In a fit of holiday melancholia and a general bad mood, I decided earlier this evening to take my dog on a long solo walk in the 20 degree Cleveland cold — I thought the stroll and the biting cold might take my mind off my troubles — and I chose as my soundtrack Must I Paint You A Picture, the new Billy Bragg anthology on Rhino. With the stark beauty of the freshly fallen snow as my backdrop, I roamed the deserted streets of my neighborhood, leash in hand, as the musical memories of one of my favorite artists of my youth came flooding back into my brain. Bragg may be mainly known to the public at large as a political bigmouth, or as that guy who ruined those Wilco records, but fuck, the man can write emotional songs that tug on the heart strings as if they were tied to a runaway train. “The Saturday Boy” brings up memories of Shelley Bauer, the cheerleader I had a such a huge crush on in high school who would never give me the time of day. “St. Swithins Day” reminds me of the regrets of nearly every failed relationship of the past. “A Lover Sings” perfectly expresses the frustration of love and sex and the indelible memories of both. Bragg’s take on “Walk Away Renee” is a love story gone wrong of heartbreaking proportions. The list goes on. If you’ve never experienced the sublime beauty of Bragg’s love songs, I highly recommend seeking them out.

As for myself, by the time I had circled around to Gunning Park, about a block from my house, my all-time favorite Bragg tune came on, “Greetings To The New Brunette.” The dog was anxious, so I let her off the leash and we romped together in the football fields, rolling in the snow and playing with an abandon it’s been far too long since I felt, her with the wild freedom of an animal set free, and me with the bittersweet/happiness that the song brought to me. By the time the final, hopeful lines came around (”Would the leaves fall from the trees/if I was your old man, and you were my missus?”), I had tears in my eyes and a strange joy in my heart, laying on the ground making snow angels with a ridiculous grin on my mug and belting out the tune for all the neighbors to laugh at. Looking up at brilliant stars in the night sky, laying there in the cold, I hoped and prayed that everything would work out for me, laughing in the face of my worries as the tears froze on my face. It was an utterly perfect moment.

I came home and drank a bathtub full of scotch, and now I sit at 2:45 in the morning like a moron writing this gibberish, unable to sleep and not sure if I want to. I’m sure I’ll wish I hadn’t in the morning, but for now, the Bard of Barking has delivered me from my winter depression in elegant form. Cheers to you, Billy. Long may you run.