Sitting Shiva for The Diva

I loved Joan Rivers and I cannot let her passing go without a decent acknowledgement.

She was Jewish by birth and by inclination; I am gay and Catholic by the same.

How would a homo-Papist sit shiva for a Hebrew diva?

I don’t know, but I will try.

Phil The Fan

PS: If you have a problem with the jokes that Joan Rivers told, you have better things to do with your time, so please do them instead of reading any further.

Can we talk?
(Which is closer to meaning, “Sit down! Shut up! And Listen! To ME!”)

I loved Joan Rivers. Like most born in the 1970’s, I remember her from The Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson, but being little, I had her confused with another blonde woman named Joan—Joan Embery from the San Diego Zoo. My aunts would like to watch when Joan Rivers guest-hosted for Carson, but mostly to see what she wore (those glorious over-the-top gowns of the 1980’s!), and in time, I gained a separate appreciation for the wild tirades that Rivers would deliver in her opening monologues.

First, I can go no further without mentioning

that night when Rivers guest hosted The Tonight Show and her guests were that other Joan of the 1980's, Joan Collins, and that other English "queen who can't dress", Boy George. It was in that interview in which Rivers asked Collins which husband was the best lover (alas, I have been unable to find footage of that exchange on YouTube). That episode had to make it the most-camptastic night NBC had that season!

Hosting The Tonight Show, Rivers would usually have the same people included on the guest lists: George Carlin, John Davidson, the Smothers Brothers, and Peter Allen. The latter annoyed me, because he would be playing the piano and sing songs like “I Honestly Love You”, you know, the song which Olivia Newton-John made a hit. Here was this beautiful piece of music that this annoying balding and flaming Australian would sing. Being young and ignorant, I did not know that this song, and the others that Allen performed, were songs that he actually he wrote. Now we know Allen’s story and his music better thanks to The Boy from Oz musical making it to Broadway, in which starred Hugh Jackman as Allen. It is touching to know that Jackman sang the song "Quiet Please, There's a Lady On Stage" which Allen wrote for his mother-in-law Judy Garland, at Rivers’ funeral: I like to think that on some level, this tribute to Joan's life and career was also a nod to Allen and for the gay men who helped to make Rivers' career.

Now why am I going on about Peter Allen, who died in 1992? I do this because Joan Rives had him regularly a guest when she hosted The Tonight Show, providing him with a large audience. That audience included a closeted young boy in the Mid-West, a boy who didn’t know anything about Peter Allen, who even found him irritating (to a certain extent, still does), but in time, came to appreciate the songwriter and his legacy. That familiarity was a gift from Joan to her friend and to her audience.

I came to love Rivers’ routine so much that in 1985, I bought her comedy record What Becomes a Semi-Legend Most?, which had on its cover Rivers glamorously posing with a sable.

At 13, I did not realize that she was parodying a similar pose by Lillian Hellman.

(But you know, the picture on the back of the album, with Joan, in a pink dress, holding a blender with a matching pink bow, at the family wedding portrait of Charles and Diana, is also a hoot!)

The purchase of this album was against my mother’s better judgment, but I bought it and listened to it over and over again.

I’m pretty sure Mom soon regretted her lapse in judgment, as I remember when she scolded me for saying that I had a classmate who was so stupid that he spent all night “studying for his P.A.P. test!” Obviously, this was a joke that I recycled from Rivers’ album, and as a 13 year-old boy, I had no clue what the hell a P.A.P. test was. It, my mother explained through gritted teeth and in a menacing tone, was not the subject for jokes (and certainly not jokes said by her teenage son).

Clearly, Joan Rivers educated me. Thanks to Rivers, not only did I know who Peter Allen was, and what the hell a P.A.P. test is, I also felt the charge of telling jokes. By saying that, I don’t want to dismiss the humor at home: in fact, my father has an excellent sense of humor, but he was too familiar, whereas Rivers, with her thick Brooklyn voice and determined attitude, was exotic.

In her humor, Rivers targeted not just the poorly dressed and the tacky, she slammed men and women alike. While many are now hailing her as a feminist icon and pioneer (and rightly so!), she was always very much about beauty, glamour, and the importance of family (i.e., marriage or a relationship), ideas that at the time were considered evil patriarchal relics by the many mainline feminists in the 1980’s. Her continuing adventures in plastic surgery could be viewed as pathetic grasps for relevance by a desperate and insecure woman, but anyone that worked with Rivers in radio (where she did not wear makeup) or saw the beginning to her film Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work knows that it was not all about vanity.

Generally, beauty is a gift from G-d, from nature, simply an accident of genetics: Rivers always said that she wasn’t beautiful and made many jokes at her own expense as to being ugly and lacking sex appeal. In contrast, glamour is attained and is not natural (I think of Joan Collins declaring “one does not speak of glamorous babies!” something to which Rivers would have agreed). Rivers was fascinated by glamour and tried to cultivate it in herself, but that was for the dignity of her work and part of her professionalism rather than much personal vanity. I recall her targeting Queen Elizabeth II: “…but if you are the Queen of England…if you own England, and Scotland, and Ireland, and Canada, Gawddammit, shave your legs!” Clearly, Rivers believed that if you were in a high profile position, you were obligated to at least be well-groomed (she probably hated grunge more than I did!). Also, many a gig included Rivers going on about women and their rings and how big the diamonds were (“Show me the ring!—How’d you do?—You’re a Jew and you accepted that shitty ring!?”): the joke may have suggested gold-digging, but the lesson was about life and love.

Certain targets of Rivers’ ire remained for years: I have no doubt that she made millions off the dozens of pounds that Elizabeth Taylor gained in the late 1970’s. Here again, I recycled those jokes, and of course, much to the irritation of my mother, who had been heavyset as a child. Yes, they were cruel and it would be difficult for one not to say that they were mean-spirited (certain gems that I treasure include: “She puts mayonnaise on an aspirin!” as well as “I asked her what would you like on your hamburger: ‘A hot dog!’” and especially “She’s the only person I know that can stand front of a microwave and say ‘HURRY!’”). In time, good manners and a sense of empathy kept me from repeating those jokes all that often. However, one far too smug chubby queen once flaunted his relationship status in my face, trying to slight me as a single man; too bad for him I was ready to recycle a joke about Elizabeth Taylor and mosquitoes (“Mosquitoes look at her and scream ‘BUFFET!’”), which appropriately shocked him into silence.

(Now that example above, I will confess, was spiteful, but I give credit--and not blame--to Joan Rivers for the content of that comment as well as the sharpness by which it was delivered, since timing, as a college friend once explained to me, was something that I, unlike Rivers, lacked. Furthermore, also unlike myself, Rivers could handle a heckler and in fact had sympathy for his situation.)

Despite good manners and sympathy which keeps cruelty (perceived or real) in check, most if not all humor is based on pain and suffering, something which happens to us all. Rivers not only made jokes about Elizabeth Taylor, Christina Onasis, and Gloria Vanderbilt (something for which the latter's son Anderson Cooper initially hated Rivers), she also made jokes about herself. When she made fun of herself, those jokes were not limited to her lack of beauty (which alone evokes a sense of a crusty and gritty woman who, despite the obvious sorrow, is simply too busy for self pity), but also the suicide of her husband Edgar.

For years the critics hated Joan Rivers: she was crass and she was mean and she was not funny. Those critics clearly did not “get” Rivers, because while she was crass and she was mean, she was funny: in fact, the meanness and crassness colored her humor. Contrary to preaching by a certain choir that bizarrely includes some religious people as well as people of various political persuasions (people on the left and the right), humor does exist where there is cruelty: a joke does not require a conscience to instigate laughter.

However, Rivers did have a conscience. She supported several charities and was one of the first celebrities, even before Elizabeth Taylor, to publicly rally against AIDS. In the film A Piece of Work, we see Rivers doing work with God’s Love We Deliver: while that could be dismissed as a P.R. stunt, her history with the organization went back for years.

Something else with caustic humor that I think is important is how well someone can take it when it’s dished back at them. Many of us remember when Kathy Griffin broke into tears when Jay Leno's joke about Griffin’s shared photograph with Carmen Electra as being a “Before/After” shot: rather than using that pain to help herself to become a tougher person, Griffin suggested that Leno consult with his wife about his joke. Was Griffin suggesting that some people, even tough Chicago-bred comediennes like herself, must be handled with kid gloves?

Well, Joan Rivers might also have been brittle at times, and even bristle at attacks to which she was subjected in the business. As the audience finds in the film A Piece of Work, Rivers was hesitant to do the Comedy Central Roast, knowing that it would be jokes about her age and her plastic surgeries. However, she did the Roast, for the honor (honor=money), and sure enough, it as just as Rivers knew it would be. However, the star sat through it, as every Roast recipient does, but when it was her turn at the end of the show, wow, did she bring down the house! She could dish it out, she could take it, and she could show how to dish it back, and the response and applause were breathtaking.

My take from these situations in which humor is confronted with conscience is that while humor does not need what others consider a “conscience”, a real conscience need not have the last word, or even say a word: conscience needs action (which Joan Rivers delivered), and not just words, which is all that the preaching choir of shame-drummers and politically correct activists provide.

Her husband’s suicide occurred after she had separated from him, leaving Joan and their daughter with not only broken hearts but also sizable debts. Fox had fired her; Johnny Carson had excommunicated her: she was washed up. Against the odds, she fought back and clawed her way with a comeback, which was confirmed by a Daytime Emmy win in 1990, the year that I graduated from high school. With liberation from high school and the freedom which college (and cable and a VCR) allowed, I enjoyed watching Rivers’ syndicated show: Oprah it was not, but it didn’t have to be because it was entertaining and informative in a way that only Joan Rivers could deliver.

When her syndicated show ended,

Rivers still kept busy with various projects: she made the red carpet interview a "thing". However, with the triple crown of winning Celebrity Apprentice, the Comedy Central Roast, and her film A Piece of Work, she was practically beatified and the living legend status of Joan Rivers was secured.

Of course, recent comments by the comic have been subject to speculation. A few months ago, after being asked about the possibility of a first gay president, Rivers quipped, “We already have it,” with the current president and said that his wife was a “tranny”. When asked to clarify, Rivers paused and said the politically correct term (seemingly out of boredom and just a little spite): “transgendered”.

There were also her tirades against the Palestinians (or, rather, against sympathy for the Palestinians), related to the recent battles between the Israelis and the Palestinians in Gaza. At those moments, Rivers spoke with the fierce tone that we have come to expect from her, but with words that could leave even an ardent Zionist's blood run cold. Those words remained on the minds of many, as one reads comments left online by people who found her words to be more than harsh, but outright wicked, and such people are not mourning the star's death.

Both sets of rants reveal parts of the personal character of Joan Rivers, one of which she hardly ever showed in her work and the other she could not help but to share. While making funny and contemptuous remarks about the American first family is not unique (the Bushes, the Clintons, the Carters, the Fords, even the Reagans have all provided hours of material for comedians), outside of the most partisan of pundits and D-List jokers, there has not been many jokes said about the current first family (at least in contrast to previous families). Some point out that Rivers was a Republican: so what--she made plenty of comments about Republicans! Granted, Republicans are rare in show business, but for the most part, Rivers was discrete in her most of her substantial political statements. The audience gets an explicit statement from her during her interview of Shahs of Sunset’s Reza Farahan, where she admitted that she was a Republican (and her daughter Melissa clarified that they were “California” or “country club Republicans”: fiscally conservative and socially liberal). Peggy Noonan said as much in her piece on Rivers, although she was more savvy and insightful by saying that

(Rivers) believed in a strong defense because she was a grown-up and understood the world to be a tough house…She was socially liberal in the sense she wanted everyone to find as many available paths to happiness as possible.

Still, what is described here is a hard-working woman who would understandably lack much patience for the Tea Party, but would have outright disgust for the Occupy Movement (which one can readily infer in her book I Hate Everyone…Starting with Me). Rivers’ family used to bring furs to the court of the Tsar in Russia, so I see in her identification as a Republican more about aspirations (“We are the party of aspiration,” David Cameron said at a rally for the Conservative Party in the United Kingdom, underlying the appeal which right-of-center parties have for middle and working class people) than about going back to how the Founders envisioned the American republic. Considering how outspoken and liberal fellow comics Kathy Griffin, Whoopi Goldberg, Margaret Cho, and Sarah Silverman have been, and seeing not only the respect but also the deep affection for which they held Rivers, it is clear that the latter did not let politics interfere with human relationships. If more politically minded people, politicians and activists alike (on both sides of the aisle), shared that approach, the American social landscape could be a better place.

While the political affiliation of Joan Rivers was not well known, her identification as Jewish (although perhaps not scrupulously observant) was explicit and it was proud. She would mention that important changes in society, such as the fights against racism and against homophobia, happened because of Jewish efforts; she spoke with such contempt of WASP’s, dismissing them as feeble and cowardly, you’d think she was channeling Margaret Thatcher talking about Europeans. Her recent comments about the conflict between Hamas and the Israelis show an unbridled, unapologetic and unsurprising Zionism. Still, Rivers’ Jewish identity did not keep her from setting up a Christmas tree, and I remember sitting with my grandmother on a December evening in the late 1990’s, watching a television program in which Joan Rivers sat with children and read from that delightful Christmas book Auntie Claus. My grandmother, a Presbyterian and admirer of the works of Norman Vincent Peale, was a lady of Edwardian dignity and a gallant combination of Angela Lansbury and Eva Gabor, and as such, had little tolerance for anything crass, vulgar, or uncouth, but she nodded approvingly at the television and said with a chuckle, “Now there’s a woman who hasn’t changed a bit!”

The last time that I saw Joan Rivers on stage was just 18 months ago, when I went with my best friend the hairstylist (“most butch gay man this side of the Village People,” I always say) and his roommate to see the star perform in Omaha. We all laughed throughout the show, through all the shocking insults and brutal appraisals of society and the world.

However, there was a moment when the three of us were silent. During her tirade about a vacation down in Mexico, Rivers shrieked: “Mexicans were the ugliest people in the world!”

Oh, I neglected to mention that my best friend the hairstylist is a body building Latino, whose parents came from Mexico. I take satisfaction in knowing that I have no ugly friends and my best friend especially is not under any circumstance to be understood as ugly: in fact, he just might be one of the sexiest men alive (trust me, going with him to gay bars since the 1990’s, I’m very much aware of how he turns heads).

Later that night, my friend and I were at a 24-hour supermarket (something that I’m sure Rivers wouldn’t do but which I think is a pinnacle of civilization). As we made our selections among the soft drinks (I recall we each opted for a glass bottle of Coca-Cola from Mexico), I said, “You know, she was wrong.”

“About what?” my friend asked.

“Mexicans are not the ugliest people in the world.”

“Damn right!” he said with a brilliant smile.

I do not dispute that words inflict harm, but I believe that humor and grit are also essential. Casual flippant remarks can be devastating, but living in bubble wrap is not a realistic plan for living a life. We will suffer and life is unfair, but why should we cry when we can laugh?

It would be difficult if not impossible to defend caustic humor like what Joan Rivers had if it were not for her charity work. Again, she was one of the earliest fighters in the cause against AIDS. In fact, that is how I got to see her the first time. In 2007, a coworker told me that Joan Rivers was would be performing in Lincoln that September, but here it was July and I figured she was sold out, so I did not even bother to look into getting a ticket: she was Joan Rivers—of course her show would be sold out!

A few weeks later I got a letter from the local AIDS charity, saying that for the price of a ticket and an extra $40, I could not only watch Joan Rivers perform, I could actually meet her for the meet-and-greet following the show! Well, boy did I quickly seize upon that opportunity! I remember after I got my tickets, I went to several office and art supply stores to get a silver felt tip pen so that I could get my CD to What Becomes a Semi-Legend Most? signed by her (yes, I had the vinyl in 1985, but of course I had to have the compact disc too!).

Those final days before the show went by slowly. I wondered, what would I say to Joan Rivers? I went to the library and the bookstores, looking for anything that might interest her. I recall reading passages from a book that compiled stories as to what it meant for various stars to be Jewish (perhaps it was Stars of David?). Of course, there was a chapter about Rivers, where she described being at this formal dinner in which Queen Noor of Jordan was also in attendance. While Joan was on record for supporting not only the British Royal Family but also the idea of monarchy (see, I knew I loved her!), she was no admirer of Queen Noor and viewed the latter as an enemy to the State of Israel. The protocol for this particular dinner was that upon the changing of courses, the diners would change to whom they would share the conversation, i.e., you talk to a person from one side and then to the other. Some poor gentleman had the curious prospect of sitting between Joan Rivers and Queen Noor. Well, Rivers viewed it as her duty to Israel to see to it that during the dinner, the American-born queen dowager of the Hashemite Kingdom would be snubbed, so contrary to the established protocol of the dinner, Joan kept talking to the gentleman and occupying his attention while he was supposed to be talking with Queen Noor. Seemingly petty, devious in delivery, and hilarious in production: just what one would expect from Joan Rivers.

So there I was at the meet-and-greet. It was not an especially easygoing event: she was running late after the show and there were rumors that the local stylist (not my friend!) had burnt Rivers’ hair and that she was fuming that, contrary to my initial fears, the show was not sold out. It was embarrassing (as far as I am concerned, not for Rivers: the shame is on the facility!): not even a third of the seats were taken from a venue that seats 2,210. The facility where she performed did not advertise that Joan Rivers would be performing and had it not been for the meet-and-greet supporting the local AIDS charity, it is possible that she would’ve canceled). Also, the building next to where she performed was the Carson Theater: that’s right, named after Johnny Carson, who had graduated from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln in 1949.

And, she had a 6 A.M. flight the following morning.

Ouch.

Also, consider the date: it was Tuesday, September 11—can you imagine that a proud New Yorker like Joan Rivers would want to be in Lincoln, Nebraska (hell, years before she had dismissed the larger town of Omaha with the quip “Omaha is a little like Newark—without Newark's glamour!”), next to a building named after Johnny Carson, on this day of days?

I had my doubts.

Part of the meet-and-greet had local drag queens, all dolled up, go down a red carpet and have Rivers interview them and give a prize to the best dressed. Sounds harmless enough, but Rivers, for whatever reason (spite, humor, compassion: all of the above?), took a liking not to any of the queens but to an 88-year old woman sitting near the red carpet. Defying protocol yet again, the star managed to rally enough of the people at the gathering to support the old woman with more applause than for any of the drag queens, thereby snubbing the haughtily clad (and no doubt mightily irritated) queens.

(So much for the supposed misogyny that some critics accused Rivers of having.)

Finally, it was time for people to line up and have their photographs taken with the star. Since I had my tickets and my CD to be signed, I made sure that I was the last person in line: I didn’t want anyone behind me to mess up my moment with this star.

The taking of photographs took time. A local professional photographer was taking the pictures and people would give a few dollars to Rivers’ assistant (who seemed to channel Michael Urie’s character Marc from Ugly Betty): the money would be given to the AIDS charity. True to my goal, I kept letting other people ahead of me (again, I wasn’t being altruistic—I was going to have my moment!), showing that I had things for her to sign and that others shouldn’t have to wait for me.

When it was finally my turn to meet the assistant, I gave him the money. Now, I want to say that I gave a $100 bill, but it’s more likely that I gave a $20 bill; regardless, the response from her assistant was, “Do you want change?” I countered with aplomb “No, it’s Joan fucking Rivers!" I then leaned in, lowered my voice, tried to smile conspiratorially and exude some charm with my hazel-blue eyes as I then showed the silver pen, tickets, and CD, and added “I have some things for her to sign, please.” When it was my turn to have the picture taken, the assistant told Joan what I had given and that I had some things for her to sign. She graciously smiled and proceeded to sign the tickets and the CD.

As you can see you at the conclusion below, Joan Rivers also took the photograph with me. What you can’t see but what I can tell you is that in those final few moments that I had with Joan Rivers, this mighty diva of the caustic barb, this attendee of royal weddings, this friend to Nancy Reagan and Kathy Griffin, this champion for Israel, this warrior against AIDS and icon to gay men, I was still struggling with “What the hell am I going to say to her?”

Remembering the book I that I had perused a few days earlier, I said, “Thank you for sticking it to Queen Noor.”

At that moment, this tiny little grandmother stood straight and still, the energy swarming around her like some storm cloud ready to hurl a thunderbolt. Radiating the wrath of G-d Almighty, she looked at me and her gaze left me immobile, like Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt, and then hurling her voice like Moses casting stone tablets against the golden calf, she declared, “OH I HATE HER!!”

“I-I-I do too!” I responded meekly. Now, to be honest, I’m not sure how much of an anti-Semite Queen Noor really is, especially compared to other royalty in that part of the world, but at that moment, I was flooded by the force of Rivers’ character, the sheer strength of will by which she had excelled in life. Yes, she had talent. Yes, she had some lucky breaks, but oh wow, was she just tough.

I look at the calendar. It has been seven years since I had that moment with Joan Rivers. I was one of thousands who met her at such events over the course of her career and it is unlikely that she would have remembered that event fondly, with all those unsold tickets, burnt hair, and miserly Midwesterners.

It doesn’t matter. I remember it.

I look again at the calendar: it has been just about seven days since Joan Rivers died.

So, this is how one of the goyim would sit shiva for his favorite comedy diva.

With memories.

I’m not Jewish (I’m just cut that way) but I am grateful for more than these few fleeting moments seven years ago.

I am grateful for her attitude and refusal to apologize.

I am grateful for her fight against AIDS and for her support of the gay community.

I’m grateful for her jokes at the expense of Elizabeth Taylor; Prince Charles; Princess Diana; the Duchess of Cornwall; Queen Elizabeth II; Sarah Palin; Bristol Palin; Adele; Bo Derek; Marie Osmond; Oprah Winfrey; Gayle King; Gloria Vanderbilt; Angelina Jolie; Tom Cruise; Truman Capote; Chaz Bono; Gloria Steinem; Frank Sinatra; Liberace; Stevie Wonder; Cher; Barry Manilow; Mick Jagger; Aretha Franklin; Madonna; Yoko Ono; Rod Stewart; Michael Jackson; Whitney Houston; Betty White; Mel Gibson; Goldie Hawn; Julie Andrews; Heather McCartney; Justin Bieber; the Kardashians; the Olsen twins; nurses; stewardesses; her own parents; her gynecologist; her dead husband; her daughter; among many others, including (and most especially) herself.

I am grateful that she made me familiar with Peter Allen.

I am grateful for her expressed contempt for Glee.

(However, I am not grateful to her for finding out what a P.A.P. test is--boy, Mom was not happy!)

I am grateful for her jokes that were not only cutting, but also mind-sharpening: why should we care about things like relationships, or a how big a ring is?

Because in life, laughter and grit matter, and especially, love and people matter.

(And sometimes, tokens and trinkets matter too: “I enjoy my creature comforts,” she said in A Piece of Work: I love that line!)

So, thank you, Joan Rivers.

I wish you knew how much you are missed and loved.

Vintage of a Shattered Heart: Remembering Laura Branigan

Laura Branigan has been my favorite singer since 1983.

Through her music and with several glasses of wine, I intend to embark on a quest of memory and discovery.

The Latin phrase In vino veritas, meaning "in wine [there is the] truth" shall serve as a compass for this journey.

Phil The Fan

I was sitting at the computer that Saturday night in late August 2004. As a certain sad song from 1983 begins, “I could hardly believe it,” when I read the words at a news page online, “Singer Laura Branigan, dead.”

It seemed that the world stopped at that moment: my favorite singer for over twenty years had died. Seven studio albums, three Top Ten hits, numerous greatest hits compilation albums released worldwide; she had not had a Top 40 single since 1988.

For me, Laura Branigan had the voice of heartache.

How does one describe a singing voice? Sometimes they are associated with birds, e.g, opera singer Jenny Lind was described as “the Swedish Nightingale”. Other times, the singers are given a lofty status due in part to their voice: Aretha Franklin as the Queen of Soul or Donna Summer as the Queen of Disco; Elvis Presley as the King of Rock and Roll and Michael Jackson as the King of Pop.

I prefer a rather psychedelic challenge: I liken voices to the other senses. Sometimes a voice can be silky and sleek; others can be barren and cold. I find that male singers, especially from boy bands, exhibit a warmth: I think of the British group Take That and how they seem like golden sunshine after an afternoon rain shower—this especially suits lead singer Gary Barlow in “Reaching Out” and Howard Donald in “Beautiful World”. In contrast, Australian singer Darren Hayes, formerly of Savage Garden, has a voice that is silvery and shimmering, like moonlight over mist and steam, alternating from arid to sultry.

Such sensations need not be analogies of only sound and sight, but also to taste. I find that listening to some singers is like imbibing a beverage: Dusty Springfield is a cold martini in a night club laced with elegant perfume, virile cologne, and smoke from expensive cigarettes; Vanessa Williams, the soothing and comforting sweetness of mulled wine; while Karen Carpenter and Olivia Newton-John have in turns the buttery smoothness of a California Chardonnay or the dulcet clarity of a German Riesling.

I found that my favorite singer, the late Laura Branigan (or, as I sometimes call her, “the Legendary LB”) had a voice like red wine. Deep, dark, haunting with passion and sorrow, hers was the voice for broken hearts and “women on the edge of a nervous breakdown”: in fact, she herself described her last studio album as “music to slit your wrists by”. Fittingly, Branigan had said that pain was an emotion that everyone understood; technically speaking, pain is not an emotion, but how we respond to it is emotional.

Tonight I want to honor the Legendary LB with several red wines, along with a surprise guest. Of course, one ought not drink too much without food, and how better to enjoy red wine and music but with some good hearty dishes. This is a journey of theatre, crossing through worlds of drama and intrigue of the senses, of discovery and spectacle, fear and pity, by which Aristotle in his Poetics suggested one is cleansed: we navigate by Branigan’s voice, and, one is hopeful, leave with a wiser perspective.

So, I shall begin with a first course, something innocuous and simple, like bruschetta, a Roman favorite of grilled bread flavored with garlic, topped with chopped tomatoes, onions, basil, and mozzarella (true, not generally part of bruschetta, but hey, it’s my party and I’ll defy if I want to), and drizzled with green olive oil. With the garlic and onions, I’m not going to get lucky tonight, so I won’t even bother to impress anyone and will therefore select a glass of Beaujolais-Villages. A French wine made from the black gamay grape, Beaujolais-Villages is low in tannin and feels soft in the mouth; it goes well with turkey and other poultry.

Now for the music. From her first released album Branigan, I’ll start with the singer's very first single to make the airwaves: the gentle and ignored “All Night with Me”. I remember when I first heard the song on the radio in summer 1982: it didn’t turn heads and its pleading wasn’t clinging or demanding: it was seductive, without being overly devious or vulgar.

I wish I knew what you were thinking
Sometimes with you it’s hard to tell
You lay beside without speaking
The words are hard to find
And better left behind

See, it’s practically one of those country-pop songs, similar to what Sylvia and Barbara Mandrell released in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s.

It’s a long night
There’ll be time for playing
Never felt so right
Just to hear you saying
that it’s all right
and you feel like staying
All Night with Me

(Well somebody’s feeling a bit feisty.)

If it feels good
If it feels right
Why don’t you stay
All Night with Me.

True, this song didn’t change the world and it has only appeared on two of her greatest hits albums (South Africa’s The Best of Laura Branigan Volume 2 and the UK’s The Platinum Collection, released in 1992 and 2006 respectively). The mild “All Night with Me” is always overshadowed by the single that was released after it, and you can guess who that was.

(And yes, I said “who” because you know who she is.)

No, I will not spend a lot of time on “Gloria”: yes, it’s the song for which LB is best remembered (although any Branigan fan worth his salt will tell you, “Self Control” was a bigger hit) and its tone definitely seems cheerful when in fact the lyrics are taunting a woman named Gloria who is not on the edge of glory (no Gaga, she’s not) but on the verge of a nervous breakdown (think Britney Spears from 2004 to 2008 and Lindsay Lohan since 2005). In interviews, Branigan said that the song was actually quite dark and the lyrics, with the advice to “slow down”, bear out the truth of the matter. Such sentiment is in contrast with the song in its original Italian, where it is a simple love song.

Given the garlic I’ve just ate (back off, Lestat, Damon, and Edward!) and the black gamay, I’m up for something a little darker than what struggled with (and lost to) Toni Basel’s “Mickey” for the number one slot on the charts. By “darker”, I mean a little sadder: Branigan’s husband died in 1996, around the same time that her label did not renew its contract with her. Two years later, she appeared as the last guest on The RuPaul Show. While her voice is fine, you might sense from her demeanor that she is sad: in later years, she admitted that her husband’s death devastated her.

(On the plus side, LB spoke to RuPaul about her song "The Challenge" and then got to share the stage with Lynda Carter, the episode’s earlier guest: my favorite women from the Seventies and Eighties, on one stage!)

Well, that head banging made me dizzy. I pause here to mention that while I am aware that some people on Glee did a cover of "Gloria" and that Rhianna sampled "Self Control", I have no in interest in either of those.

(Unless you consider contempt a form of interest.)

In any case, I need some more sustenance, and what would be better than a thick juicy ribeye steak, cooked medium rare, marbled with sweet fat, seasoned simply with salt and pepper, and accompanied by horseradish sauce? Beaujolais-Villages is out of her league now. So, I’ll set the French lass aside and go for something with a bit more machismo, like a Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon.

And now for the music. Here I have to go to Branigan’s third single and second top ten hit, “Solitaire”, taken from her second album, Branigan 2, released in Spring 1983. Originally a French song, but the English lyrics of the LB version were done by a then-unknown Diane Warren.

Starting softly, barely above a whisper…

I still remember how much I used to need you
I tried so hard to please you
But you didn’t need me

Well, there is a good crust on the beef and fat does add flavor, and sure enough, the Cabernet Sauvignon cuts the fat while it buttresses the meat. Oh the senses…

All those nights I sat alone
Staring at the telephone
Wondering were you ever coming home?

Oh, that’s right—we have the horseradish sauce. Well, a little smear of that and oh wow! Yeah, horseradish is so bitter; my scholarly self has just reminded me that Ashkenazi Jews often use horseradish as a bitter herb for their Seder. Well thank you, scholarly self, but I’m not eating roasted lamb at a Feast of Unleavened Bread and celebrating the deliverance of the Chosen People: I’m eating beef and drinking red wine remembering a singer that died 10 years ago, so sit back and limit the observations, ok?

Still, the bitter herb reminds me of the bitter sentiments that underlie the anguish of the broken hearts of which and to which LB sang.

Solitaire it got so lonely
Solitaire no one to hold me
Where were you when I played Solitaire?

Well, I’m right here downing a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon after several bites of a damn good ribeye steak. Ooh, the seasoning and the horseradish blending symphonically with the dark notes of the wine; LB’s voice is carrying the song to operatic heights and carrying the bitterness with her.

Solitaire see what it’s like now
Solitaire to cry all night now
Solitaire see how it feels to pay

“See how it feels to pay!” You’re damned right you better see how it feels to pay. So you go, LB, you sing like you’re an actress chewing the scenery and I’ll chew the fatty meat and down some more wine.

Solitaire it gets so lonely
Solitaire you wanna hold me
Don’t wait up ‘cause babe, I won’t be there!
Solitaire!

Chewing the flavorful meat, its center still pink and tender with the fat melting on my lips, I take another drink of the Cabernet Sauvignon to wash it down. With the synthesizers and studio production, this song is so 1983, and like most of LB’s songs, they are creatures of a time capsule: the majority of her music is timely rather than timeless. However, stripping away the artifice as the tannins of the wine cleanse away the fat clinging to my mouth, we are left with her voice, aching and dramatic, passionately wailing and embittered by the realization of time we lose in our longing for those incapable of returning our attention and affection (or worse, unwilling to return them). I smear some more horseradish on a bite of steak and wash it down with another draught of wine.

Few would think a medium rare ribeye with Cabernet Sauvignon to be a mild meal, but I’m ready for something real bold and adventurous. It’s time for a trek to the Subcontinent, for a dish from the former Portuguese colony of Goa. Hot peppers, cloves of garlic, onions, ginger and other spices drenched in vinegar and then mixed with coconut milk, it is in this sauce that pieces of lamb and potato are cooked: it is that volcanic curry—vindaloo.

What music would go with this pungent and violent dish? Much of LB’s songs are dramatic, as befitting her voice, but something especially strong is needed for vindaloo. My memory takes me to Christmas 1984,

when my grandparents gave me the vinyl to Branigan’s third studio album Self Control. By December of that year, the title song had been a global sensation, making it to number one in several countries (although only to number four in the United States). One can see how 12 years after the song’s release, it was still popular where the previous dish’s Cabernet Sauvignon originated: see LB perform “Self Control” at the 1996 Viña del Mar International Song Festival and how the young Chileans cheered her on.

In stark contrast, the album’s followup single “The Lucky One” would be LB’s last song to make it to the Top Twenty. However, there were other treasures to be found on this album, among them, the closing track, “With Every Beat of My Heart” which like vindaloo, took some time for me to “get” but now remains an addictive favorite. A plate with a heaping helping of Basmati rice is served and I carefully ladle the curry sauce over it, making sure that enough pieces of lamb and potato are represented in this generous serving. “With Every Beat of My Heart” begins (now, don’t be so silly as to confuse this song with the 1989 single of the same title from Taylor Dayne: Dayne also has a distinctive voice, but LB she patently is not), taking us to an urban night setting.

As I look out
Of my window
I see your face in a shadow
On the street below me

So, we’re being courted by someone who’s some stalker siren prince of darkness ex-lover. I can work with that, imagining that I’m in a small apartment in New York City, with a fire escape close to my window. It’s a sweltering summer night and the air conditioning isn’t working so of course, I have to have the window open.

Is it easy to see
That every time you touch me

Wait a minute. The heat from outside is nothing compared to what’s going on in my mouth. It’s like hell itself has set my mouth on fire and the very Inferno Dante descended is bursting in that pathetic cave of tongue, teeth, and lips that was my mouth.

With Every Beat of My Heart
There’s thunder inside
Every Beat of My Heart
I need you tonight
Every Beat of My Heart
I’m reaching for you
I need you now
With Every Beat of My Heart

And I need something to wash this down and cool my mouth. Usually I have an amble supply of mango lassis, those yummy yogurt shakes that Indian restaurants have on their menu, since, being sweet and dairy, they are a perfect foil to the heat and spice of vindaloo.

No such luck now. Well, I don’t think Cabernet Sauvignon would taste well here and poor Beaujolais-Villages, I doubt she’s up to the task either. Well, let me grab some other red wine.

As I lay down
In this dark room
I hear your voice like a soft tune
Echo all around me

This is a surprisingly sweet wine and I see that I have selected a chilled Pinotage. This cross between the revered Pinot Noir and Cinsaut (also called Hermitage) grapes, it is not a particularly well-regarded wine outside of South Africa, where it originated. Ah, South Africa, it was there that LB first released her seventh studio album (one week ahead of the American release date), Over My Heart, and where she began that album’s promotion tour in 1993: even the closing track “Mangwane (The Wedding Song)” was a traditional South African song.

However, 1993 was not the first time that Branigan visited South Africa: she had been there five years before and did shows at the notorious Sun City in 1988 and in 1989. Condemned in the 1985 protest song by Artists Against Apartheid, Sun City was essentially a tourist trap that an opportunistic mogul developed by exploiting loopholes innate in the inarguably unjust South African racist system. Recommended to LB by Tina Turner (who had toured South Africa in 1979), Sun City was located inside a bantustan (or black homeland) which the South African government (but no one else) claimed to be an independent country and therefore a place where gambling and topless dancing were permitted. It was a world class destination where Cher, Frank Sinatra, Queen, Elton John, Black Sabbath, Sarah Brightman, Dionne Warwick, Rod Stewart, Julio Iglesias, as well as Tina Turner and LB had performed, but it was also a pariah location and subject to an international boycott. Aware of that situation and witnessing the stark poverty in the area, Branigan donated money to schools and to the charity Operation Hunger, which had been established to combat the injustices of the apartheid system and while it continues to fight against malnutrition, it has included fighting against diseases such as cholera, malaria, and HIV/AIDS. Given that her career had been in decline long before she went to Sun City, it’s difficult to say how career-damaging her gigs there were (although it certainly didn't hurt the careers of Cher, Elton John, or Rod Stewart).

And as I feel the cold wind blowing
I wonder will you be showing,
Or forget you ever found me?

Still, LB was apparently well loved in South Africa and not one but several greatest hits albums of her music were released there, in 1988 (which was re-released as Remember: The Very Best of Laura Branigan in 2004 after her death), 1992, 1999, and 2010. Like the French love Jerry Lewis and Germans love David Hasselhoff, I argue that South Africans loved Laura Branigan.

I think, will you turn away?
Do you wanna say it’s over?
Will you really come?
Was it just for fun? I wonder

Sadly, I cannot say that this Pinotage is even up for the job with the vindaloo, but the sommelier has recommended another red wine, the 2008 Clos Saint-Jean Vieilles Vignes Chateauneuf-du-Pape. Made from mostly grenache grapes, this blend from the Rhone region of France, near the palaces of the Avignon Popes, is a powerful (at 14.5%) and luscious wine suitable for red meats and curries, even vindaloo. I finish the lamb curry and rice with about a third of a bottle of the Rhone blend.

Is it easy to see
That every you touch me

With every beat of my heart
There’s thunder inside
Every Beat of My Heart
I need you tonight
Every Beat of My Heart
I’m reachin’ for you
I need you now!
With Every Beat of My Heart

A French wine? As noted above, “Solitaire” was originally a French song and the Diane Warren version highlighted LB’s voice better than most other productions. Branigan had also said that she “wanted to move people like Édith Piaf did”, and similarities between her voice and Piaf’s were noticed by Johnny Carson.

Yet, I recall that LB had another connection with France: she recorded “Heart of Me” with Cerrone. The video shows the song being performed on the Seine and fireworks blazing over Paris; given that the song was done in 1989, one wonders if said fireworks were part of the Bicentennial celebration of the French Revolution. That could be the case, and while the French Revolution was not my favorite series of events in Western history, I do enjoy this song so I will take a few more sips from the French blend before the next course.

One might have expected that I approach this like a seven course meal, with fish, salad, soup, etc., but I find that too limiting for now. Let’s see, I really do like lamb, so even though that was the protein in the curry, I think some lamb chops from Down Under, accompanied with a glass of Shiraz from Australia, is what I need.

Mmmmm…lamb. Growing up in cattle country, lamb was essentially an exotic meat (also, my mother hated it), so I very rarely had it before college (and still rarely have it now). To me, it has an almost gamey sweetness to it, gentle but wild. Fixed medium rare, which is how I prefer all my red meats, the fatty meat is succulent.

As I wash down a bite of the delightful lamb, the peppery notes of the Shiraz highlight the savory seasonings with which the meat was prepared: a perfect pairing. Branigan paired with a few singers in her career, such as with Luis Miguel, Joe Esposito, even David Hasselhoff. Myself, I thought that her duet with Rex Smith on Solid Gold was a fabulous piece of ‘80’s cheese.

It was in Australia, this same country from which the lamb and wine

originated, where LB made her last film, Backstage, which was released in 1988. During the filming, LB appeared at the 1986 Logie Awards, where she covered Foreigner’s “I Want to Know What Love Is” with John Farnham. (I wonder if she spent so much time in Australia that she was unable to promote the Michael Bolton-penned “I Found Someone”, which unfortunately outside LB fandom, everyone associates with Cher, whose interpretation of this song I defiantly abhor.)

One might regret LB’s role in Backstage, as it is an admittedly dated movie. The film’s premise is that an American singer wants to branch into acting, but the only acting job she can get is in an uninspired revival of a British play in Australia: the singer’s performance is panned by a critic and at a cocktail party, she throws a glass of wine into his face, thereby instigating a love affair between the two. Given today’s global market and social media, it is unfathomable to think it difficult for an American pop singer to become an actress, but with some tweaking of the script and a location change (say from Australia to Cape Town), I think it could be a promising vehicle for Alicia Keyes.

Now no one could confuse Backstage with The Bodyguard, but it did feature three songs which LB recorded (songs that, alas, are not found on any of her albums and no soundtrack to the movie was ever released). While Backstage was a box office flop (even in Australia), at least one of its songs, “Helpless (You Took My Love)”, a cover to The Flirts’ 1984 single, would have been a fantastic Hi-NRG addition to European dance floor rotations. Should the track’s original recording be found with Atlantic, Warner Bros., or some unknown corner in New South Wales, a remix that heavily samples from LB’s “Self Control” would be welcomed by Branigan fans worldwide.

Perhaps I’ve indulged too much in eating such wonderful cuisine, so I will take a break and clear my very limited palate. I remember when I worked in retail, a coworker told me that when she used to work at a nightclub in the Twin Cities where Laura Branigan (among others) would perform, and that LB was known as “Laura-Bring-Me-Another-Gilbey’s-Branigan”. While that’s not an especially flattering memory, I think a stiff drink is just what I could use and how better to do that than with that "surprise guest" I mentioned earlier: a Gibson composed of Gilbey’s gin, dry Vermouth, and pearl onions as garnish (again, I’m not getting lucky tonight).

The drink is bracingly cold but this fusion of botanicals and ice is an alchemy of emotions too. I think of how I charted my life using LB’s music as a guide: that in 1984 I would be in that rotten borough of adolescence called junior high, I wouldn’t be a lucky one like every else was, and that my petty childish despairs would synchronize with Branigan’s fall on the charts (although I did write to the office of her-then management and got a photograph and letter: quite a big deal for a 12 year old!). I remember as a sophomore in high school watching Entertainment Tonight in September 1987, when LB was interviewed: she talked about rejection (something to which, at 15, I thought was my lot in life) and how she embraced it: she was promoting the album she released that year, Touch, which remains my favorite album from her.

I think of the song for which she was most proud, “The Power of Love”, which was her last appearance in the Top 40 and was the second single from Touch. While previously released by its songwriter Jennifer Rush and then Air Supply, this song would later become a standard by Céline Dion (but for me, the French & Saunders' treatment of Dion’s cover is better than the Québécois’ version of the song.) I think of 1990, when I was finally free of high school: LB released an album that year, which included the hedonistic anthem “Moonlight On Water” and that heartaching plea of unrequited love “Never in a Million Years”.

I think of August 1993, when I discovered that LB had a new album (it would be her last full studio album). After a summer of disillusion, rejection, revelations, this album, produced by South African-born Phil Ramone (who also produced the then-unreleased Karen Carpenter album of 1979), had a few classy gems of elegance and sorrow, so fitting for Adult Contemporary radio but unfortunately so ill-fitting at a time when Seattle reigned the market with grunge and Kurt Cobain had yet to make his exit: songs like “The Sweet Hello, The Sad Goodbye” and the title track “Over My Heart” were played over and over in my efficiency apartment; the album also featured the Spanish Sapphic song “Mujer Contra Mujer”, Branigan's affirming nod to her fans in the LGBQ community.

Several months after the album’s release, I read the lyrics of the opening track to a friend who was going through a breakup (as he was a fan of voices like those of Sarah McLachlan, he would have been unable to appreciate LB’s elemental power); he would tell me later how his mother heard the Patty Loveless version of the song (something which I will not do).

As I treat myself to another Gibson, I think of songs that Laura Branigan might have recorded: Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen” with its heartache comes to mind, as does “I’d Rather Leave While I’m in Love," written by Peter Allen. Given her admiration for Édith Piaf, a Branigan cover to “La Vie En Rose” should have happened long before LB was dropped by her label; I think of Belinda Carlisle’s 2007 album Voila and wonder how Branigan would’ve handled a crack at being a chanteuse. However, LB did cover Donna Summer’s “Dim All the Lights” and its video featuring drag queens would be the last music video of Branigan’s career. It was also the last single of hers that I was able to purchase in person at a store: it was in 1995, the year that I graduated from university.

(I chew the onions
But will not cry
For they are pickled
And so am I.)

I ponder possible duet partners she might’ve had: big voiced Rick Astley comes to mind, and I think the gravel of Chris Daughtry would have made an intriguing possibility, but then there’s also Michael Bolton, who owes his career in part to LB, as she was the first to record a song that he wrote.

They said you were leavin’
Someone swept your heart away
From the look upon your face
I see it’s true

So tell me all about it
Tell me ‘bout the plans you’re makin’
Then tell me one thing
more before I go.

Tell me How Am I Supposed To Live Without You
Now that I’ve been lovin’ you so long
How Am I Supposed To Live Without You
How am I supposed to carry on
When all that I’ve been living for is gone?

One of the reasons why her death saddens me is because I wanted for her to sing a song for the soundtrack to a movie based on that great novel which I have yet to complete: perhaps her death alone is enough to keep me from completing it, as there is no one who can replace her.

Didn’t come here for cryin’
Didn’t come here to break down
It’s just a dream of mine is coming to end.

This song always reminds me of those unsatisfactory relationships with people that I call “foul weather friends”: people who cling to you when life has them down, but the moment that things go well for them, you are ignored, as the foul weather friends are oblivious to how they have drained you or how much you need for your comfort and affection to be returned.

How can I blame you?
When I built my world around
The hope that one day
We’d be so much more than friends?

True, it is unhealthy to seek any depth of comfort and affection from those unwilling or incapable for giving it. When we indulge in such silliness, it is our responsibility to leave. However, that realization does not pardon the foul weather friends of their patent insensitivity, shallowness, and toxic apathy, or the bad attitude with which they insulate themselves.

You try to me it’s all right
Say you’re gonna change your ways
Oh baby, I know you never will!

Such creatures generally have no guilt because while they might be nurturing to others, when it comes to how they treat their hosts (for in a sense, foul weather friends are parasites), they get very defensive, and the hosts, in turn, are as moth to flame, despite the obvious truth.

And with an arrow through my heart
I watch your image fall apart
True colors blinding me
I’m not impressed with what I see!

When it comes time that their hosts need loyalty, foul weather friends can show less character than the collectivist cyphers that pose as villains in Ayn Rand’s fiction, but then defend themselves as the repressive characters that pose as heroes in those same works. These tenuous traits ought to inspire one to be a knight against such powers of darkness.

I fight the night
To be alone has never frightened me
Behind the light
The shadow of your memory

Oh, who are you to turn the knife
I am not your sacrifice
Who are you when I can get you out of my life?

I remember that bit of LB lore in which she flew to London to record with Stock, Aitken, & Waterman (SAW), the triad behind Dead Or Alive's "You Spin Me Round (Like a Record)" and Bananarama’s “Venus”, as well as the early hits of Rick Astley and Kylie Minogue. After taking a power nap, Branigan reportedly recorded four songs in England before she flew back to New York, spending at most six hours in Britain: two of those songs, one of them being “Whatever I Do”, made it to the Touch album.

Bet you didn't know
That I would pack away my things and go
And know it's true
Gonna get along in spite of you

Don't want to hear your alibis
Don't want your part time compromise
Who are you when I can get you out of my life…

I stand alone
Another victim of your fantasies
I face the world, ooh
I'm searching for my destiny

Oh, who are you to tie me down
When you were not always around
Who are you when I can get you out of my life?

As my head spins and my eyes swim in sorrowful salinity, the air smolders in my nostrils as I sneer with contempt. Foul weather friends may have drained me, but I’m alive, whereas the Legendary LB was ignored by her industry: granted, few fans will know what sort of exchanges happened behind closed doors in offices of moguls, producers, and agents, where slights are remembered as insults and in time spun into grudges that last for generations.

Still, even that possible scenario reeks too much of high school, thereby reminding me that much of life remains a popularity contest.

Well, to hell with that. High school may have been as unhappy a reality for me as for others, but many people found comfort in friendships. While that option was limited while I was in high school, things were better in college. In fact, on the very night that I read about Branigan's passing, a friend from college called me to offer his condolences. Several months after LB’s death, her fans were invited to gather in New York on the anniversary of her passing. Thanks to the internet, I read of this gathering, and when I mentioned it to another friend (again, a friend from college, not high school) over the telephone, she said “You have to go to this, Philip.” Of course, I knew that she was right.

Sure enough, I went to Long Island and met several people who loved Laura Branigan and her music, perhaps not in the same way as I did, but their love was just as real as mine. I remember walking into a room with several dozen others, watching videos of LB sitting for interviews or performing her songs. I think of watching Branigan perform the Rick Nowels-penned “Spirit of Love” for German television: it was another track from that beloved Touch album. I started enjoying LB’s music with several of these people in a way that I had never enjoyed it previously. LB's voice, described in People magazine as "a blend of disco, torch and rock", instilled a very loyal fan following, and that weekend, friendships began as we saw places where Branigan lived and loved, walking on a windswept beach as the day faded into night, as the ocean’s waves carried away grains of sand, and as sorrow and sweetness melded into a treasury of affection and goodwill, while the sun rose greeting the world with a glorious new day: thus began something of a sentimentality that was not contrived but remains sacred among friends.

Over the course of that weekend, hearing stories from others and watching footage from television, LB’s love for cooking became evident, and another way of connection was made, for while I didn’t have Branigan friends in high school, I could find some relief at home, and home had the kitchen, where I would sometimes help, either by chopping nuts for baking or by browning the ground beef for spaghetti, goulash, pizza, or lasagna. I may have lacked the talent for cooking which my mother and grandmothers had, but I remained enchanted by the magic of the kitchen, and to know that the Legendary LB had an affinity for it as well gave me more cause to smile.

Perhaps in life we are doomed to be in high school forever. As horrendous is that seems, one can still find comfort with friends and at home as we still dream of freedom. Sometimes sharing memories of dreams and loss with real friends, not the foul weather kind, can lift one’s spirit and invigorate a sense of youth.

While life is for the living, the grief for our lost ones can be overwhelming, just as Branigan's grief over her husband's passing clearly overwhelmed her. However, as an artist, she found a creative outlet and recorded an aching cover to "I Know You By Heart", a song that probably will always be associated first with Eva Cassidy. Unfortunately for Branigan fans, the only LB recording to "I Know You By Heart" that is currently available for sale is a substandard mix found on compact discs issued by a German label: we hope that in time a release more worthy of her legacy will happen.

I see your sweet smile
Shine through the darkness
Tracing its line in my memory
So I’d Know You By Heart

Mornings in April
Sharing our secrets
We’d walk together
‘Til morning was gone
We were like children
Laughing for hours
The joy you gave me
Lives on and on
‘Cause I Know You By Heart

Sometimes reflecting on rejection and sorrow with someone that doesn’t mean us harm can foster smiles despite the pain. Sometimes being there for someone whose heartache we don’t understand but the fact that we understand that his heart aches demonstrates for ourselves that grief is a pain that instigates an emotion which is universal; this was the cornerstone to LB's artistic approach.

To live and to love is to know heartache: any LB fan understands that. But a heart that remembers love and friendship can find some comfort in those.

I saw your sweet smile
I heard you laughter
You’re still here
Beside me
Everyday
‘Cause I Know You By Heart
Yes, I Know You By Heart

Yes, I do still ache that LB is not appreciated by her peers and others in her industry. While music isn’t dead to me (I remain a Belinda Carlisle fan and some singers of the latter generations, like Adele, Michael Bublé, and Bruno Mars, have impressed me), my perspective on it has soured.

Yet, I want to turn aside from bitterness. Not like Pollyanna just faking happiness with an insipid “glad game”, but like the Charmat process giving a secondary fermentation to wine in bulk tanks, taking sad memories with a new perspective, adding glints of gold and silver through dazzling little bubbles of carbon dioxide, bringing to it a levity of effervescence and a floral sweetness.

I close with a bottle of Rosa Regale, a sparkling red wine from Italy. I can readily admit that this isn’t an especially expensive wine, just as I can admit that LB didn’t always have the best interpretations to the songs that she recorded. For instance, I was disappointed with her recording of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing", which she did for charity: instead of bombast, which one expects for this hymn and from her, you get the sense that she's treating it like a lullaby. I also dislike the wail in her cover to "I Know You By Heart" (was that in homage to an Irish keening? I'm not sure, but I still don't like it). Also, in another track that I think is currently only found on discs issued by that German label (as in the case with the previously mentioned song "The Challenge"), when she covered the ABBA hit “The Winner Takes It All,” Branigan opted for bombast rather than the understatement with which Agnetha Fältskog sang it. For ABBA's Fältskog, the song is about the helplessness one feels when still loving a lover after breakup, that emotional salad of grief, regret, and guilt, dressed with a tepid expression of honesty, but for LB, it’s nearly a stew of melodrama and hyperbole, almost begging to be drenched in whine. (Which isn’t to say that I dislike the song: it’s framed in my memory as I danced to it after making the quick realization that I couldn’t compete for attention while the night club’s owner offered free drinks to someone that had been talking with me.)

The gods may throw the dice
Their minds as cold as ice

So the Legendary LB was human and she violated the Frank Sinatra rule about never recording a bad song: big deal! Madonna always has at least one filler song on each and every one of her albums. Actually, to be fair, Branigan did not record any bad songs so much as too many forgettable ones, so while Madonna, with her myriad transformations and self expression that danced over the line, pushed the envelope, and jumped the shark into a vat of self-parody, has become a female Marlon Brando of pop music, Laura Branigan has become the shadowy figure of a female Montgomery Clift of pop music, always on the brink of a comeback in interest but still overlooked despite the obvious talent and dedication to craft.

So I’m not drinking from a bottle of Petrus from Pomerol in Bordeaux: I’m enjoying myself and being true to who and what I am and what I love. This red bubbly is frothy, almost creamy, but with a sufficient and crisp bite. As one review says, the aroma evokes rose petals while the taste hints of raspberries: I welcome all of it as I consider some final tracks.

Remembering the heroic defiance of “Whatever I Do”, I must honor another song which LB recorded in London: “Shattered Glass.” As with most of her other songs, LB sings about hurting from a breakup, but here there is a cheery tone that actually matches with the lyrics:

I gave you everything I had
You took my heart and broke it bad
I’m not the kind who can take it alone
I’ve got nothing more for you
I want somebody who needs me too
I’m giving up, boy
I’m chasing my joy
And you can make your own
You’re not the only one
‘Cause my time will come!

There is such an energy and a joie de vivre at play here. Rather than taunting a pathetic party girl or a reminiscing in regret, LB is practically dancing in her new freedom. One can believe that she has left a lover who was no better than a foul weather friend: this is an anthem of a newly liberated self worth.

You can shatter glass
With your heart of stone
But you won’t get far on your own
You keep running hot and blowing cold
And everything you hold
Just falls apart like Shattered Glass

Not only an anthem, this is a confident testimony against the ex-lover, dismissing his apathy, his miserly contributions, and overwhelming lack of worthwhile engagement and reciprocity.

It really doesn’t matter to me
Where you’re going and who you see
I know that I can make it this time
It doesn’t matter any more
Since you’ve gone and walked out that door
I made a new start
I found a true heart
I’m gonna make it mine
Go out and have your fun
‘Cause my time will come!

Here, she’s not blasting him with her regrets; she is bubbling with her self-declaration as a new person ready to give and to receive love, a tone that matches well with the sparkling Rosa Regale with its soft petals and sweet berries.

Looking further back, before it released “Gloria” or even “All Night With Me”, Branigan’s label had her record a whole separate album in the late months of disco. As I observed before, most of LB’s songs are for the time capsule, and by the time that pre-"Gloria" album was completed, the music scene of the early 1980’s was not eager for the tracks that were recorded. Called Silver Dreams, the album was put back on the shelf and was never released: Branigan herself reportedly did not even have a copy. Thanks to the internet, with eBay and Napster and YouTube, those tracks can be heard, and the title song, with its funky sound, seems to my imagination an inspired piece for a drag number, with go-go dancers and strobe lights, the disco queen decked in a glittering gown, her face framed with powder blue eye shadow, mascara, and cherry lips, her arms gesture emphatically to tell a story not unfamiliar with the self-induced insanity of “Gloria” and the nocturnal sex world of “Self Control”.

Speaking of dreams, I used to dream about being a television actor: a working but well-paid thespian, perhaps in a sarcastic but supporting role, like one that David Hyde Pierce, Sean Hayes, or Neil Patrick Harris would play. I was able to release that dream when I took an acting class in college. While in terms of grades, I did well (I got an A+ for the course that semester), but I realized that however theatrical or “hammy” I was, an actor I was not. Still, I smile remembering that for a lip synching assignment, I was the one and only male student that “sang” a song from a woman (I even let the class determine if they wanted me to "sing" Bryan Adams, Crowded House, or Laura Branigan: for the first time in years, I witnessed LB win a popularity contest, as she won that vote by a landslide). Set with the ambiance of yet another bedroom crowded with the memories of a broken heart, I "sang" the opening track of that favorite album Touch.

My head touches the pillow
Dreams of us come rushin' through
They light the dark like fireflies
Slowly fillin' up the room
And everywhere I look tonight
I can see how I cried
Over love, over you
Over love
There was nothing I could do
Over love, over you

Now does that paint a picture or what? What struck me when I first heard this song was that she was not over love, but there was nothing she could do. She was hurt, but determined to let the pain make her strong, or short of that, let it make her cold and impervious to more pain, like some glacial monument. I’ve always loved this song and can certainly see the appeal to being a glacial monument, but I question the long term effectiveness to that approach: as Aphrodite got her revenge on Hippolytus for the prince’s rejection of her, I cannot believe that she would permit us to remain cold and indifferent for very long, since love is so demanding.

I believe in magic
It clouds the mind like sweet perfume
It almost made me crazy
I could've died from the pleasures of me and you
Until the magic drifted away
I never thought I'd say
I'm over love, over you
I'm over love
And there was nothing I could do
Over love, over you
And so I'm turnin' on the light
Don't want to lose another night
Over love

Look how Aphrodite (by which I call that primeval force of lust, affection, desire, and need) has wrecked havoc! In order to maintain a love-free asceticism, one must embrace a Spartan lifestyle devoid much that is sensual, for the senses are the sorcery by which man has been lured away from his quests, whether quixotic or pragmatic.

Not gonna hurt anymore
Not gonna do what I did before
Not gonna feel like I felt till I fall again
Over love

More powerful than Aphrodite is the Truth (whether you view Truth behind a veil pierced by the wine god Dionysus, or the music the wolf god Apollo plays on his lyre to represent a cosmic harmony, or the staff by which Jesus as the Good Shepherd guides us, or some syncretic symbol of light) and while our pain of rejection stems from Aphrodite and her wiles, we must realize that we cannot repress our pantheon of emotions. Aphrodite may well put us in chains, but those chains do not simply enslave us: they also unite us.

I have some more wine left in the bottle and with it, we listen to the fourth track to her 1984 album Self Control, "Heart," which presents a world haunted by memories and loss.

It's the hour of the night time
When the demons come to call
And the shadows seem to whisper
And I'm wishin' I could crawl inside a dream
That would free me from the pain
But I'm smothered by the silence of a heart gone insane

So poetic and practically mythical, we are still in the territory of a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown, which, we have seen, is a very melodramatic place.

Oh, heart, are you still beating?
Is there enough of you left to break?
How could he take you and tear you apart?
I never knew somebody would do it
I never knew somebody could do it
Never dreamed anybody would do this to my heart.

Here again, we hear heartache, almost self-pity: the pain of that first night after a breakup. For our sense of self, let us not wallow in misery; let us acknowledge artistry. Just as a strong wine and a hearty meal can satisfy the appetite, listening to a song that is shattering with explosive emotions while taking solace in the sparkling sweetness of wine can also deliver a satiation of the senses.

Now the wine has
worked its wonder

It sure has. Between that and the gin.

and it's makin' me forget
But the memories
lie awaiting

The pain we don't like to remember, but the love (or that which we call "love"), we don't want to forget.

like an uncollected debt
That must be paid

Yes, there is always a price for love, especially when we expect it to give us happiness.

at the fadin' of the stars
By a heart
that is already wearing
one too many scars.

Perhaps we have been wearing too many scars, but those scars are costumes for a staged drama, and Aristotle proposed that attending the theatre purges our emotions by providing a catharsis. In wine there is truth, but how we apply that truth defines who we are and how we live. The wine has worked its wonders: with wines from France, Chile, South Africa, Australia, and Italy, matched with food from around the world, it has been a series of adventures through a wonderland of seduction, heartache, foul weather friends, loved ones lost, and lovers whose worth have long been spent.

Still, it has been well established this evening that the foul weather friend must be kept at a distance and his value must ever be subject to scrutiny; the worthless lover must simply go. The gods, with minds as cold as ice, perhaps sent them teach us a lesson. Before pondering that, the dessert course is here, and since LB made much of being a New Yorker, I think that a slice of cheesecake would be appropriate. With a graham cracker crust, topped with strawberries and raspberries that have been macerated in balsamic vinegar and sprinkled with a shavings of dark chocolate, it is a dish that is both rich and simple.

The bittersweet dessert comes with a stinging lesson: about the boy who cried wolf. Tonight's last song is the final track of the Touch album (that is, if one discounts “Statue in the Rain”, a song which was not included in the original vinyl or cassette releases of 1987 but was added at the end to the compact disc as a bonus track; in iTunes I place this latter track in the middle, after "Power of Love" and before “Shattered Glass”), “Cry Wolf” is arguably the most timeless (or least timely) of Branigan’s songs: set with piano, drums, and guitar, the usage of synthesizers restrained.

You couldn't wait for answers
You just had to try those wings
And all your happy ever afters
Didn't mean a thing.

Released as the album’s third single, this is another lamentation of a broken heart, but the passion is reined in, guided and governed by reason, as if following the example of Plato’s chariot, symbolic of a well-ordered soul. The music video itself appears to be inspired in part by the works of Maxfield Parrish.

So, I'm not gonna try at all
To keep you from the flame
Just remember not to call
My name
When you cry wolf
Once too often
When you cry wolf
No, I won't come knockin'
When you cry wolf
I won't hear you anymore

Of course she is hurt. Of course she has been angry. However, she is pleading in a sober tone, one which expresses disappointment and reminds her new ex-lover, be he a substance abuser or someone simply cut from the same cloth as a foul weather friend, of the consequences for his actions. While she seems rather businesslike, almost pristine, we are still very much aware that she has the strength of her convictions, and they are as powerful as the ocean that her blue eyes evoke, and should she choose to unleash them, oh what a rage he could face.

If you start to stumble
If you start to crack
And if you're ever feeling humble
Don't look back
When you cry wolf
Once too often
When you cry wolf
No, I won't come knockin'
When you cry wolf
I won't hear you

She has set boundaries and those limitations have defined what she considers acceptable behavior. As far as she is concerned, the chapter is over and the door is closed. This is not the bitterness of a harridan ex-wife, but the expressed regret of a composed, sensitive, and caring woman who has been crossed too many times and must make sense of her life without her reprobate lover.

You can try but you can't get me
Into the fire
'Cause I'm out of sympathy
And I can't walk this wire
So find yourself somebody new
To catch you when you fall
'Cause I got just one thing to say to you
And that's all…

When you cry wolf
No I won't hear you
Anymore

I marvel at that sort of quiet strength. It’s not belligerent and it’s not petty: for much of the song, LB judiciously keeps her trademark epic bombast in check, underscoring her talent and craft. This almost muted reflection and expressive assertion balance each other, just as the berries and vinegar accentuate each other and the sparkling wine cut the dairy denseness of the dessert. This is a delivery that blazes while the eyes sting with tears, tears that in part are shed out of pity for what was lost and for what now remains. These are purgative tears, for catharsis.

Admittedly, this multi-course voyage of vintages and vittles has been a form of navel gazing: I'm trying to make sense that ten years ago, someone special to me died. And yes, she was special to me, but I did not actually know her. I never met her. I never saw her in concert. Still, her music mattered to me and from what I have read about her and heard about her, she was, as demonstrated in that final decade of her life, much of it spent at home in her garden and kitchen, caring for her dying husband and then her ailing mother: Laura Branigan was a loving and earthy woman. Thanks to the internet, I have met others who shared a passion for her music and for the unique human being that she was.

So, to Laura Branigan's memory, I raise tonight's final glass of wine, and I say thank you, with ABBA inspiration, thank you for the music.

To others, I say Skål! I say L'chaim! I say ¡Salud!

And for myself, I have a glass of water ready: morning will not be kind to me.

Oh, you have a problem with water?

Then clearly you are not aware that while some say only In vino veritas, others conclude it with in aqua sanitas, i.e., "in water there is health." Jesus may have turned water to wine, but I must turn from wine to water: LB would want nothing less.