The other day I got in a fight with my wife.
Not a serious fight like you might see in an academy award nominated drama starring Meryl Street. More like a fight you might see on a Tim Allen sitcom complete with laugh track.
The fight arose when I played Glen Campbell’s immortal song “Galveston” and my wife quipped indignantly that it was “country” music.
Are you kiddin’ me?!
“Glen Campbell is not country!” I replied hotly. I don’t listen to country music. Never have. Well okay, a few Garth Brooks songs and Dan Seals’ “Bop”, but that’s it, I assure you. “Glen Campbell is in a class by himself” I added. (Insert inane laugh track here)
My wife rolled her eyes, shook her head, and walked off set. (More laughter).
But why was I so testy? Who cares if I add Glen Campbell to my very short list of “country singers”?
To be honest, I suspect I’ve been a little sensitive about Glen Campbell since the summer. That’s when I first learned that at 75 he had announced a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease and had embarked on his last tour ever. And that whole picture of a perennial entertainer who had recorded more than seventy albums signing off just struck me as terribly sad, like playing Jackson Browne’s “The Load-Out” one last time. Granted Campbell was never part of my life soundtrack in the way that Steve Miller or the Eagles have been. But “Rhinestone Cowboy”, “By the time I get to Phoenix” and the above-mentioned “Galveston” have secured their place within my top 500. Not even Coldplay can boast that honor. And now I had discovered that Mr. Campbell was on his final tour.
Fair enough, you think. I’m a sentimentalist. But really, melanchology for months? Every career, every life has to come to an end.
Now that you say it, that may be it. Every career, evey life comes to an end. The melancholy wasn’t simply that it was Glen Campbell’s last tour. It was also the reminder that someday it would be my last tour.
No laugh track please.
Just fade to black and let the credits roll…
