People often ask why musicians and writers write about such sad things. People ask about the depressing nature of lyrics or novels and wonder if you are secretly sad all the time. Sometimes, to be honest I ask that of myself. Then there are moments that point out the reason for such morose melodies. Although these moments are a lot of what I write about, they’re almost never what I talk about.
This weekend I was in Washington DC. My friends and I took on the city with vigor and an eye for a good time. Mostly things were fun and/or funny. Parties, extremely strong cappuccinos, bad wait staff, talking about communism while eating lunch outside the white house wondering if someone was listening in on the conversation, taking crazy pictures at the Lincoln monument.
But as I walked up to the Vietnam memorial the silliness faded. There’s something about the way those names go on in perfect lines that is haunting. It’s that they are normal names. They aren’t statesman, politicians, and people of great power. They were young men who were handed guns and told to fight for their country. They are names you could have called out to your neighbors. It’s tragic and barbaric and so terribly sad. All of those names have lost their owners. Their former carriers now relegated to etchings on a marble wall and fond memories in relatives hearts.
So, people write sad songs. Because sadness, no matter how beautiful the smiles were, is always poignant. While happiness can be gratifyingly simple, sadness is always touchingly complex.
