The Richard Shindell pantheon of memorable songs is a splendid and distinctive one -- as if no else could have written them, common lives writ large.
It has to begin with "Transit' -- nothing else touches this absolute classic:
The merge from the turnpike was murder, but it’s never a cinch
It was Friday at five, and no one was giving an inch
They squeezed and the edged and they glared
Half them clearly impaired by rage or exhaustion
The rest were just touchy as hell
Somewhere near Paterson everything slowed to a crawl
The all-news station was thanking someone for the call
It’s a van from St. Agnes’s choir
There’s a nun out there changing a tire
By the time they got by her, tempers were out of control
So they all hit the gas in a dash for position
Bobbing and weaving and flashing their highbeams
Fliping the bird and screaming obscenities
A well-insured hoard hell-bent on Saturday
And so they continued west-bound and into the sun
Law and decorum constraining nary a one
By then it was devil-may-care
Not one even vaguely aware
That they had come all the way to the Delaware Water Gap
But how had it happened? They had all missed their exits
How had it happened? Was it some kind of vortex?
And in they all went, bumper to bumper
Faster and faster, no sign of a trooper
In they all went, like sheep to the slaughter
Bankers and carpenters, doctors and lawyers
And in they all went, families in minivans
Reagan republicans, weekend militiamen
They followed the river, and rounded the bend
Between Minsi and Tammany and into their destiny
Lying in ambush right their before them
The angry old sun right on the horizon
Sister Maria tightened the bolts of the spare
She said a quick prayer and put the old van into gear
Thank God that the traffic was light
If she hurried she might not be late
For that evening’s performance at the state penetentiary
She entered the common room and their was her choir
Altos and baritones, basses and tenors
Car thieves and crack dealers, mobsters and murderers
Husbands and sons, fathers and brothers
And so it began in glorious harmony
Softly and tenderly – calling for you and me
With the interstate whining way off in the distance
And the sun going down through the bars of the prison
They poured out their souls, they poured out their memories
They poured out their hopes for what’s left of eternity
To sister Maria – her soul like a prism
For the light of forgiveness on all of their faces
+++++
Then there is "The Ballad of Mary Magdalen" -- again, a take unlike any other, ever:
My name is Mary Magdalen
I come from Palestine
Please excuse these rags Im in
But I've fallen on hard times
But long ago I had my work
When I was in my prime
But I gave it up, and all for love
It was his career or mine
Jesus loved me
This I know
But why on earth
Did I ever let him go
He was always faithful
He was always kind
But he walked off
With this heart of mine
A love like this will come but once
This I do believe
And I'll not see his like again
As I live and breath
And Im sorry if I might offend
But I will never see
How the tenderness I shared with him
Became a heresy
Jesus loved me
This I know
But why on earth
Did I ever let him go
He was always faithful
He was always kind
But he walked off
With this heart of mine
But I remember nights we spent
Whispering our creed
Our rituals, our sacraments
The stars our canopy
There beneath an olive tree
We'd offer up our plea
Gods creation innocent
His arms surrounding me
Jesus loves me
This I know
But why on earth
Did he ever have to go
He was always faithful
He was always kind
But he walked off
With this heart of mine
+++++
"Wisteria" employs plant as metaphor, with a change diminishing remembrances:
Lets not drive away just yet
Give me a moment more
To walk through those rooms again
To walk through that door
If we turn off the radio
I've only to close my eyes
And the wind in the sycamores
Carry me home
The vine of my memory
Is blooming around those eaves
But it's true it's a chore to tame wisteria
I'm tempted to ring the bell
Maybe they'd let me in
Or maybe it's just as well
To let it all be
Remember the price we paid?
It seemed like a lot back then
Remember the love we made
The day we moved in?
The vine of my memory
Is blooming around those eaves
But it's true it's a chore to tame wisteria
It did need some pruning back
And I know that it's not my place
but how couold they just cut it down
And leave not a trace?
Lets not drive away just yet
Give me a moment more
To walk through those rooms again
To walk through that door
The vine of my memory
Is blooming around those eaves
But it's true it's a chore to tame wisteria
+++++
As sweet and sad a love song as can be written is "Reunion Hill":
Must have been in late September
When last I climbed Reunion Hill
I fell asleep on Indian Boulder
And dreamed a dream I will not tell
I came home as the sun went down
One eye trained upon the ground
Even now I find their things
Glasses, coins, and golden rings
Its ten years since that ragged army
Limped across these fields of mine
I gave them bread, I gave them brandy
But most of all I gave them time
My well is deep, the water pure
My streams are fed by mountain lakes
I cleaned the brow of many a soldier
Dousing for my husband's face
I won't forget our sad farewell
And how I ran to climb that hill
Just to watch him walk across the valley
And disappear into the trees
Alone there in a sea of blue
It circles every afternoon
A single hawk in God's great sky
Looking down with God's own eyes
He soars above Reunion Hill
I pray he spiral higher still
As if from such an altitude
He might just keep our love in view
Must have been in late September
When last I climbed Reunion Hill
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