When my brother Andrew died, alone in his car in a rest stop in Ohio, seven months sober but his esophageal varices shot all to hell, I was in indescribable pain. What hurt more than anything else was to know that this was how the story ended. There was the injustice of it all, obviously, but also that it was such an ugly end to such a meaningful life. So, you know, our form of justice was to tell the story without the end.

We go through these rituals and we shine the best light on things, but the subtext is still there. The best storytelling is driven by subtext and some stories serve to teach you of life’s most important lessons so you can access them when they’re really needed.

I’ve been listening to Robert Hunter’s Stella Blue since I was fourteen year’s old, and I’ve contemplated and valued its message countless times. What really is “Stella Blue”? Why are those words in the song, and what do they mean? There’s no correct answer to that question, but I know what they mean to me.

Stella Blue is what remains at the end of the story when the story is filled with loss and pain and regret and unfathomable sorrow. Hunter describes this feeling as a song that comes crying “up the night” and “like the wind down every lonely street that’s ever been.” In the end, it’s all that remains.

The song ends like this:

It all rolls into one
and nothing comes for free
There’s nothing you can hold
for very long

And when you hear that song
come crying like the wind
it seems like all this life
was just a dream

Stella Blue

I’ve heard these words and I’ve understood them, but now I feel them. Yet, Stella Blue is ultimately redemptive. After all, there is something that remains.

When all the cards are down
there’s nothing left to see
There’s just the pavement left
and broken dreams
In the end there’s still that song…

That’s the real power of the lyrics: “There’s still that song.” As long the song is there, life is there. We can go on.

Subtext and redemption are not just for last chapters, however. Sometimes they can be captured in the fleeting moment. For example, Robert Earl Keen’s song Feelin’ Good Again describes a man whose been away for a long time, obviously suffering from hardships and depression. He comes home and goes to an old bar where his favorite band is playing. He sees all his old friends and wishes he’d cashed his paycheck so he could buy them all a round of drinks. Suddenly he discovers seventy dollars in his pocket and it’s clear his luck has finally changed. It’s feel good but then he begins to wish an old flame was there too.

The boys from Silver City
Were standin’ by the fire
Singin’ like they thought
They were the Tabernacle choir

And I wanted you to see ’em all
I wished that you were there
I looked across the room
And saw you standin’ on the stair
And when I caught your eye
I saw you break into a grin
It feels so good feelin’ good again

That’s all the song conveys. Two examples of unexpected good fortune after a long string of difficulties. We don’t need to know the details of those difficulties because we can provide our own examples. The important thing is to know that luck can change and it’s possible to feel good again.

Finally, if ever anyone had a bad last chapter it was Blaze Foley who was shot to death and whose murderer was acquitted. But his song Clay Pigeons is much like Keen’s Feelin’ Good Again in that it explores the possibility of getting back on you feet after suffering some very severe blows. It’s another mid-chapter story with a vital lesson.

I’m goin’ down to the Greyhound station
Gonna get a ticket to ride
Gonna find that lady with two or three kids
And sit down by her side

Ride ’til the sun comes up and down around me
‘Bout two or three times
Smokin’ cigarettes in the last seat
Tryin’ to hide my sorrow from the people I meet

And get along with it all
Go down where the people say y’all
Sing a song with a friend
Change the shape that I’m in
And get back in the game and start playin’ again

Again, we have no idea what put Foley in such bad shape to begin with, but we can fill in our own blanks. The key is that he has a plan and he has faith that he can change the shape that he’s in and get back in the game. This is something he knows he needs to do.

I’m tired of runnin’ ’round
Lookin’ for answers to questions that I already know
I could build me a castle of memories
Just to have somewhere to go

Count the days and the nights that it takes
To get back in the saddle again
Feed the pigeons some clay, turn the night into day
And start talkin’ again when I know what to say

Brendan Skwire was kind enough to come all the way down from Vermont with a friend to sing the latter two of these songs at Jesse’s memorial celebration yesterday, and we chose these songs because they meant a lot to Jesse. But, really, they were reminders to those of us who are grieving his loss and trying to cope with the last chapter.

As Robert Keen wrote in another song, “the road goes on forever and the party never ends,” and we have more chapters to write.

I take solace from this music and take inspiration as a writer from the genius and craftsmanship of the lyrics. Sometimes we leave out the last chapter as a way to right the wrongs of the world. Other times, we leave the details unspoken because we’re after universal truths.