About 12 years ago, I got my first job in another state. It was not too far away, but it was an exciting opportunity and I jumped at it (In 1996, it was kind of hard not to bump into exciting opportunities just about everywhere). The night before the first interview, the future Mrs. LeftOne and I hopped in the car and took a road trip.
For whatever reason, I had a melody stuck in my head. This happens to musicians a lot. For me back then, it was several times daily. Usually it was a derivative of something else I’d heard, and most of the time I forgot about it. But there were other times that the thing was so haunting, beautiful, catchy, or raging, that I’d have to pull over and jot it down.
This was one of those melodies.
It was two more years before I found words to fit. With lyrics it can be a similar issue. You can’t work at it, but sometimes it comes in like a wrecking ball. A song was born. It was written and arranged to be a duet, one of those incredibly sappy tunes like the centerpiece in a Disney cartoon movie. The cliche radio hit. When I played the raw tracks for a friend, he said, “Wow. You’re going to Webber the s–t out of it, aren’t you?”
Yes. I was.
The song was recorded at a professional studio and used as our wedding song in 1999. Nobody else on the planet has our wedding song. Yes, a lot of musician-types can say the same thing.
Shouldn’t everyone have a wedding song? I mean everyone, in all 50 states? I’ve heard some amazing choices for songs. Most of my friends chose an 80’s ballad they remembered from high school. I’ve heard lots of Journey and Bryan Adams at these things. Songs from Disney films. Some Eric Clapton. Guns n’ Roses showed up once. Primus (yes). For that matter, Yes, too. Some folks took it Bach.
I even played a wedding once. If you ever want to hear Rammstein’s “Du Hast” adapted for a Steinway grand, I think I have a recording of it. I also have a video of the most glorifyingly haphazard botch of Mussorgsky’s “Great Gate at Kiev” on a pipe organ. I mean it’s practically unrecognizable.
Most weddings are a re-hash of somebody’s grand plan for hilarity. There’s much griping and worrying, too much waiting, lousy plastic appetizers, burnt filet mignon, family feuds, camera mishaps, drunken fools, the DJ who never figures out when to put away the saxophone. Years afterward of looking through the album wondering who some of these people were.
For our wedding, we knew what we wanted. For the church: The short vows. The Cliff-Notes version. For the hall: Keep the food snappy and give us 4 hours of dancing. Almost everyone was 27. Why waste time on the Glenn Miller and cake? This is a party, dammit.
But that song. That damn song had people on the floor. “You mean you wrote your own–” and then puddles of tears. It was exactly the response I wanted.
We danced for the entire 3:14 while everyone watched in awe. At least I assume they did. I never noticed anything beyond the little bubble that enveloped my bride and I. And it’s been pretty much that way ever since. Tell me why exactly should anybody be excluded from that?
Every now and then I pick up whatever instrument is lying close by and play the song, called “Voice,” as I was inspired to do while watching the nationwide protests about California’s Prop 8, which codifies second-class citizenship for gays in that state. It is a setback for justice, equality and democracy.
Every marriage is different, but most weddings share similar traditions, like the song. It’s just one small part of a much greater event. It’s just a symbol that helps people remember their vows of lifelong devotion and encapsulates the radiance of their dreams in that single moment.
Why shouldn’t everybody be able to have that?
