tremolo
tremolo
a tremulous or vibrating effect produced on certain instruments and in the human voice, as to express emotion
As a teen, I hung out with my older sister’s friends a lot. They were how I found new music, my Discovery tab. It was the Napster era and the algorithms hadn’t quite taken over yet.
I formed an especially close bond with Sam, who introduced me to all kinds of different bands. From The Ramones to Parliament to Cypress Hill, his recommendations opened up whole subgenres to explore.
Sam also shared a story with me. He did so because he recognized a certain tinge of despair. It’s something I’ve been noticing more of lately, so I wanted to share it too. Maybe it will help someone else. It’s about one of Sam’s favorite songs, and why it always makes him cry.
∗ ∗ ∗
Sam grew up with a kid named Liam who had a lot of the same struggles. Their parents fought about the same things, took it out on them the same ways. They bonded over a kind of stress the others didn’t know. That and music.
In high school things got dark for Liam. People were concerned, but never quite alarmed, until it was too late. The piles got too high to manage and he couldn’t face another day.
Liam cared deeply about Pink Floyd, and a pair of violists played their catalog as mourners entered the hall. Sam used to call them overrated just to provoke an impassioned defense. On a long table near the front, framed photos looked upon an oversized card for the departed.
Sam picked up one of the markers and froze. While he searched for words and found none, “Wish You Were Here” started. He’d never heard it without the vocals before, and was awed at how much it touched him. As the violins swelled, Sam closed his eyes to listen.
Emotions flew through him. What cruel mechanism of fate would allow Sam to hear this rendition, while the person who would love it most couldn’t? He felt rage and guilt, but also joy. He was glad he heard it. Glad he was still there. That wasn’t a given.
He opened his eyes, wiped away some tears, and wrote “Wish You Were Here”. In the moment it didn’t feel like enough, but nothing would have.
Since then, the song has gotten him through several rough patches. It gives him a space to think about those he’s lost, and struggles he’s endured. It reminds him that stresses of the day aside, he’s still glad that he’s here. And he’s proud of how far he’s come.
∗ ∗ ∗
A few hours after hearing the story, I found an instrumental version and listened as the scene played out in my mind. I wept as the faces of those I worried about took over the frames. It was hard seeing my own among them, but a necessary wake-up call. Over the years the song would give me several others. Each time, I’m glad I heard them.
The song holds a special place in my heart. For a while I felt odd about that, feeling such a connection to someone else’s story. That’s part of what I like about it though. It’s a reminder that stories exist in spaces where we are not alone. Our struggles, unique as they may seem, can be understood by others. We can share our pain, we can share art, and sometimes we can share both at once.
I have several friends who I know are struggling these days. We get through by finding beauty in areas that speak to us. Read more stories, listen to more music, look at more pictures, and experience more nature. Art is able to communicate many truths that the 24hr news cycle cannot. No matter how much of the world crumbles, find pockets of beauty to cherish.
Certain works touch your soul. When we share them, it helps others hold on to theirs.
ContextFall