“These Arms of Mine,” by Otis Redding. It all started with a series of calls, texts, and FaceTimes when my father turned 70. “What is a song that never gets old?” I asked him. “These Arms of Mine,” he replied without a second thought from California: “The whole album always makes me cry.” Soon enough, “These Arms of Mine” on repeat became my soundtrack to everything: a swift morning run, a post-stressful day’s deep breath, and an afternoon walk through Fort Greene Park. This year, I’ve found extra solace in the classics: 31 full minutes of listening from Otis’ Pain in My Heart album, my girlfriend’s favorite Joni Mitchell records on vinyl, Talking Heads’ “This Must Be The Place,” “Me and Bobby McGee” from Janis Joplin — those songs that no matter how quickly everything changes around us, still make you stop and sometimes cry. — Willa Bennett
2020, by Jon Bon Jovi. Everyone’s had a tough year. Some won’t recover. For me personally, 2020 was the most difficult of my life. I’ve been toggling between caring for my dad, who’s dying of cancer, and my daughter, who has a chronic stomach disease we discovered during lockdown this spring.
It’s been way harder for them, but I’ve been struggling. The truth is, I kinda stumbled into 2020. I’d been feeling like I was a little lost at sea. Being a father is rewarding and fulfilling, but not always fun and it can be lonely. Now there was this new challenge at home and I was feeling more lost than ever.
In April, on my birthday, I read about Jon Bon Jovi feeding hundreds of people through his foundation and food pantry. Later in the year, I stumbled into his new album, 2020 — although he’s never really been taken seriously critically, this was billed as his topical, serious move. I liked it immediately; I was impressed, inspired, even helped by it.
I listened to 2020 all summer; it kept me company. Especially in August, when a storm knocked the power out for a week and I spent a lot of time working a gas generator, keeping the family and house afloat. It carried me like a life raft paddled by an old friend I’d never met before, through the choppiest waters and saddest doldrums of the long, horrible year.
One song in particular, “The Story of Love,” played in my head and soundtracked my life. It’s a big, crisp, perfect, melodic waltz —very McCartney —destined to be played at every wedding and graduation in America when we do those again. “Fathers love daughters, like mothers love sons, they’ve been writing their stories, before there was one.”
When I finally talked to Jon about it all, he told me to “write chapters of your own life, get the ones with your daughter and your dad right, ’cause that’s what matters.” He was right, of course. Hearing him say it mattered to me. It was good advice, honest and personal, like the song. Nothing changed, exactly, except inside me a little.
Tell the people you love that you love them. Keep paddling. — Lucas Zaleski