Carole King is one of those musical figures who seems have been around all my life.
And, in one form or another, I guess she has.
She probably reached her peak in popularity as a performer in the 1970s, but she has been writing songs that wound up climbing to #1 on the charts for half a century, starting with "Will You Love Me Tomorrow?" the song she and Gerry Goffin co–wrote for The Shirelles.
As a performer, I suppose King's signature album was "Tapestry," which was released nearly 40 years ago — in January 1971. There are several songs on that album that have achieved a certain stature with the public, like "It's Too Late," "You've Got a Friend," "I Feel The Earth Move" and "(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman."
Whew! Just typing those titles gives me a flashback to the 1970s. But not the '70s of disco balls. I'm thinking about the part of the '70s that was the true heyday of popular songwriting.
Thirty–nine years ago this month, King released the single that has always epitomized her in my mind — "So Far Away." That song was on "Tapestry," too, and it was one of the reasons why the album remained on the charts for six years.
I've heard it said that "So Far Away" was symbolic of "Tapestry," but I disagree. It differed sharply from the jazzier, up–tempo songs that surrounded it. "So Far Away" was more wistful, slower, deliberate, the kind of song that seems to appeal to a person more as that person gets older and realizes how easily time slips through your fingers. In spite of its title, it's about time more than distance.
It's funny, isn't it, how your mind links songs to people, places, things? I've always linked "So Far Away" to a lost love. She isn't lost in the sense that no one knows where she is. I mean she is lost in the sense that life took her one way and it took me another.
I'm not sure if we ever listened to that song together. We might have. We dated for nearly a year, and we often listened to music late into the evening when the rest of the household had gone to bed, leaving us to enjoy some private time with the lights down low and music playing, either records I had brought with me or the radio.
I didn't have "Tapestry" in those days, but I wouldn't be surprised if it played on the radio a time or two. And there were certainly times during our relationship when the radio provided the soundtrack. Anyway, if we didn't listen to the song together, somehow the subject must have come up because I remember her making a reference to one of the lines — "doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?" — although I don't remember the context of the conversation.
Actually, I guess it is that line that makes me think of her more than the song itself, if that makes sense. It seems appropriate, the kind of question you ask when you first realize, for whatever reason, that things change, places change, people change. That you can't go home again.
It's always been a song of loss for me, but it's also a reminder of a time and a place and people that will always be important to me.
And when I hear that song, they're not so far away, no matter how many years have passed.
