How To Keep The Spirit Alive

Last week, I wrote about my cousin, Scott. This week, I’m writing about him again. There was a voice that crept in that said I should find something else to write about. My words below are about the importance of ignoring that voice…

I’d never attended a celebration of life. Wai Ming, who was tasked with organizing the memorial for Scott, my cousin and her late husband, admitted to me in the days leading up that she’d never been to one either. She knew only that she wanted to honor him based on the many conversations they’d had about death in life.

That sounds way easier than it is. If you’ve spoken to anyone planning any milestone life event—a wedding, for example—you know that the voices enter loud and fast. Some are in your head, and some are real. They play on the idea that there are procedures and rituals that you must perform. Because how could you not? Whether it be religion or your unhinged relatives, there is a lot of noise. When the requests come in, both real and imagined, you might not even ask why. You just keep hearing, “Well, you have to,” and you believe it to be true.

The truth is that you don’t, and fortunately, Wai Ming succumbed to none of those voices. The memorial was void of the drab wallpaper and confusing smells I’d grown accustomed to in all those outdated funeral homes. Instead, it was bright, aesthetically and emotionally. That’s not to say there was a shortage of pain and tears, but in place of religious rituals that only speak to one third of the room, or black-clad relatives whispering to each other, there were instead hours of people sharing stories about my cousin. There was humor, levity, and life. It was beautiful. Before all that, there was music, as Wai Ming asked me to put together a playlist to be played as people arrived, a responsibility that had me feeling both honored and daunted.

The first thing I had to acknowledge was that there was plenty in the center of mine and Scott’s musical Venn diagram. The problem was that the majority of it was rap. We both loved all the classic stuff. Biggie, Nas, ATCQ, etc. In fact, one of my favorite memories with Scott was driving down to Philly to see Public Enemy together. So, I texted Wai Ming and asked, “How celebratory are we trying to go with this celebration of life?” Turns out, understandably so—not that celebratory. I had to pivot.

If you were looking at a physical representation of mine and Scott’s musical Venn diagram, in his section, you’d find “THE NATIONAL” written in large, boldface letters with a whole bunch of 2005-2012 indie bands swirling around it in slightly smaller text. That man absolutely loved The National. I, on the other hand, wrote them off, as I was into other stuff during that golden era of indie music. So, it was time to dive in, as I took this playlist very seriously.

Holy shit I did not know how dreary this stuff was. I mean, Scott was an intellectual. He was a very intelligent, cerebral guy. I was the emotional one. I was the kid constantly in my own feelings. And all of a sudden I’m sitting here listening to Matt Berninger’s lyrics for the first time saying, “Scott, I love you, but I cannot play this.” I handpicked six of the least emotionally devastating National songs and played the playlist for my wife. Every time one of their songs came up, she looked at me and said, “Ryan, you can’t play this.” I slimmed down to three. At first, I felt like I was betraying him, but then I saw him laughing and smiling at the whole dilemma, getting a real kick out of it. A good friend of his mentioned their mutual love for The National when he gave his tribute to Scott. He acknowledged that lyrically, they both loved melancholic songs that shed a light on the darker stuff in life. I saw Scott again, laughing about it once more.

Coworkers spoke as fondly and intimately of him as close friends. One person noted that there was no distinction between the people in Scott’s life—that if you were a part of his tribe, that was it. You were not categorized. I heard of sides of him that I never witnessed, which made me sad and maybe even a bit jealous, but thankful to bear witness to the amount of lives he touched. I found myself asking if he had more hours in the day than I did. How did he find the time to serve as a central figure in all of these people’s lives?

I sat in my hotel room, at the terminal, and finally, back at home in my kitchen—thinking and feeling the same thing in each place—that Scott set the bar really goddamn high. I was everything that he was—a husband, a brother, an uncle, a son, and a friend. He was an absolute master at all of it. The memorial served as a handbook on how to follow in his footsteps, and I don’t think there’s a better way to memorialize someone than to provide a room full of loved ones with the clearest inspiration on how to keep their spirit alive.

---

I’m taking a hiatus from The Record Club.

I want to continue writing here, as I’ve been so surprised and touched to hear from so many of you who are regular readers and have expressed how much you’ve enjoyed what I share. In addition to continuing to write here, I’m working on a full length album, continuing with video work, production work, and a million other projects I fill my days with. As it is for many, the first thing to get shoved aside is my physical and mental health, which is exactly what has happened in the last 3 months. Carving out the smallest extra bits of time to take care of myself is a must heading into next year. I vowed to many of you at the shows that I’d do my best not to disappear. This is me taking the steps to stand by that pledge.

And if you want to know what I’m listening to at any point, just drop me a line.