Was grooving again tonight to the digitally remastered version of Boston, the eponymous debut album of that band from way-back-when.  I can’t really explain it, but Brad’s suicide has affected me profoundly.  I suppose it sounds a bit insane, but I just hurt for the man and his family. 

 

I was checking out the latest band photo on Wikipedia and noticed something I’d never have seen before Brad passed:  he’s the only one not smiling.  In fact, he’s relegated to the back and looks a bit lost.  Take a look for yourself.  He’s in a different place from everyone else in the photo.  Tom’s happy.  Fran’s trying to assert himself as the alpha-male lead singer.  His son has a smirk on his face and wants us to see his biceps.  Gary Pihl loves Brad and loves music.  Kim’s glad to be in the band.  Brad is somewhere else.

 

I’m sure the signs were all there.  I’m sure those closest to him know that now.  In fact, they’re probably haunted by it.  But Brad was the kind of guy that would never want anyone to blame themselves for his problems.  He’d handle them selflessly and in his own way with the quiet dignity that epitomizes the truly gentle.  That’s why his fiancée knew nothing of his pain.  Brad would never have made his problems hers.

 

As I listened to the music, I couldn’t help but hear the joy in his voice.  Thirty years ago, he loved what he did.  I wonder when that stopped.  I suppose when that was gone, it wasn’t long before Brad himself was.

 

As cliché as it sounds, I know Brad lives on in his music.  I know it’s true.  But as the old Jim Croce song goes, I just wish I could convince my heart of it—that’s just not the way it feels.  It feels like we lost something pure and good and honest when we lost Brad.  What difference does one man make?  To a teenager coming of age while learning about love and heartache the old-fashioned way, Brad’s soothing harmonies were a calm in the middle of the storm, a warm friend I could always turn on my stereo and find anytime I needed him.  Multitudes of other kids who came of age in the 70s would say the same thing.  And now he’s gone forever, and we can never repay him or let him know how much he meant to us.

 

Time to put the disc back in.  I suppose if I think about this long enough, I’ll find a way to get my mind around it.  For now, those soothing harmonies will have to get me by.

Today's song is "Wild World" by Cat Stevens.  It's got a great message and comes to mind often.

I speculated a few days ago about whether Brad Delp, lead singer of the rock group Boston, had been called home by God because He had a vacancy in the angel choir.  Based on reports since then, it turns out that that wasn’t the case at all.  Brad went home on his own.  He took his own life. 

 

Attached to his collar with a paperclip was a note in which Brad described himself as a “lonely soul.”  I’m sorry, but that’s just profoundly sad—heart-wrenching even.  One of the best voices ever to grace rock ‘n’ roll will sing no more.  One of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet was so lonely that he felt he could not go on.  Something’s very wrong with that.

 

The various online obituaries for Brad mention that he sang a couple of Boston’s biggest hits, but that does him a terrible disservice.  Boston took the world by storm when it came on the scene in 1976.  MIT grad and guitar whiz kid Tom Scholz laid the musical foundation for Boston’s siege on American rock ‘n’ roll, but Brad gave it its distinctive sound.  Coupled with Tom’s memorable guitar riffs, Brad’s high-register harmonies defined what made Boston unique.  They made it stand out from all the other bands of the time.  Boston was the kind of fresh breeze on the airwaves that made you stop what you were doing and go, “Who is that?”

 

Many rock aficionados know that Boston’s eponymous debut album is the bestselling debut album by a rock act ever.  In fact, for about ten years, it was the bestselling debut album for any music genre.  What most people don’t know, however, is that Brad laid down all the vocals on the album himself.  That’s right, all those wonderful harmonies you hear on Boston are actually just one person singing on multiple tracks.  He also wrote “Let Me Take You Home Tonight,” one of the band's biggest hits, and the B-side of their megahit “Long Time.”  Tom Scholz played nearly all the instruments, so that first album you hear is really just two guys—two very, very talented guys.  Here’s Brad singing “Let Me Take You Home Tonight” in Florida in 2004:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg6oSkZCCTs.

 

Nearly every song on that first album was a hit, not to mention several off of the two that followed it.  Brad sang all of Boston’s material through Third Stage.  One of my favorites is “Amanda,” after which I named one of my daughters.  Those are all Brad Delp specials—they’d never have been the same—and probably wouldn’t even have been hits—had he not lent them his special genius.

 

Brad had a sweet voice, but an even sweeter personality.  He was just a really nice human being, someone who’d give you the shirt off his back, a humble artist who’d do anything for the fans.  And yet he was supremely lonely—all by himself in a world of friends and admirers.

 

What drives a person to suicide?  Or is that the wrong question?  Maybe it’s that some aren’t so much driven to suicide as it is that they simply run out of reasons to live—at least from their perspective.  Brad had a fiancée he was supposed to marry over the summer who knew nothing of his suicidal thoughts and children from his first marriage that he must have loved dearly.  He had a loyal fan base around the world that would travel long distances and gladly shell out their hard-earned cash just to hear him play and sing.  He had his band mates and a thirty year friendship with Tom Scholz.  Tom once joked that on hearing Brad sing for the first time, he handcuffed himself to him and wouldn’t let him get away—he knew he had to have him lead his band.  (In the near future, you'll be able to listen to the interview with Brad and Tom where I heard this here:  http://inthestudio.net/interviews.asp)

 

So what causes a man so loved and with seemingly so much to live for to take his own life?  Brad’s suicide notes said that he’d simply lost the will to live.  How can that be?  I suppose if you don’t fear the hereafter and you feel you just aren’t worth much to this life, maybe suicide becomes an attractive option.  I dunno.  Maybe the pain becomes unbearable and you begin to yearn for the comfort of the eternal sleep that awaits us all.  Feeling that his best days were behind him, maybe Brad saw nothing in the ones to come that could sooth the pain he endured alone, that he hid from those closest to him.  The loneliness became a monster that consumed him, his only companion as he lie there in his bathroom floor waiting for the carbon monoxide to vanquish it once and for all. 

 

One of Boston’s most memorable songs was “Peace of Mind” off that first album.  The lyrics go like this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I guess Brad had thought about that day when “it won’t matter” often.  I’m sure he thought about the day when he’d be gone.  He took a look ahead and didn’t see enough to live for.  Truly a shame.  I still can’t believe it.

 

A good friend of mine once observed, “Tom Scholz is what happens when an engineer becomes a rock guitarist.”  Tom’s wizardry with the instrument is legendary.  If that’s so, I guess Brad was what happened when a truly nice guy—a guy you might name your kid after or ask to be a godparent—became a rock ‘n’ roll singer.  There have been many imitators, but there was only one Brad Delp.

 

I wish I could tell you I know that he’s in a better place.  I wish I could tell you I know he’s singing with the angels.  He certainly deserves to be.  All I know is that his pain is over now.  The aloneness that consumed him has at last been put down.  Brad’s lonely days are no more, but the world is a lonelier place without him in it. 

 

Here’s how I prefer to remember Brad—in his prime and singing his heart out:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oB-gmuiFqgY

 

Boston lead singer Brad Delp has died.  He was not only one of the most influential voices in the history of rock 'n' roll, but he was also just a really nice human being.  Those of us who loved the man and his music are deeply saddened by his passing.  Fifty-five years just isn’t long enough on this earth for a talent as ageless as Brad’s.  They haven’t yet determined the cause of death, but I like to think God had a vacancy in the angel choir that he needed to fill, so he called home his favorite voice.  Brad’s was certainly as otherworldly as any rock voice has ever been.  That’s what I want to think for now.  Peace be to you, Brad, wherever you are.

 

Here are the lyrics to a timely song Brad wrote and recorded recently with Barry Goudreau, former guitarist for Boston:

 

Score:  ωωωωω   (Five out of five omegas)

You can read plenty of fine reviews of this film elsewhere on the net, so I’ll keep this brief. Pan’s Labyrinth (Spanish title: El laberinto del fauno—The Labyrinth of the Faun—Pan was a faun in Roman mythology) is the best film I’ve seen since last year’s Little Miss Sunshine. The story is fresh, there are some nice twists and turns, the performances are excellent, and the special effects, while very good, are mere tools for telling the story, not the story itself. This is the first Spanish-language film I’ve seen in awhile, but it was well worth the wait. In my opinion, it’s writer-director Guillermo del Toro’s finest work yet. These writer-director affairs can be a bit self-indulgent (e.g., M. Night Shamalam, whose work I generally don’t care for because I believe he cheats in order to provide unexpected twists—see The Sixth Sense and all the nonsense in that one as an example; Shamalam’s twists are unexpected because they are illogical or impossible or both.) But not this one—it’s a tight little movie that moves along briskly and never gives you a chance to get bored or disengage. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it and may go see it again.