The Dithering of a District Diva

“Wherever I am, I’d rather be dancing” –DCDistrictDiva

Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” is one of my all-time favorite songs. Justin Timberlake gave this song new life in his rendition at the Hope for Haiti telethon on Friday. (Buy it here and help the people of Haiti). I have been listening to this version on repeat for hours, literally, and can’t recall if the sky’s head has been hanging low all day, or if, by natural fallacy, I have made it cold and gray outside. But even though this song makes me immensely sad, I still marvel at the fact that every single time I hear it–even while replaying it consistently–I feel something. Mostly warmth followed by chills followed by a surprisingly overwhelming need to sit in the shower and cry.

But that’s why I believe that music is one of God’s most beautiful creations. It is simply miraculous to me that a single song, or a verse, or melody can latch on to a piece of your soul and refuse to let you go. I’m not sure what love is, but I do believe it must be something like this. Like no matter how many times in a row I see your face or hear your voice or let you invade my most private thoughts, I feel something. And I don’t tire of it.

“Hallelujah” tells the Biblical story of David and Bathsheba: his lust for her, his love for her, and the destruction that comes with giving your soul to someone that maybe you shouldn’t have. The lyrics are wholly and beautifully devastating:

Well your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

She tied you to her kitchen chair

She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the hallelujah

I haven’t any idea what the composer meant by the verse, or this song. But if he is anything like me, he believed that an all-encompassing, passionate love existed, but he needed proof to keep believing in it. And one day, he got it. He saw this beautiful creature and lusted after her. Then, he loved her, and then, she ruined him. (In fairness, the Bible story is that David pretty much ruined her first, by killing her husband and making her feel guilty for the man’s death and then impregnating her and then getting her baby cursed because of his adultery…but, for the sake of the song, I guess that’s neither here nor there).

Bathsheba brought him onto her territory, made him occupy her space, and she held him there, bound up in her, as a prisoner is. Everything that was great in him, his kingdom, his throne, was ruined because of his dangerous affair with her. Like Delilah to Sampson, she cut his hair and stole his strength (metaphorically). But, in true David fashion, what else can you do but praise God when you are left with nothing? Praise Him because you’re still standing. Because you survived it. Because He spared you; Because you got your proof: You loved immeasurably, even if in her “everything sank,” like Neruda’s “Song of Despair.” And even if it is only a “cold and broken hallelujah.”

But then, eventually, the song wears on you. Well, not so much the song, I guess; it is still beautiful, and you still love it, and you know you will always love it and appreciate it for showing you how deeply you can feel; but that desire to keep pressing the repeat button fades at some point. And then, all you want is that overwhelming need to sit in the shower and cry to go away, already! Because who willingly listens to a song that makes you feel so strongly and so full in the beginning, but that you know will inevitably leave you completely drained and lifeless afterward, huddled and wet on a shower floor? Only a masochist, I would imagine.

Granted, I would take this song over a song that doesn’t make me feel anything at all. At the end of the day, emotions are what remind us of our humanity. But if I had to choose a way for love to make me feel—and I still believe I get a say in this—I would choose Barry White, “My First, My Last, My Everything.” I would choose Maze & Frankie Beverly “Before I Let Go,” Lionel Richie “Endless Love.” These songs give me joy, they make me want to dance, and sing and live life, not lay down in it. And I can play them over and over and over again and always feel just as good as the first time. And that must be what love really is. The healthy kind, at least! My faith is strong, but I’d love some proof, Lord! 😉

Ladies & Gentlemen, Barry White to play us out: (you better be dancing!)

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