The Kind of Love that Never Dies Is Often the Very Kind that Does

You can’t front feeling like this.

On his 1974 album So What, Joe Walsh attempted to make sense of the loss of his daughter and the debilitating grief that went with it (rarely possible). She was not quite three years old when her seat would take the direct impact of a car running a stop sign. His response would be A Song for Emma.

The song’s emotional atomic weight is a like that of a Rare Earth element: Its density of heartbreak is both stunning and subtle. It leaves a burning chill like dry ice. If you want to write something that’ll nail people to the floor, then take a lesson here – don’t write about s--t that never happened. When it’s real or not, the reader/listener knows. You can’t front. It’s a part of existence we’re just too familiar with to accept facsimile or artifice. And this song is real AF.

Walsh’s marriage to Emma’s mother would end not long after, as often happens with such a loss. Ten years later Walsh was in a relationship with Stevie Nicks and still in mourning. Nicks would be so moved by his sharing of the experience she wrote the song Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You about it. Of the song she said it was “…the most committed song I ever wrote…Nothing in my life ever seems as dark anymore since [the day he shared the his story with me].”

You don’t need to have kids of your own to understand the heartbreak rattling around inside Song for Emma, though it’ll help. If you do, expect your eyes to piss bitch tears. Though, I promise they’ll be cleansing ones.

Sometimes, the heart just needs to sit in its feels. This song’ll drop you into subterranean depths quick. You may think you won’t want to go there, but on a wintry day, it may be just the thing.