Sermons on Subscription

A quiet piano, a noisy world, and the curious business of selling hope by the month.

One does occasionally wonder when, precisely, humanity decided it would be a splendid idea to package up its existential dread, wrap it in reassuring language, and offer it back to itself at a modest recurring fee. It feels recent, though I suspect it has been going on far longer than any of us would care to admit, merely without the convenience of a login and a password.

Sermons on Subscription

The Boss, for his part, did not set out to make a statement. He rarely does. He was, as I understand it, minding his own business when this particular piece drifted in, sat down at the piano, and refused to leave. It has that quality about it, you see. Not a performance, not a plea, but a kind of weary observation delivered from the corner of the room where the light is soft, and the company is optional.

There is, rather wonderfully, a chimpanzee with a martini involved, which I take as a sign that we are, at the very least, dealing with an honest account of proceedings. Beyond that, one finds billboards promising salvation, prophets in hoodies peddling second chances, and the faint, persistent hum of a world that seems to have mistaken access for meaning. It would be funny if it weren’t quite so accurate. As it happens, it manages to be both.

Musically, it does exactly what it ought. No fuss, no theatrics, just a close, intimate piano, a rhythm section that knows better than to intrude, and a vocal that sounds as though it has no interest whatsoever in convincing you of anything. It simply tells you what it sees, pours another drink, and lets you decide whether to stay.

As for the chorus, well. “Sermons on subscription” rather says it all, doesn’t it?

Hope, neatly delivered, terms and conditions implied, cancellation policy unclear.

One listens, one nods, one wonders how we all ended up here, and then, inevitably, one presses play again. And, with a faint sigh and no particular expectation of improvement, one lets it run.

Codsworth C. Gleason Esq.
Assistant to the Boss,
Head of Everything Else,
Keeper of the Fourth Sherry This Morning.