Conrad Boyce is the editor and publisher of the Cosmos. He has a BA in English from the University of Alberta and a diploma in journalism from Grant Macewan Community College in Edmonton. He lived and worked in the Yukon and Vancouver Island before arriving in Ontario in 1995. Beyond these pages, he is the Artistic Director of OnStage Uxbridge, and the technical manager of the Uxbridge Music Hall.
Hurtin' songs
Sometimes it lasts in love, but sometimes it hurts instead...
Chances are, if you’re female and you’re younger than 80, you know exactly where the above words come from. You might even know if you’re male, but the probability is significantly lower. I myself had no idea only a few short weeks ago. So if you don’t know, I’ll tell you. They’re the final lyrics in the chorus of what is undoubtedly the best-selling song in 21st-century popular music, a bluesy little ditty called “Someone Like You”, performed and co-written by the latest British diva, Adele. In late February, on the day when and in the hotel where Whitney Houston died, Adele won a remarkable six Grammies, including one for “Someone Like You” as song of the year.
What is even more remarkable is that this Saturday, Adele turns 24 years old. Twenty-four! At such a tender age, she is already mentioned in the Guiness Book of World Records several times for her accomplishments as a recording artist. She is very rich, very talented as both songwriter and singer, and to judge from the songs on her first two albums, she has gone through enough romantic hell for someone twice her age.
That, of course, is what draws us to her music. Apart from her voice and performing style, that is. I first encountered her over New Year’s at my wife’s sister’s cottage. One night, sister-in-law sat us down to watch a DVD she’d just purchased, Adele Live at Royal Albert Hall. Now, I knew Adele’s name from the Star’s entertainment section, but as far as I knew, I’d never heard a note of her music, and I certainly didn’t know her face. Within a couple of minutes, I knew I’d remember both music and face forever. Adele is truly unique.
Last month, we returned to the cottage a couple of times, and each time we watched the Adele DVD again. Last weekend, we took my niece with us, who had just finished her master’s degree at Queen’s, and was stopping over with Uncle Conrad for a few days before heading home to the west coast. Did she know Adele? Of course she did. Turns out that a few days before Christmas, she and a couple of her house-mates, all of whom were going through romantic crises in their lives, had cranked up Adele in their living room and before long, were dancing wildly, singing along at the top of their lungs and above all, weeping copiously as the singer gave voice to precisely what was going on in their hearts and souls. After a while, the fourth house-mate (who was undergoing no such crisis) came home and wondered what had possessed her friends.
The power of music had possessed them, of course, and there’s no long like a hurtin’ song. Adele herself learned that, after the release of her first album. She was 20 and touring the States when she encountered the mystic pull of American idioms like jazz, blues and above all, country. When you strip away all the other complicated layers from “Someone Like You”, that’s all it basically is, is a Nashville hurtin’ song.
And unless you’re one of those rare people who fell in love with and married the girl next door, and stayed with her forever, you’ve gone through a whole bunch of hurt yourself. And to help you wallow in your misery, you’ve had a few favourite hurtin’ songs along the way. One of the best sub-genres of hurtin’ music, I’ve always felt, is the “what if?” song, where the singer has a chance encounter with a former flame and discovers that, despite the divergent paths they’ve taken, it wouldn’t take much to bring the embers to life. After watching Adele, I hurried home and dug up two of the very best “what if?” songs. One you might know - “The Same Auld Lang Syne” by Dan Fogelberg - but the other you probably won’t, unless you hit your stride in western Canada in the late 70’s - “On the Seawall”, by a very Fogelberg-ish folkie named Paul Hann. Fogelberg died of cancer a few years ago, and Hann only does kids’ music these days, but thanks to the magic of vinyl, they both can still make me cry.
Anyway, as strong as that final lyric of Adele’s is - and there’s not much can match the power of the whole Royal Albert Hall audience singing along with her on that chorus - I think she’s wrong on a couple of counts. First, love hurts even when it does last, and second, no love lasts forever. Death ultimately intervenes, and it produces the most haunting hurtin’ songs of all.
Just a coda. After listening to a lot of hurtin’ songs, I came to Ontario in 1995 with not a lot of expectations of ever having a lasting relationship again. Boy, was I wrong. Only a couple of weeks after I got here, I met this marvellous woman named Lisa, and we’ll be married 15 years this week. Love is sure unpredictable, and that’s the glory of it. To turn Adele around, love hurts, but sometimes it lasts instead.
