My wife, Cat, is an xclnt, award-winning film & tv costume designer, and my front row seat to her work is electrifying and teeming with inspiration. That said, her job takes her away from me, sometimes quite distant, for very long stretches.
When she filmed Kill Bill in 2002, she shuttled between Los Angeles, Tokyo and Beijing for 8 months, came home to NYC for 1 week and then went to Mexico and LA for 3 more months. During that production, including the 7 days she was home, we saw each other a grand total of 23 days. Most of her jobs aren’t that far-flung, but even when she works close by for a few months, as she did in Boston on last year’s The Heat, seeing her often, or at all, is always difficult. Now, Cat is again away – this time in New Orleans until July on a film called Untitled Texas Buddy Comedy.
Longing is as much a process as an emotion. You can miss something, or someone, without longing for it, or her, or him. Once the longing sets in, though, that’s where the heartbreak starts. Collected here are tracks I’ve written over the last 10 years to deal with various states of longing. In these songs, I see evolution, but also constant threads, in my perspective on Cat’s absences. If you’ve ever longed for someone – or some time or place or thing – you’ll relate.
You and I never get enough
Time to make
More than a beautiful blur
Late one late December day in the late ’00s, on a new-mooned new-years evenight in the Mexican-not-Mayan Riviera, a small vacation coven gathered under soft starlight, poolside on a bluff overlooking an inking Pacific Ocean. As the group’s just-like-grandma’s cake started to kick in, Orion turned away from Earth for a few moments and a twinge of lawlessness neuroscaped through them one by one, in a cascade.
“Something big needs to happen in secret,” Har Mar said to me as the last strains of his (at that point, unreleased) danceblast, Dark Touches, echoed from a boomboxpod by the pool.
“Let’s steal a star,” I said. “Ever done that, Kingpin?”
Har Mar looked off to the side for a split second, then back at me. He brought his hand to his chin and put his forefinger on his lips in a serious gaze. Then he cracked himself up.
Since neither of us wanted to amplify the Ultraviolence-Of-Tuohy caused by Orion’s absence, we vapored the party to the outshadows of our rental compound’s porch lights, away from our crew’s nightly “reflection circle,” to get tiny. We found ourselves slowstrolling a fire-ant field astride the ocean bluff. After a few minutes walking into the darkdark, without missing a beat, Har Mar turned to me, winked, reached up into the sky and stole a star from Orion’s belt.