Turn the Lights Back On

I'm notoriously non-musical. Sister Paulette, my 4th-grade music teacher, pulled me aside before one school performance and said, discreetly, "It's okay if you just move your lips." My oldest son has perfect pitch, an uncanny ability to precisely identify notes, singly or in combination with others, without an accompanying tonal reference. My daughter once pointed out to me that his pitch is so good that "he can stay on key even if you're singing."

Not surprisingly, music has rarely been important to me; on those occasions when I do care about it, it's usually because of the accompanying lyrics.

But in 1978, while spending a few days visiting relatives, I discovered Billy Joel's album The Stranger and played it. Then played it again, and again. And again. I'd never heard of Billy Joel, and I'd never been captivated by anyone's music. Five years later I'd been to four Billy Joel concerts in four states -- a number that still represents 80% of my total lifetime concert experiences. I own all of his albums, and I know all of his songs.

I still don't listen to a lot of music, but he remains my favorite artist.

On February 1st Billy Joel released his new single, Turn the Lights Back On. A week later I was in New Mexico, mourning with my siblings the February 3rd passing of my father and spending time with my younger brother Dan who was losing his battle with lymphoma.

I'm the oldest of seven smart kids. Dan was the middle child, and unquestionably the smartest of the litter. He was a gifted chess player, had an encyclopedic knowledge of music and old movies, could solve a Rubik's cube with his eyes closed (literally), had a bunch of black belts in some kind of karate, and was the consummate computer nerd.

He was weak, couldn't really talk, had been bedridden for weeks and was sporting a fentanyl patch to control the pain, but we'd put his laptop on his lap and he'd spend his day slowly scrolling through thousands of songs, playing whatever he wanted to hear. I sat with him for hours while he'd point at a song, try to tell me to listen, try to tell me something about it, hit play.

I mentioned Turn the Lights Back On. He hadn't heard of it, which surprised me though it probably shouldn't have. He found it and played it. Then played it again, and again. And again. He was playing it on February 7th, the last time he tried to speak to me. It was playing that night when I tucked him in for his penultimate rest, and said goodnight and goodbye.

I'm far more visual than musical, and I love the video that accompanies the song. The de-aging process is wonderful: I remember Billy Joel as the young man of Piano Man, The Stranger, 52nd Street, Turnstiles, all his older and, in my opinion, better work. It's surreal to see young Billy Joel sitting at the piano singing a song that wouldn't exist for another 40 years. But it's the transition back to today's Billy Joel, to the bald old man, that I particularly like. Maybe because now I'm the old man in the family. Maybe because he sounds the same, and so it's as if all the years are still sitting at the piano, and that's a comforting thought -- that none of it is really, truly gone.