Journey: Escape

[I abandoned this blog some time ago, but now and then I bump into an old script, and figure that this is as good a place as any to preserve the commentaries I wrote to go with some classic albums. And some not-so-classic. The scripts are from my “Celebration Rock” radio program, a Presbyterian-sponsored media effort that ran in one form or another from 1968 to 1990.]

“Escape” was the name of the eighth and best-selling album by Journey. The year was 1981, and “Celebration Rock” was probably in its prime, at least in terms of the number of stations carrying the program. Randy Allen was the local Columbia Records promotion guy, and I’m sure he had given me the L.P. to listen to, expecting that I might find that it fit my format. Of course it did, and the program was rerun a couple of times over the next year or so. (The tape of the show is missing from my collection, but the script is here, handwritten on the back of a WCVE-TV press release. I was so into recycling…)

It may be that the theme of the album and this CR program was exemplified in the opening song of the show: “Don’t Stop Believing.” My commentary followed: This is still another in a seemingly endless list of songs about lost people looking desperately for someone to belong to. (And not so much in the sense of being owned by another person, but being comforted, supported, and loved by another.) From Jackson Brown’s “On the Boulevard” to the Little River Band’s “Night Owls,” we hear images of loneliness in city shadows. Steve Perry, Jonathan Cain, and Neal Schon have mixed a third-person narrative with a first-person confession. They sing, “Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard, their shadows searching in the night; street light people living just to find emotion, hiding somewhere in the night.”

Then, in the first-person comes the admission, “(I’m) working hard to get my fill.” The implication is that the storyteller-songwriter lives the story. A small town girl and a city boy, and for a smile they can share the night…and the movie never ends. It goes on and on. “Don’t stop believin’,” they sing over and over. The only hint of purpose, the only reason given for that lifestyle in the hope that someday, somehow, they’ll find…emotion. Feeling.

Probably, there in the city’s dimming light, any feeling would do, but certainly happiness, security, peace, but even pain or sadness– those feelings would prove they’re alive, or remind them that they are human.

Humans feel and believe–but the devastating conclusion is that many on the street feel nothing, and believe nothing. The song cries, “Don’t stop believing…hold on!”

The next song continues the search for emotion, with the first line asking, “Looking ’round for a feeling? I love the rhythm and blues.” The feeling is found in the music, a band, a beat, dancing, whiskey, wine, and women get ’em through the night. The problem is, that if you take away the band, the booze, and the broads, what kind of person is left? Mr. Macho winds up being shallow and lonely, and instead of being  taken higher and higher, as the song sings, he falls lower and lower.

We’ve been so adept at glamorizing the flashing lights and blaring music of the dance floor, without considering the emptiness of unfulfilled and unfulfilling lives. In these first two songs, Journey’s music has moved us from lives devoid of feeling to lives made numb by passion. Somewhere in the middle is love.”

The next cut on the program was “Who’s Crying Now?” “Here’s a piece of music true to life– about the mystery of love. The question sounds cliche: why can something so good hurt so bad? Because there is so much risk in giving ourselves to it? Maybe. But in spite of the pain, love survives…somehow. for every song like Dionne Warwick’s “I’m Never Gonna Fall in Love Again” there must be a song that affirms what the Scriptures tell us about authentic love

“Love never gives up,” the Bible says. It lasts forever. Journey’s song begins with the words, “It’s a mystery…” and I suppose that parallels what First Corinthians 13 says about how little we understand about love (even now). It’s like the image we see in a dim mirror, but someday, we’ll fully understand. We’ll see  face-to-face, and our knowledge will be complete.

Until that day, dry your tears, let the hurt heal, and get ready to feel that love that never dies.

The next cut from the “Escape” album I played on this show was “Keep On Running.” My comment: It’s the blues of blue collar workers, sung by guys who may never have worn a blue collar in their lives! The plight of the factory worker they sing about is that he feels victimized by a pitiless town and a heartless boss. So, when Friday night comes, “You gotta keep runnin’.” Keep on hiding. His frustration is evidently worked on in the backseat. I guess that makes this hit material as far as the record charts go. One more song stripping away the beauty of human sexual love and replacing it with aggressive exploitation deserving of the four-letter word that describes it.

The implication is that sex is part of the escape plan. When love-making includes a third partner, like frustration or disappointment or anger or escape, lovers become victims, and contrary to what the song says, it’s never OK or all right.

“Still They Ride.” Reflecting on the song lyrics, I wrote: Still another “escape” song. The cruising theme continues as Jesse rides through the night. By the end of the song it is clear that they’re in a spell, and “it’s hard to leave this carousel as it goes round and round.”

Many of us at some point in our lives cruise around, in circles, with no destination, afraid to stop, not knowing who we’ll meet. As long as we move in circles, we can escape (we think) accountability and responsibility. So, we cruise though our jobs, our marriages, our personal commitments. We feel safe, but utterly alone. We feel independent, but deeply sad. The song says they “rule the night.” I’m not too sure about that. I suspect the darkness rules them.

Still, they ride. The strong may survive, but for what? That’s the scary part.

Next, the title cut of this album by Journey. It’s called “Escape.” Listen to the instrumental opening. What feeling does the song express, even before the lyric begins?

Escape: At first, it’s angry. Then the beat begins to drive us somewhere. The music has a definite sense of direction, and so do the lyrics. They reflect escape from…and move toward escaping to — from leaving, to being on the way. From the 3rd person “he” to the 1st person “I”  — from fear to freedom. I guess it would be better if you had the words in front of you to understand all this. Maybe it’s enough to let this title cut summarize the meaning of escape.

On the one hand, it’s a desperate evasion; on the other hand, it’s a liberation!  Oh, it may be an irresponsible act: to renounce the bonds of love, family ties, or social custom. But maybe it’s more a celebration of letting go, emancipation that leads to something new, a breaking away that brings redemption!

One line in the song sets the stage for the more positive, healthy side of escape: “I never knew I had so much to give.” If your escape makes you more willing, and more able to give, it’s worth the risk. But if escape is prompted by a selfish need to run away from something in your past, instead of confronting it, escape won’t work. But Journey’s right when they tie escape to the search to live out some dreams. Here’s ELO. (That segue led to “Hold on Tight.”)

Next from Journey came “Dead or Alive,” about a double agent gunned down by a “heartless woman’s 38.” Not exactly an inspirational theme. All I said on the program about that song was this: …redeeming social value? None, except maybe to paraphrase Jesus by saying those who live by the handgun will die by the handgun.

Then came the song called “Mother, Father.”

She sits alone, an empty stare
A mother’s face she wears
Where did she go wrong,
The fight is gone
Lord help this broken home

My commentary on the song: Lord, help this broken home. The ties of blood are strong. “Have faith, believe,” they sing. Mother sits alone, an empty stare. Her son drinks his life away. Yes, Lord, help this broken home. If the prodigal returns, will he find acceptance, or rejection? Will he find rejoicing in his return, or new rules about his staying? Will he find a warm embrace, or a heated lecture?

When all the goodbyes of our lives become hellos, how do we respond? When little deaths lead to new life, do we, like God, open our arms wide to embrace new beginnings, or do we dwell on pain long past?

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There is a note in the margin of this script that indicates that I used a song by the Little River Band on this program. It probably would have fit nicely at the end, especially if the last script excerpt noted above is all there was to end the show. “We are riding on our rainbow, it’s nearly at an end, it was given as a promise to each and every man, it’s a long time since we started and the days left now are few, it seems the words sent long ago were true. Life goes on forever, but it changes like the tide, there’s a meaning for existence, no need to run and hide, we are fighting for our freedom, we are searching for a way, and we live in hope of some eternal day.”

At this point, you may escape this entry…