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I listened to as much of Bruce Springsteen's new protest song dedicated to Minneapolis as I could, which was a bit less than two of the four and a half minutes.

I have so many thoughts, most of them unkind, so I'll spare you.

Instead, let me point you to the work of Paul MacLeod, a Canadian singer/songwriter who died in 2016. I can hardly believe it's been a decade since his death.

At a time in my life when I was struggling with -- so many things, really. At that time, a Canadian friend gifted Paul's first album to me: Tell the Band to Go Home.

When I was feeling at my lowest, or just not feeling up to the task of being... I don't know... being a partner, a parent, a friend to myself even. When I was low, something about listening to that album carried me through.

It's not a "happy" album, the songs aren't upbeat. But it's beautiful and human, and deeply reassuring. ALL of the songs on that album are protest songs. They protest how hard life is, and in the protestations you can see what the world ought to be, what it could be, why it's worth trying for, and how beautiful it is no matter what.

Paul made the world a beautiful place to be, even as he sang about the pain of it.

If you know me, you know that because of the way my brain is wired, I'm mildly anhedonic when it comes to music. I can enjoy it, but not -- as I've come to learn in my old age -- the way most people enjoy it. I don't get the same visceral sensations others get, the tears, the gut punches, the shivers.

Except for lyrics. Good lyrics can slay me. And if they're good enough, the musical piece as a whole gives me the tiniest bit of insight into what the rest of you feel like all the time when you listen to music. If they're good enough, I actually have a moment of envy for what I must be missing.

So when I tell you that Paul MacLeod's music carried me through the bad times, I'm telling you that his work was so good it even got through to ME.

Paul was not only a wildly talented musician and composer, he was an amazing lyricist. His words, set to his music, brought me visceral comfort when nothing else could. Still does sometimes.

Even if I'm not "in the mood" for his work, if I set it to playing it grabs me anyhow, and I get lost in it.

Sometimes back in the day, with three restless kids in the car, I'd put it in the CD player. It felt like having someone hold my hand. You know the way a person can do that, without trying to offer up any solutions to your problems or telling you everything is going to be okay? It was like that. I was held. As a side bonus, it quieted the kids down, too. I'm pretty sure that to this day, somewhere in the back of their adult brains, they all still know his lyrics and his strumming style by heart.

Probably his best protest song was written when Margaret Thatcher was still the British Prime Minister (he references her in it).

Black Boys on Mopeds, it's called.

Go ahead. Listen to Springsteen's protest song (if you can get through it), and then go listen to Paul's (you won't want it to end).

It's about a different time and place, but the problems it speaks to, and the sentiment, and the world-weariness of it all -- these are universal and timeless.

Paul MacLeod, Black Boys on Mopeds. After that, you might find yourself listening to the whole album. Don't worry. I'll wait here for you.

https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=OLAK5uy_kiakJ3lSl1tK2J3NkN89QgMrHFXvga7Lk

#music #lyrics #ProtestSongs #storytelling