‘A song that makes you happy’.
This is a tricky one. A song that makes me happy could be any one of a number of songs, depending on what ‘making me happy’ really means. Happiness. I’m never sure about that one, and maybe that’s why it’s something I occasionally find elusive. If I’m not sure what it is, is it likely that I’m going to achieve it? If I set out to find somewhere in my car, does it help to know the identity of my destination?
I don’t know. Maybe the interesting bit is the getting there. Can an end destination ever live up to the anticipation it inspires? All those road signs telling you you’re getting closer… closer… closer still… If I expect I’ll be happy when this thing and this thing and this thing all align, will the feelings ever manage to live up to what I imagine they might be? I doubt it. But the thrill of anticipation will make it feel worthwhile, like looking forward to the holidays as you stagger to the end of a never-ending term.
Sometimes a song could make me happy if I’m feeling sad and it cheers me up to listen to it. ‘In My Arms’ by Teddy Thompson is a bit like that. It’s a very cheery song - like the musical equivalent of bumping into someone who’s always in good form, in good spirits. Plus hammond organ for extra bonus points. Somewhere in the ‘Winnie the Pooh’ books it says that ‘it’s hard to be uncheered with a balloon’ - I’m less a fan of balloons, to be honest, but it’s hard to be uncheered with a hammond organ when it’s used like it is in ‘In My Arms’.
Sometimes a song could simply make me smile. I wouldn’t have to be specifically needing to be cheered up: I could be just, somehow, ‘in neutral’… not in any particular kind of mood, happy or sad, cheery or grumpy. Just … neutral. Like a car before it starts. And then I might hear a song and smile. There are lots of songs that do this. It often depends on the time of year. ‘January Hymn’ by The Decemberists got me through both January and February with its share of winter smiles. It’s a very mellow, calm song, a sort of acceptance that winter is tough but that it also represents a new start. And a new start can’t be easy, can it? Surely anything worthwhile has to involve a bit of difficulty? Or is that just my Irish Catholic upbringing doing my thinking for me? ‘January Hymn’, anyway, makes me happy… especially in a winter of discontents and coughs and shivering.
And then there’s happiness. True happiness. That feeling of utter well-being… that feeling that you’re in the right place, at the right time, the still centre of a turning world… that things are as they should be and even you, imperfect, flawed, you, are getting it right for once. The real thing. Even I can feel like that sometimes. And a few songs do this, or provide the soundtrack for this feeling. ‘Freewheel’ by Duke Special. Nerina Pallot’s cover of ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’. ‘One Day Like This’ by Elbow, and that from someone who truly hates cliches! ‘The Crane Wife 3’ by The Decemberists and ‘Women’s Realm’ by Belle and Sebastian. ‘Brand New Day’ by Joshua Radin, perhaps, if I’m thinking about making a positive start, or ‘Together in Electric Dreams’ by the Human League if I want my happiness to be tinged with a delicious little frisson of nostalgia for what’s past.
There’s just one more song I want to mention. ‘You’re the Radio’, by Thea Gilmore. Sitting here, typing in an empty box, I’m listening to it. It’s Sunday teatime and the ghostly shadow of Monday morning is starting to loom through the sea mist outside. But the sheer joy of the metaphor and chord sequences of this song is lifting my heart, as it always does. I’m a grumpy person, mainly. That line in that song, ‘seven hundred ways to sing the blues’ probably sums me up. But there’s more than that to this song… ‘I’m the song, you’re the radio’ somehow sums up an awful lot about art and what’s important about it. Whether it’s a song or a book, a film or an episode of a soap opera… it’s all about communicating, after all.
‘I am stronger than they think.’ And often, it turns out, stronger than I think too. I get to happiness more often than a world like this would really want to allow. I get there in the end. I find ways without a satnav. Music, books, and typing in empty boxes get me there, and the notes, words and pictures of a few trusted others.
I just hope it stays that way a bit longer.
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