starry starry night

When you're a kid, you're pretty much at the mercy of your parents when it comes to musical tastes. Which isn't a bad thing at all; in fact, if your parents were really into the pop music of their day, having knowledge of MJ or Madonna or Prince or Springsteen might actually score you some points with your peers.

Except I was the kid who was all about Van Morrison and Billy Joel and Simon & Garfunkel and Tom Waits and Don McLean. Knowledge of these guys' music doesn't get cool again until you're about 18. And that's okay.

(Moral of that story: it does become cool again to love Simon & Garfunkel. Eventually.)

So my dad was really into folk music, and more specifically, sad songs. The first song I learned harmony for was this horribly depressing tune called "Souvenirs," a duet between Steve Goodman and John Prine. Best lyric of that one has to be: "Broken hearts and dirty windows / make life difficult to see." Suuuuper optimistic. Yet I loved it.

My brother and I were also big fans of "Goodnight Saigon" by Billy Joel, which critics called "poignant and harrowing." Jake and I called it the Helicopter Song because of the recordings of rotors at the beginning and end. The choice line from that song would be: "And we will all go down together / We said we'd all go down together." Nothing like establishing a sense of brotherhood at age 8.

Then there was "Vincent (Starry Starry Night)" by Don McLean. As in this Starry Night:

(Coincidentally, it happens to be one of my favorite paintings, too.)

The song first celebrates Van Gogh and then mourns the loss of his genius. It's poignant and sad in a way that makes you wonder what else you take for granted (besides, apparently, Vincent Van Gogh). Memorable lines include: "But I could have told you, Vincent, / This world was never meant / for one as beautiful as you."

As odd as it may be, that's our song, Dad's and mine. It's kind of strange, and not father-daughter-esque, but then again, "our songs" don't have to make sense to anyone but the people who make up the "our." (See also: Jake's and my love for Taylor Swift.)

About three months ago, on the way home from my cousin's wedding, "Vincent" came on the radio. Dad asked me if people will find it strange when we dance to it someday at my wedding. Obviously, he and I had never talked about "Vincent" being that song, but at that moment, it made a lot of sense. "Probably," I said, "But who cares? It's our song." And I think that's the way it should be.

Here's to songs that don't make sense and the people who make them special.

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.