Missing Dan Fogelberg

I owned this record, and all the others

Dan Fogelberg was what the New York Times, in his 2007 obit, called a “lyrical soft rocker,” and his albums sold in the millions. He was a gentle soul from Peoria, IL who never forgot his roots, and died much too young. I loved his story-songs that formed part of the soundtrack to my early twenties. “Leader of the Band” a touching tribute to his school band director dad. “Run for the Roses,” a paean to the Kentucky Derby and the horses who race. “The Power of Gold,” a song that warns of money’s “lure on the unsuspecting.”

But my hands-down favorite was “Same Old Lang Syne.” This achingly poignant song was inspired by a random meeting he once had with an old girlfriend in a grocery store, on a snowy Christmas Eve. The ex-couple talked for hours about the ways their lives apart had turned out, and “drank a toast to innocence.” I played it constantly for a stretch in early 1981, when my happiness seemed fragile, and I was always projecting ahead to loss and regret, which would indeed soon enter my world.

What makes a song take root in your soul? To me, it’s, more than anything, where you are in life when you hear it. My prime time was late 70s and early 80s. I can hear any number of songs from that era and be propelled right back. Pure Prairie League’s “Amie,” for instance. When I was a young hostess at an Atlanta restaurant, the singer in the lounge had a big crush on the manager, a guy named Jamie. She’d always sing the song as “Jamie.” Not sure if it ever had the desired effect, but I hear it now and remember my hostess uniform, and trying to fit in a grownup world.

I adore classical music, and a good bit of jazz as well—even some country has appeal. And I do associate certain sonatas and symphonies with life passages. But for some reason, the soft rock of Dan Fogelberg and his contemporaries has the most consistent emotional clout.

So when I mentioned Fogelberg one evening at home, and Sheridan said, “Who’s that?”  I felt terrible. It was as if I had neglected to tell my child about one of the most important times of my youth. As a teacher, Sheridan has immersed himself in older pop and rock music in recent years, and has in turn shared it all with his high school music students. I hastily sent him links to my favorite songs, and hope he enjoys them enough to share with a new generation.

Nowadays, popular music has exploded in quantity, with such enormous numbers of songs and artists that I have no clue how kids keep track of it all. But amid the massive output of tunes vying for attention, I am so happy there is still space for a gentle soul from Peoria, who poured out his heart about a long-ago Christmas Eve.

RIP, Dan. Your music lives on.

Same Old Lang Syne