Rolling into single hood with Morphine
Morphine was a band that ended when their lead singer died onstage in Italy in 1999. I was 24 and had never heard of them. Now, at 48, I keep Morphine in heavy rotation because their songs hold me up like the ropy forearm of a gallant lumberjack.
All Your Way is a track from the album Yes. I had the CD for many years but it was never a favorite until I filed for divorce this summer. Thank god for my janky old Honda where I can still play it. Before I tell you why it’s so good to me, have you seen the movie Celeste and Jesse Forever? If not, just know that Celeste and Jesse also get divorced and during an argument scene she asks him, “Why didn’t you change for me?” I never said that as my marriage was ending, but thought it, even as my ex was wondering why I had changed so much. Therein lay our demise.
All Your Way begins with bass and saxophone and the singer, Mark Sandman, crooning a deep Whoa oh oh oh oh oo whoa. That looks silly in print but sonally, it’s a romantic lamentation. It sounds like loss, regret, and inevitability. He sings that he can’t talk about it right now but
On my dying day I might be able to say
On a still sea full of manly rage
On my dying day I might be able to say
I might be able to say
That I finally see things all your way
In recent months, loss and regret have accompanied me through my days along with fear, anger, sadness, and yes Inside Out fans, even joy for all the good parts. With a little distance now, I believe in the inevitability of it also. That makes the whole experience of separating, of untying our knot, bittersweet. The day my divorce was final felt like a culmination.
What I wouldn’t give to have my ex see things all my way! Finally! I wouldn’t wish that on his dying day though. Too vengeful when there’s nothing to avenge. But to hear him say that he understands me would really be something. If I knew anything about music I could describe the last seven notes of All Your Way so you could hear them in your mind. I can’t do that but I can tell you what I hear in my mind when they play. I hear a rueful saxophone telling me, with affection, “Never gonna happen, honey.”