| Jeff Buckley – Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen cover) Lyrics | 14 years ago |
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The first time I heard this song, it was on the radio in my car and I had to pull over to the side of the road because it was so beautiful it literally distracted me from driving. And I listened all the way through and just wept and wept. I'd never heard of Jeff Buckley, and then Googled him when I got home, only to learn of his incredibly tragic end. And this song took on even more beauty and sadness. As if he knew his own untimely end was coming when he recorded this. He sings this song like he knew a lifetime of love and loss in the short time he was here. A little after I heard this song for the first time, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. And this song took on new meaning for me through that lens. I loved her so much and so desperately did not want to lose her. But watching her in so much pain, I realized that truly loving her meant letting her go. The line "And love is not a victory march / It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah" made sense then: when you love so deeply and must let it go, it breaks you. And leaves you cold. It's as though you're crossing the finish line after a marathon, and with your last gasp you say "Hallelujah" - it's finally come to an end. You can let go. But there's no winning in the loss; you just feel utterly broken. My mom has been gone for almost seven years now, and this song still makes me weep every time I hear it. Jeff Buckley gave us all such a gift with this song before he left us. |
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| 10,000 Maniacs – Verdi Cries Lyrics | 14 years ago |
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I sing this song to my children at bedtime - to me, this song is a lullaby that commemorates and reveres the memories of our childhood. "All is memory, taken home with me" - when the vacation ends, when your childhood ends, when your home is no more - you will always have this clear, happy memory. And when you remember it as an adult, you will begin to understand what you couldn't understand then as a child when you experienced it - the sadness and pain the man in 119 must have felt, listening to Aida over and over, refusing his breakfast. And now that you've lived as much life as the man in 119 has, you can imagine yourself in his place, listening to a beautiful piece of music to ease your grief, losing your appetite from the suffering you feel. It comes full circle. I went to a lecture once about this song, and the thing I remember most about the talk was that there's a really lovely use of silence and pauses in the song - which forces us to slow down, and reflect. |
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