behind every beautiful thing, there’s been some kind of pain

The weather has begun to turn. The leaves are changing colors and beginning to drop from the trees. New England has a pleasant beauty this time of year, which is not lost on me. There were times that I was worried I’d never see the beauty of life again; the music would forever be in mono. But life continues, and time numbs the pain and opens us up to beauty once again.

But what gets me now is that there is beauty that Gilad will never see. He will never see the majestic panorama of the Charles River in early October. He won’t get to see Avital grow up. He’ll never hear the heart wrenching beauty of music again. Why do the rest of us get to experience beauty, but Gilad does not? Shouldn’t the world be stripped of beauty without him here?

I was listening to a recording the two of us did a few years back, complete with two part harmonies. Now, I’m not much of a singer, and I’m even worse at harmonizing than I am at singing solo. But for some reason, I could always harmonize with Gilad. Whenever we sat down with our guitars and began to play and sing, something always clicked musically and vocally, and we were always able to weave our voices together.

And while I miss this with all of my heart, and have a difficult time believing the fact that we’ll never sing together again, it also gives me a bit of comfort – because with Gilad gone, so went this beautiful thing that we had together. A bit of beauty and art and music has been erased from the world.

Gilad, the seasons are changing again. Life is going on, and you’re not here anymore. And it rips my heart to shreds every time I think about it. But the world is still beautiful, and that’s ok – you would’ve wanted it that way. Yet, I’m somewhat comforted that you were able to take a bit of beauty away with you; that without you in the world, there are some things that will never be perfect or completely beautiful.

I miss you and love you.

Ryan Adams – Dirty Rain

Rest in Peace, Steve Jobs

It was only appropriate that I found out about Steve Jobs’ passing on Twitter. Jobs basically revolutionized the world of technology, and it was only fitting that we all found out about it with the only social network that is going to be deeply integrated into iOS5.

Jobs’ greatness goes beyond computers. Jobs reinvigorated a struggling Apple in the early 2000s with the introduction of the iPod. At the time, it seemed like a ridiculous idea. Who in their right mind needed 20GB of music with them? Most people were content with carrying around a Discman and a small CD-sleeve (though some of us would carry the CD-books that held hundreds with us everywhere we went); who could need that much music with them at once?

What Steve had, and what the iPod represents, is vision about music and how people relate to it. Jobs was able to see that people wanted to be able to take all of the music with them, and he wanted to make it as easily accessible as possible. I have no idea what the New York City subways looked like in the 90s, but in the 2000s, you would’ve been hard-pressed to be in a subway car without seeing four or five people with those iconic white earbuds in their ears.

No longer was it just the music geeks who walked around the city with headphones in – now it was everyone. And while the music of the masses may not always agree with me, that the masses were always listening to music was a good thing and revolutionized the music industry.

So to a great innovator, a brilliant visionary, and a damn good computer scientist – this one’s for you. Rest in peace, Steve.

The Rolling Stones – Shine A Light

R.E.M. – 31 Glorious Years

They were never my favorite band. They were never even in the Top 10. But somehow, they were always an important presence. When I spent middle school only listening to Metallica on 98 Rock, they were there. During the 2-month span that I listened to pop-dance music on 102.7  (back during that 2-month span that it was a pop-music station), R.E.M. was there. When I started going back to my grunge and alternative roots on WHFS and DC101, they were there.

Which begs the question: If a band is hailed as one of the first alternative groups, how the hell did they manage to get played on every single radio station? Wasn’t the music supposed to be alternative?

one year

It’s been one full year since Gilad passed away. A full year without our beloved brother, son, uncle, friend. A full year without that stunning smile that could light up a room, without that quick wit, without that unbending yearning to read and learn and understand both life and death.

On my way to work, I stopped by the place where I got the phone call, learning that Gilad had taken his last breath. I stopped by that bus stop in Waltham, and sat in my car for a few minutes, just remembering. Not remembering the horrible content of the call, or how our lives changed so much in its wake. Remembering those last moments when Gilad was still alive. Because that’s how I always want to remember him – smiling, alive, happy, and healthy.

Throughout this year, so much has happened and so much has changed. Right afterward Gilad died, I wrote about how I would think of something that I wanted to tell Gilad, immediately realizing that I could no longer do so, and the crushing feeling that comes with that. But as the weeks turned into months, that happened less, and the pain and sorrow became less constant; the never-ending throbbing in my heart turned into a lump in the back of my throat, and then to an ache that was only present here and there, as if brought on by changes in the weather.

This is the process of grief. We think. We remember. We laugh. We cry.

This past Sunday, we had the unveiling of Gilad’s gravestone. And like the weather, we couldn’t make up our minds as to the tone of the ceremony. As the sun turned to thunderstorms and back around again, our stories went from sad to happy, and both tears and laughter filled our faces.

We thought. We remembered. We laughed. We cried.

So it’s been a year. The crushing pain is far removed. Those once lucid memories are now somewhat foggy and muddled. But we still keep Gilad in our hearts and minds. We still think of Gilad flashing that charming smile. We remember him crawling through sewer pipes, copying his older brother’s outfits, playing guitar in the hallways at school, or just chilling. We remember him as he was – amazing, smart, charming, clever, and great.

Gilad, we miss you more than ever, but we’re doing our best to still be ok, and to continue living, even though sometimes it hurts so much to go on without you. We miss you, and we will always love you.

Bon Iver – Blood Bank

LCD Soundsystem – Someone Great

The Tallest Man on Earth – The Gardener

Amy Winehouse: 1983 – 2011

It was with sadness that I turned on the computer after Shabbat this week to discover that Amy Winehouse had passed away. Her life was a tragically brilliant one, with her unbelievable talent weighted down by her demons of addiction. Her sultry jazz voice was well beyond her years, and the beautiful songs she wrote didn’t always seem to match her persona.

And while the gossip columnists will spend the next few weeks hypothesizing about the cause of death, at the end of the day that’s irrelevant. What we had here was a fantastic singer and songwriter who was taken well before her time – joining the terrible 27-club already populated by Jimi Hendrix, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, and Kurt Cobain. Now, Amy Winehouse too, is a member. She has tragically joined the ranks of a legion of brilliant musicians who all died well before their time.

Springtime without Gilad

As spring begins, so continues the impossible task of entering a new season without Gilad for the first time. And for some reason, this season is more difficult to handle. Maybe it’s the promise that it usually brings with it. The excitement that each day brings, and the inexplicable happiness that this season lends to each day. For us, some of that is missing.

Gilad isn’t here to talk about the Orioles and is unable to enjoy their surprisingly successful start. He’s not here to talk Fantasy Baseball. We can’t talk about possibly making the trek to Bonnaroo this year. He won’t be coming to any summer concerts; neither Eddie Vedder nor Dispatch. We won’t see him sporting those electric blue pants, his boat shoes, or his ironically old school sunglasses. He won’t be hanging out on our front porch sporting his bong. There’s no World Cup for us to pretend to be soccer fans for and no USA jerseys to wear. Spring has arrived, and yet Gilad is still gone.

My company recently moved and my new commute passes by the place I sat as I got the phone call. The phone call which told me, through my mother’s choked sobs, that Gilad took his final breath. The corner where I stood waiting for that cab; the sharp pain of loss, the numbing feelings of disbelief, and the constant throbbing in my chest. Things are different now; feelings are more muted but no less sad, my heart isn’t in constant pain but it still aches. My life is wonderful and my wife makes it amazing, but there is and always will be someone missing from that, and the Springtime somehow makes us more painfully aware of that fact.

I wanted to share something my mother wrote on her blog yesterday.

It has been seven months, and fifteen days since Gilad passed from this world. I go to sleep, I wake up, and Gilad is not here. The laundry piles up, the clothes get washed, folded and worn again, but Gilad’s pile is gone. I cook meals and shop but I don’t buy his favorite foods anymore; once he stopped eating I started to forget what he liked…

… Another Shabbat comes and goes, another week passes without Gilad. Time slips through our fingers as we move farther away from Gilad’s last day on earth, his last breath. Another season is here, the trees and flowers are blooming, the grass is turning green, life is returning to the earth. Things are growing, but not Gilad. I go to sleep, I wake up, and Gilad is still not here. He is not here and he will never be with us again in our world.

We miss you Gilad.

Eddie Vedder – My City of Ruins

Immortality – Live at the Orpheum

For those not in the know, Pearl Jam is reissuing remastered versions of their second and third albums, “Vs.” and “Vitalogy.” Released in myriad ways, I’ve ordered vinyls of both album, plus the deluxe versions of the CDs, which includes a copy of the band’s standout show on April 12th, 1994, at Boston’s Orpheum Theater.

And the highlight of that show, was the band’s unbelievable performance of the new song – Immortality. They had debuted it the night before at the Boston Garden, and it was clearly a song written in memory of Kurt Cobain; Mr. Cobain had tragically taken his own life just a week earlier, and the entire music community was still reeling and mourning from the loss.

Pinetop Perkins: 1913 – 2011

Joseph William Perkins, more commonly known as Pinetop Perkins, was one of the all time great blues pianists. And if you think you’ve never heard his music before you’re probably wrong.

He played with Earl Hooker in the 50s and 60s, and with Muddy Waters in the 70s. He holds the honor for being the oldest winner of a Grammy Award at age 97, winning the Best Traditional Blues Album for his 2010 album “Joined At The Hip.”  He also won in that same category in 2008 for “Last of the Great Mississippi Delta Bluesmen: Live In Dallas,” as well as a Lifetime Achievement Award during the 2005 Grammys.

Happy Birthday, Dr. King

When I worked in the writing center at Yeshiva University, there was a giant poster on one of the walls of the room. The poster featured Martin Luther King Jr. and had the following quote:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Today, we celebrate Dr. King. And interestingly, we don’t celebrate the day he was shot; we celebrate his birthday. Because, there will always be bigots, idiots, and people who don’t understand. There will always be those who hate, and those who kill. But despite that, and despite King’s assassination, the civil rights movement lives on. So we celebrate, not the hitches in the road, not the acts of hate. We celebrate the light, and we celebrate the love. Happy birthday, Dr. King.

Kanye West – All Of The Lights (Interlude)

The Tallest Man On Earth – Love Is All

Debbie Friedman: 1952 – 2011

Whether you attended a Jewish day-school, Hebrew school, or went to a camp that had any inkling of Judaism to it, you knew Debbie Friedman. I’m not the most avid fan of folk music, and I quite dislike all Jewish music (excluding, of course, my very own high school band – The Matzah Balls – who played heavy metal versions of Jewish songs). But while I wasn’t necessarily into the music itself, the songs bring back memories for me. Memories of ridiculous summers at terrible JCC camps. Memories of getting kicked out of music class every single time in the 3rd grade. And when it comes to Jewish music, especially Jewish folk music, memories seem to be the point.

Jewish music isn’t written for the ultra-Orthodox or the extremely-religious. It’s written for those who have a tenuous connection to their religion. It’s written to remind people of some of the beauty that a religion has to offer. It’s written, in short, so that one day we will have these nostalgic feelings about some religious experience somewhere along the way, and there will be some pang of connection, a tiny memory of being part of something greater.

With the loss of Debbie Friedman, we’ve lost one of the great creators of Jewish folk music, and one of the great connectors of Jews everywhere.

Debbie Friedman – The Latke Song