Once upon a time I owned a cassette tape of Gordon Lightfoot's greatest hits. Gord's Gold, it was called, and I listened to it until it wore out. The album originally came out when I was ten years old, and my parents had a copy, I think, but I didn't truly discover it until I was twenty-three, picking up my cassette on a whim at a sale table. I was teaching at the time, and Gord's Gold accompanied me through a lot of late afternoons and evenings in my classroom as I marked, planned and prepared lessons. Every song on it just felt good, and there were enough of them with so many different styles that they didn't ever bore me.
When Gordon Lightfoot died recently, I meant to do a little tribute. As I moodle here, I'm surprised that two and a half months have passed already since he's gone. Not knowing him personally, it doesn't really seem like he's gone, as there have been so many occasions where I've heard his songs floating off the radio or TV -- in his own and other voices. His music lives on in those who sing it, in all of us who love it, and that's probably the best kind of immortality.
This morning began with a gentle rain, and immediately, Rainy Day People came to mind. I suspect that the musician who was a bit of a wild child when fame first reached him eventually became something of a rainy day person himself.
Thanks for the music, Gord. You really were gold.
No comments:
Post a Comment