That Same Old Lang Syne (Again)

Songs about old lovers and home towns

Last week I wrote about "Christmas Wrapping," a song in which the singer meets the guy she's been unable to get together with through the year at the all night grocery buying cranberries. I couldn't help but be reminded of songwriter Dan Fogelberg's Christmas (and New Years) song "Same Old Lang Syne." It's about the singer meeting an old flame in the grocery store on Christmas Eve and how it leads to him taking stock of his life. It's kind of the bookend to the other song, at least conceptually, since the characters in Fogelberg's song have completed their relationship, whereas the ones in "Christmas Wrapping" are just starting theirs.

Fogelberg plays everything on track except drums, which are handled by studio vet Russ Kunkel. There is also a good string arrangement by Glen Spreen and a cameo appearance by Michael Brecker on soprano sax playing 'Auld Lang Syne' at the song's end.

So, Dan is at the grocery store on Christmas Eve, and it's probably later in the evening, because the song's general mood is hushed and quiet. He spies his old lover, and he follows her. She doesn't recognize him at first, but then she realizes who he is and they have a laugh. They check out her groceries and then decide to have a drink, but discover that all of the bars are closed (another sign that it's later). Instead they buy a six pack of beer and sit in her car, drinking it and talking.

We drank a toast to innocence

We drank a toast to now

And tried to reach beyond the emptiness

But neither one knew how

The two talk about their lives. Dan's ex is in an unhappy marriage, and he is working on his music career. The beer runs out, and they run out of things to talk about. She kisses him, then he gets out of the car and watches her drive away.

Just for a moment, I was back at school

And felt that old familiar pain

And as I turned to make my way back home

The snow turned into rain

And we find out just what the song has been telling out guts all along as we listen: that the pain of loss never goes away. It can always be recalled by events or people, and that pain is a part of our lives. It's also a song about contemplating the 'what ifs' of our lives: what if I married that person, what if I took that job, what if I hadn't moved across the country.

The final line, about the snow turning to rain, seems to me to signal a return to the real world from a heightened emotional state that seems somehow magical. And it is magical when Brecker breaks in with the melody of "Auld Lang Syne" on soprano sax, backed by the velveteen strings and Fogelberg's soft piano chords to bring the listener to a soft emotional landing.

The song is reminiscent of Harry Chapin's "Taxi," cut nearly a decade earlier, another song about unexpectedly running into an old flame during the course of one's daily life. Chapin uses the same first person narrative voice as Fogelberg did later, making it seem autobiographical. Harry is driving a Taxi and picks up an ex-lover as a fare. She doesn't recognize him at first, but she sees his name on the cab license. The two talk about their lives on the drive and he drops her at her destination. He reflects on the way their lives have gone:

You see she was gonna be an actress

And I was gonna learn to fly

She took off to find the footlights

And I took off for the sky

And here, she's acting happy

Inside her handsome home

And me, I'm flying in my taxi

Taking tips and getting stoned

Chapin's song doesn't reassure the listener--it's a slice 'o' life downer that many could probably relate to.

It turns out that Fogelberg's song really was autobiographical. After his death from prostate cancer in 2007, the woman that the song was about came forward. She first heard it on the radio in Chicago where she lived at the time, on her way to work. She realized that the song was about her, but she kept it to herself. Only twice has she broken her silence to speak about Fogelberg, that night, and the song: 2007, and in 2020, the song's 40th anniversary.

An activity nearly everyone has engaged in at some point, whether they run into old friends and lovers or not, is that of driving around their hometown late at night. You see this device in movies and TV all the time. The motives vary. Sometimes it's to get away from everyone at home. Sometimes it's to get high. Or go to a favorite restaurant or pick up something at the store, or meet up with old friends. There are a million reasons. What they ultimately have in common is that they give us room to think and to process the passage of time, which is a real mindfuck for us human beings. Songs can help us express things that we really can't quite articulate, and this is one area where songwriters have shone a light.

One such song is Simon & Garfunkel's "My Little Town." The song was a reunion number for the duo, released as a single in 1975 and appearing on their respective solo albums Still Crazy After All These Years and Breakaway. The track sounds like much of the duo's work, which is hardly surprising given that Simon wrote the song with Garfunkel's voice in mind. The familiar harmonies and warm production belie the fact that Simon's portrait of a small industrial or manufacturing town is not flattering:

And after it rains there's a rainbow

And all of the colors are black

It's not that the colors aren't there

It's just imagination they lack

The place we came from, if it hasn't grown or kept up with the times, suddenly becomes, not a nurturing element, not a source of sustenance, but a stultifying, decaying place. "There's nothing but the dead and dying in my little town" sing Paul and Art. Sometimes it really is dying, like in Springsteen's "My Home Town," a scenario playing out yet again in communities across America.

Sometimes it's us who are dying, allowing ourselves to follow in our family's generational footsteps. The Goo Goo Dolls' "Broadway" balances the rage John Rzeznik feels towards his emotionally stunted father with a sadness at the decline of Buffalo and a recognition that each generation must bear its crosses and that ultimately it all leads to the same place: "See the young man sitting in the old man's bar/waiting for his turn to die."

We inevitably notice things and have epiphanies about our town, our surroundings, the world we came from, and we compare it to the world we inhabit now--our values, our desires, our deep fears. We see things differently, largely because we are older and have lived through a series of experiences. At the same time, the place where we spent our formative years carries a charged significance in our lives, in how we became who we are, and it also carries strong memories of people we knew and, in many cases, loved. When I drive through my home town, gliding past a high school I no longer recognize, I see me and my best mates in the white crosswalk paint, like the Abbey Road cover, frozen in time like mosquitoes in a nugget of amber.

Maybe my favorite song about driving around one's hometown is Steve Forbert’s "January 23-5-, 1978," which chronicles the coming back home to meet up with friends and to spend some time partying. Going to the old bars, the hangouts, the places you spent your youth with your fellow travelers:

Hanging out like I used to do, hope to find some old friends I knew

Hear the news in the honky tonk, who got married, yes, and who split up

Drinking beer while the jukebox plays, brand new songs for brand new days

Quiet nights and empty streets, sleepy town, humble home

Whether you are, or recently were, back home during the holidays, or whether you are simply spending this New Year’s with your memories of places and friends, I hope that you find some peace and resolution in the year’s end.

See you on the other side of the countdown.

Here’s a link to a piece I wrote a while back on Steve Forbert’s classic album Jackrabbit Slim, plus there’s some other stuff of interest in there as well. Hope you enjoy it.

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