the music crescendo and have it end on a positive note. One thing Dennis always taught me (and I can still hear him say this) is that "you always want to leave a conversation with the other person smiling or laughing."
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