You Still Believe in Me
A story behind my song about unconditional confidence in those we love and respect.
Before I get into the story behind You Still Believe in Me, I want you to have a chance to listen to it, spoiler-free:
Also:
Okay, now that you’ve had a chance to hear You Still Believe in Me, here’s the story behind how this song came to be:
As many of you know, my father died in 2021 from hairy cell leukemia germinated by Monsanto’s Roundup, from COVID in his immuno-compromised state, and from renal failure brought on by Gilead’s Remdesivir. I think it’s important to cite all sources because “comorbidities” is not why he was on a ventilator (COVID was), because those who excuse Monsanto’s liability don’t offer alternative explanations for the presence of this really hyper specific cancer he could get from either Roundup or the Agent Orange they used in the power plants where he served as a millwright or the crap they treat lumber with, and because many other treatments existed that wouldn’t have fried his kidneys (Remdesivir did).
— Shoutout from across the pond, C.S. Lewis, but not for the normal reasons.
Ultimately, dad died because this “Utopia of Usurers” sees working blue collar men as disposable cogs rather than human beings. All three of his causes of death testify to that same end conclusion: human suffering is profitable for a certain caste of America.
I started this song, however, before dad’s cancer relapsed.
I started it back when my brother’s mother-in-law had cancer again and had just passed away during COVID.
Both instances dove-tailed when dad died:
“Lanes” by XKCD pretty much sums this up the entire process, at least on the cancer front. I first encountered it on Patrick Rothfuss’s blog. I didn’t realize I’d need it later. Didn’t realize I was about to have a giant hole blown through my chest where my heart ought go after living in NYC through the entire pandemic, only — eighteen months later — to have my dad die of COVID anyways because he remained unvaccinated against medical advice, die of cancer anyways because the company that hired the union lied about the chemicals they put in the plant, because Monsanto lied about the chemicals they put in Roundup, die of renal failure always because Gilead lied about the side affects of Remdesivir, because the doctor applied it against our objections based on academic abstracts, die of COVID always because the small rural hospital didn’t give him the steroids we begged them for, because… because… because…
Because death’s in the world and systematic death is profitable for the handful of people who run the executive board near you. The only antidote to this, in the end, is to agree with John Polkinghorne and believe the laws of entropy will not only be rewritten, but unwritten — to believe that death is the ultimate lie. Consciousness and being and bliss all three beg the question: why do we grieve?
People have known for all of history that death is sad.
Therefore death is sad.
It begs the question: why are we sad? Is death, perhaps, a lie?
Anyways.
Dad was still alive and we were trying to steer clear of him, both for his sake and for Tara’s sake since Tara had Type 1 and they still were recommending she stay away because there was no vaccine approved for her yet.
My brother’s mother-in-law died of a relapse in cancer. In the midst of all of it. It seemed absurdly unfair, mid-shutdown. Particularly for how much she believed in all of them.
I found myself remembering my early days with Tara. How she has never wavered in her confidence in me and my potential and my discipline. How dad never wavered in his confidence in my capacity and capability. And I imagined what Bubba, my brother’s father-in-law, must have felt. And thought of how Dad and I would have dealt with it as poor men trying to woo the hand of a rich girl.
How she may have believed in us had the roles been flipped.
All of that together resulted in an unapologetically sincere country song:
Well we grew up together, in our little town. We were sweethearts from about age sixteen, But your daddy was rich and mine was real poor. They said I had nothing I could offer a wife To give you any kind of decent life. And sometimes I think they were right. When I think of the ways that I’ve let you down — All the times we just couldn’t agree — It’s amazing after all that we’ve been through That you still believe in me. You went to college and I bundled wheat And money was tight all the time. We fought over pennies and dumb little things. Sometimes I got ugly and I was a pain. You worked like a dog and the kids were insane, But somehow you’d never complain. When I think of the ways that I’ve let you down — All the times we just couldn’t agree — It’s amazing after all that we’ve been through That you still believe in me. You came down with cancer, I went back to work To pay for one treatment a week. But we ran out of money and they ran out of answers. And here with our family at the side of the grave God love you for being so good and so brave. With the preacher, I’ll stand up and say: When I think of the ways that I’ve let you down — All the times we just couldn’t agree — It’s amazing after all that we’ve been through That you still believe in me.
Production for You Still Believe in Me was funded by generous contributions from subscribers like you. This one song took their $600 contribution — there are more songs to be produced, so if you feel like funding the next song and upgrading your subscription, 7 paid subscriptions would do it:
And you may be thinking, “Wait, Lance, are you saying just willy-nilly you’ll make another song if you get enough funding? Or are you saying you already have songs recorded that need produced?”
The latter. There are 6 songs in the can that were recorded for free with the presumption that if I found funding for the full production, I could pay per song as I went along. So yes, you have the power to liberate 6 songs.
For every 7 subscriptions, you and I together will set free a single song. If 42 of you subscribe, we’ll set free the whole album.
And 42 is a particularly special number, as you may know:
If you missed the December Digest for 2024, it’s here. Again, for those that haven’t, if you’d prefer to only get one email a month select the frequency of the emails you’d like to receive.
Terrific song. Touching in itself and magnified in poignancy by the backstory about your dad's illness. My sub stack Onward through the Fog has my song Brother which you might find comforting.
"Why do we grieve? People have known for all of history that death is sad. Therefore death is sad. It begs the question: why are we sad? Is death, perhaps, a lie?"
I'm currently reading Dan Simmons' Hyperion for the first time, and your quote above had me thinking about the Priest's Tale. I'm not sure if you've read the book or not, but I'd highly recommend giving the first chapter a read...
I remember when this song first dropped and we listened to it with the trepidation and dread only a Real Country Song can evoke, breath held and waiting for the hammerfalls to strike the heart. This song should be on the radio! What a song dude. Thank you for sharing the story.