June Hymn

There’s this song by the Decemberists called June Hymn celebrating the arrival of summer. The lyrics grabbed me the first time I heard it, weaving an image of lush blooming using well-chosen words. I mean, who uses “panoply” in a song? They do. I love how images are painted and I not only hear the words but see the colors and know the feelings they suggest.

Here’s a hymn to welcome in the day
Heralding a summer’s early sway
And all the bulbs all coming in,
To begin
The thrushes bleating battle with the wrens
Disrupts my reverie again.

I could go on and on about the elegant simplicity of this song, the subtle, single keyboard line that glistens in the background, so simple yet forming the backbone of the piece. I could tell you about the unusual singular voices of the band members and how they fit so perfectly together. And all of this would be true…the colors and lines fill me but I’ll tell you a secret: there’s a chord in this song that makes me cry. In the final stanza they change up the melody with a slow build to a chord that cascades over the edges of the song somehow.

And years from now
When this old light isn’t ambling anymore
Will I bring myself to write
“I give my best to Springville Hill”

The voices blend in an almost otherworldly way, disconnected and then brilliantly connected. And every time I listen I cry. The beauty of it is almost too much for me. Now I realize that everyone has songs that speak to them and just because a song speaks to me doesn’t mean it will speak to you. But isn’t it amazing how a work of art can transport us without our intention to go there? How can we be so elevated by art? Isn’t it incredible how color and light and words and music can burrow into those corners of our soul and cause us to respond without us even realizing it’s happening?

For me this response comes as tears. This is when I know that something is at work on me. It often happens with specific points in music, certain tones or melodies or achingly beautiful lyrics. It can happen when a poet combines words to speak a truth that has, until then, been wordless. It can happen when notes come together in a way that touches something so deep that little else sees it but somehow these notes find it.

So if you find me crying when we listen to music together, please don’t worry. Don’t try to comfort me. I am happily being broken open once again.

If you’re curious about the song, take a listen.