I started working on this project in May 2022. I had visited Tennessee to help my sister clean out the storage space where we had piled up my dad’s things. After playing scrabble with my mom, visiting a few friends, and crying all of my tears, I was headed home. I was waiting in the Atlanta airport, as one does, for my flight home. I put on Kissing & Dancing.

I hadn’t listened to this record in years. Many years.

Infectious. It is an infection. It’s poppy, but simple. The production plays around with stereo and overlaid tracks in the best ways. At times it feels super full, and other times there is a single clear voice that demands your attention. The tunings can be weird, the song structures are non-intuitive. Some songs are repetitive, but never repeat. Other songs are coming at you full-tilt with a full band and a heavy hand. I loved it then, and I was surprised to find that I loved it now.

I don’t know much about how this record came to be. I heard something about her working with a producer in Athens. Some of my friends who were blown away by the songwriting attributed the genius to some experienced hand. Jealousy of the petty minded and sotto voce sexism. I’m sure that she worked with someone, but this record is entirely Madeline. It is a raw and emotional explosion that appreciates the magic of words and the power of music.

Madeline used to tour around the same places that I did during the early 2000s. The punk scene wasn’t sure what to make of her. I first saw her at Tight Pockets in Athens, GA. I think she was pretty young at the time. Maybe 17 or 18 years old. She had a command of music that none of us could match. None of us could really sing. Most of us could only just barely play our instruments.We all hid behind distortion and noise. Madeline just played and sang and it was quiet, and all the rowdy punks were quiet. Silent.

I left that show with a CD-R.

I didn’t actually listen to it very much. I was living in scab-ridden punk houses at the time, and many of my slash wristed friends couldn’t get into anything that didn’t summon Beelzebub or some lesser demons. But, I had already discovered Joni Mitchell, Cat Stevens, John Prine, Leonard Cohen… ahem… Ani DiFranco. I listened to the Madeline record sometimes, alone in my car, when I was in a mood.

So, I liked the record, but it was just one of many good albums that emerged in the southeast in the early 2000s. We were all so damn musically productive. I was lucky enough to be in a supportive community that elevated musical creativity. So, over time, I don’t think that I came back to Kissing & Dancing very much.

Don’t quote me on dates… I’m aware that I am lost in the flow of time… but I think it was in 2002 or 2003 that I took a job with Orange Grove Center. I had dropped out of college and didn’t really know how to move ahead. I had been making burritos to pay the bill-itos, but a series of circumstances had converged to close the burrito shop. Poor management, food poisoning, a lack of creativity… 20 years later, I’m still glad that restaurant went under. I had bought a “house” with some friends and needed reliable income. We had somehow financed a house from some guy I contacted from the classifieds for $16,000 among 4 people. That should’ve been affordable, but there wasn’t power, or water, or a roof that didn’t leak, or a kitchen to cook in without fighting rats. So, it needed cash money, and I didn’t have it.

Orange Grove Center is a long-standing Chattanooga non-profit that provides support and opportunities for people with disabilities. They offer group housing, work, and educational opportunities for folks with Down’s syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, Autism, and a myriad of other challenges that humans need help with. Laura, one of my favorite exes, suggested it to me. Her friend had connections there and knew of a specific family that was well-off and was looking for in-home care for their son Alex.

So, I applied and was hired straight into the home of Alex Reynolds. He didn’t live in a group home, he lived alone. His dad worked for a bank and they had bought Alex his own town home in a newish development out in Red Bank. He needed around the clock care. I started as a 3rd shift employee. It was a sweet gig. I would come in around his bedtime and hang with him for a little bit before we got him to bed. The second shift lady would take off, and I was there all by myself until the morning. I’ve always been a night owl, so I was happy on the night shift. Actually, I think I recorded some vocals on my band’s first full-length record there. I was reading a Frank Herbert book, and a passage struck me as particularly potent.

I don’t remember the details, but eventually I became a solid and reliable caregiver to Alex in the day and the night. Laura came to work with us, and we were loving and nurturing. Laura and I had mostly split, but we still cared a lot for each other. I was happy with our pseudo family.

Alex was a smiling, happy, non-verbal, wheelchair-bound, amazing human. Although he was non-verbal, I learned so much about listening while I worked with Alex. Cerebral Palsy is hell. Alex’s intelligence was bright, but his ability to communicate was confined to facial gestures and wild body movements. He didn’t have good control over his limbs. I mean, he could swat away some nasty food if you were trying to feed him something he didn’t want, but fine motor control was out of reach.

My schedule settled into 2nd shift and weekend care. I’d show up after he got out of school and hang out with him through dinner and bedtime. And we needed to pass the time. Alex loved country music and he loved watching Barney - the purple dinosaur. I hated both of those things, but it wasn’t my house. So, I listened to every fucking Toby Kieth song on the planet. I knew all the Dixie Chicks songs before and after their George W. controversy. Alan Jackson, Kenny Chesney, Brad Paisley… yup, I knew every word.

This was musical torture to me. I hate commercial music. I appreciate and respect the power that music has. Music can reach into your soul and change you. It should. If it doesn’t, what’s the point?

The commercial Doritos selling hucksterism called ‘country’ music isn’t music in my opinion. I bristled every time Alex wanted to switch on the radio. But he loved listening to the Top 40 on Saturdays before we’d go on a drive out to the pool. It wasn’t my house.

I’d often try to introduce music that he and I would both like. He didn’t like anything but country. I tried hard. I tried middle-ground things, I tried far-flung things, and the answer was no. When Alex loved something, his hand would shoot up. It was his way of dancing. He’d throw his hand up high and bounce it. Nothing I played worked. Actually, he liked when I played guitar for him. He liked to play himself. That’s an important exception. I had a dark stained acoustic. I had written some variant of a Woody Guthrie slogan on it with more profanity in black sharpie. I have an image burned into my memory of his hand strumming the bright new strings that I had tuned to drop D.

Alex Reynolds almost died this weekend.

Laura texted me on Friday and it rocked me. I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been thousands of miles away for years now, and I doubt that Alex has thought of me in a long time. But, the converse isn’t true. I’ve thought of him often. I live him. Deeply. I’d never been responsible for a human before, and he taught me so much about compassion, empathy, and patience. I’ve been through a lot of education since then, but I’ve never met a more profound teacher.

Actually, there was one other person who may have been as important as a teacher. She was an older co-worker who never saw Alex as a full human. She always talked to him as though he were a baby. Yes, he had to have his physical needs met like an infant, but his mind was whole. I think that she took his enjoyment of children’s television as a reflection on his intelligence. I took it as a reflection of his education and experience. She taught me to respect the intelligence of all peoples and that all humans deserve to be heard, even her. I’m glad I don’t have to learn from her anymore, but I did learn a lot.

When I put Kissing and Dancing on for the first time, Alex’s face lit up like the sun. His hand shot up and bounced. It was pure joy. I had finally found music that we could connect on. He loved it, and I put it on often. I listened to that record more than I ever had before. He loved Machina de Bella in a way that I immediately understood. I loved it too. It would be impossible to count how many times we listened to Kissing and Dancing. I knew every breath, every strum; when a song ended, in my head, I could count the exact number of beats until the next song began. I wasn’t obsessed with the record, but I listened to it as though I were.

So, 18 years later in the Atlanta airport, I listened to Kissing and Dancing and heard a lot more than the songs. Of course, I heard the songs of an amazingly talented kid, but I also remembered the habitual push that I would make with my foot on Alex’s wheelchair lock. I remember the sequence of checks I would go through to secure his chair in the van. I remember roaming around Coolidge park with him. I would provide commentary as we walked, and he’d smile. I listened to that album and it held up, but it pushed up memories too, things that I hadn’t thought about in years. Empathy that I must remember daily.

Some of my friends don't connect with this record like I do. Given what I described, that should be obvious. I have a deep connection with this record. I’m hoping that my versions spark an interest that brings other people to the original, because I’d love everyone to connect to it like I do. So, I present to you my version of Kissing and Dancing. This started as a tribute to a record, but it is now inescapably a tribute to Alex. I don’t think he would like it, not enough twang ®.

I want to thank Madeline who I texted in the Atlanta airport with the idea. I went on a long ramble. She didn’t know who was texting, but she was into the idea nonetheless. “I love everything about this text, but I don’t know who sent it.” I love it when people are open to ideas. You should be that person. Eventually, she revealed some tunings and sang on the last song.

-Daniel