When the Levee Breaks

I've never been much of a Led Zeppelin fan. In fact, every morning, when my favorite classic rock station does a segment called "Get the Led Out" at 8AM, I cringe a little. Not that it's bad music, but wouldn't that regular feature be better served by something a little less, well, anti-morning? My vote would be for the Beatles, of course, but even the Stones or the Who both have enough diversity of mood in their tunes that every damn morning wouldn't feel like a funeral waiting to happen.

Zep seems somewhat of a dark way to start your day. I guess the coveted advertiser demographic of males 35-44 prefers to get dressed to "Babe, I'm Gonna Leave You" or "Your Time is Gonna Come" rather than something a little more optimistic, like "Good Day Sunshine" or "All You Need is Love."

That being said, the other morning I heard a Zep tune that stopped me in my tracks. I literally had to sit and listen. Because "When the Levee Breaks" both sounded and felt like the way this month has been going: like everything's been systematically crashing to the ground, destabilized by a force of nature that no one and nothing can control.

The message of the song: shit happens. Nothing you can do about it, except bitch (sit on the levee and moan), and then decide if you're going to tough it out, or up and leave for Chicago.

I do have a Chicago story that relates somewhat to this. It was what I would refer to as my "Lost Weekend" more than 15 years ago, ranking up there among the freaking stupidest things I've ever done. Having broken up with not one, but two guys back in New York, I flew halfway across the country for a blind date, set up by a friend of mine in California. Got to Chicago, ended up seriously not hitting it off with the guy, and out of a sense of total and complete despair and loneliness, got more wasted than I have ever been in my life. I can tell you straight up that my only memories of that fair city are 1) falling out of a cab 2) waking up on the couch in the lobby of the hotel I stayed in, whose name I can't remember and 3) a queasy, hungover brunch the next morning with my dear friend Frank from grad school, after which we harmonized on Beatles tunes in his car, all the way back to the airport.

After that performance, I don't think I'm welcome in Chicago. But I get it - I know what happened that weekend. The combination of hopelessness, disappointment and jetlag simply got to me. I'd had enough. The levee broke.

But anyway, back to the song. I couldn't help but think that these past few weeks have felt like a levee breaking, an overwhelming, devastating flood of sadness and destruction taking everything in its path. I've witnessed the dissolution of relationships, ravaging illnesses, financial ruin. Worst of all, my community has buried two of its children in the past three weeks.

So I could really understand that one lyric: all last night, I sat on the levee and moaned. It was so easy to picture, standing at the precipice of water and land, screaming your outrage at an indifferent sky, knowing that the structure beneath you is at its breaking point, that in the morning it may in fact no longer exist. I hate that so many people I care about have gone to sleep in peace and have awakened to total destruction. It is so hard to find blessing in any of this.

And yet, even as I sit here typing, the young, earnest voices sing out from my computer speakers: Hang on to your hopes, my friend - that's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend that you can build them again. Or the song that's on my iTunes right now - this whole damn world can fall apart, you'll be okay, follow your heart.

I don't know whether letting oneself wallow in the songs that mirror your mood is the right thing to do - if I should give in to getting the Led out. Is hearing the message, "Going down, going down now, going down" what you should be listening to when you're trying to lift yourself back up? Or is it OK to acknowledge that downward direction for a while, knowing you're not alone, knowing that yours is not the only brokenness?

I guess every "mean old levee" teaches us how to weep and moan. Essential life lessons, but at some point, it has to break. It has to end. And G-d willing, soon.