For those of you who have always wondered what this haunting, bittersweet piece of piano-music is called, that's the title. Etched in my memory, I have visions: A young man with a DA haircut accompanies a young woman with a poodle skirt... neon signs reflecting in dark puddles, late at night, as the couple leave the bar to cuddle in the warm car, motor idling. Maybe they turn on the car radio, and hear this song.
They were my parents.
Not sure how I got the memory, unless it was just so strongly conveyed by their presence. No matter how nasty they brawled, even after they divorced, they would be brought together by the song. (Yes, they continued to see each other long after they were divorced and married to other people, plural. I'll get around to writing about THAT convoluted and complicated state of affairs, one of these days.)
When my mother heard the song, even decades later, she would always politely excuse herself to go to the restroom. (And shed tears for my father, no doubt.)
This song, recorded in 1960, was used in country-and-western-bars (and maybe still is, in some areas) as a "last call"--a signal the bar was closing; time to drink up and leave. Folks would often dance this song with their ex-lovers, or someone they believed they would NEVER have as a lover. They would dance with their best friends' wives, in full view of the best friend. Women would also dance with each other (men never did). The song was transcendent; it said "We have shared this space and time together, and now, this night is over." Something about the wistful melody made the saloon-denizens suddenly thoughtful, quiet, melancholy, sentimental, aware of their mortality. People might break out in fights during rowdier songs... but never this one. Last date signaled a graceful 'good night'--an always-tender parting of the ways.
I just love it.
It's best listened to VERY LATE on a Saturday night... maybe 2:30 am, when the bars in my hometown closed.
~*~
Floyd Cramer - Last Date