Maybe Someday/Maybe Never
The ballad of the golden heron
The visually stunning and creatively spiritual 2016 Laika Studios stop-motion animation movie Kubo and the Two Strings beautifully explores themes of death, loss, grief, and the memories of loved ones who have passed. A wonderfully touching moment occurs when one of the characters, the monkey that we learn is the reincarnated soul of the title character’s mother, reflects on the songs of the imposing golden herons gliding high above through the sky.
“The golden heron is said to carry the souls of the departed, carrying them to wherever they need to go. As they fly, they sing songs about what happens when we die. How we don’t just disappear, we shift, we transform so that we can continue our story to another place. The end of one story is merely the beginning of another…”
What is disguised as a children's movie is actually a multifaceted and philosophical film. Most kids, however, won't grasp its deeper animistic and polytheistic themes, symbolism & messages that weave throughout its narrative. These complex layers and aesthetically seductive visuals help make the film a masterpiece from the acclaimed Laika Studios. Unfortunately, as with numerous Laika films, it was not a financial success. Kubo and the Two Strings, which took a meticulous ninety-four weeks and an estimated 1,149,015 work hours to create, had a production cost of sixty million dollars. However, it only managed to gross less than seventy-eight million worldwide, with forty-eight million coming from the US. Why hasn't this film garnered a wider audience? Do mainstream audiences not want to be challenged to think deeply and critically while immersing themselves in a stunningly beautiful world created with meticulous craftsmanship by an exceptional team of artists?
I have written extensively about art that transcends the obvious, stimulating my eyes and inspiring deeper contemplation. Recently, I have been thinking about the art of Mark Rothko, often seen as the face of abstract art and easily criticized by those who don't appreciate abstraction. The essence of any form of art lies in the interpretation we bring to it and the emotions and meanings it conveys to us. Both context and setting are essential when viewing Rothko’s paintings. Whenever I go to London to visit my friends and family, I always try to visit the Tate Modern. When I sit in their compact, dimly lit Rothko Gallery, I drown myself in his colossal color fields. The blurred squares and rectangles are often the only thing I can grasp to help me come up for air. Even if I struggle to find answers to the many questions Rothko's art elicits, the paintings transcend their maroon, red, and black sea of color and evoke a profound sense of contemplation within me. They make me meditate on my emotions rather than focusing on the artist's intentions during their creation. I never question their sense of being or why Rothko chose to paint large color fields. Instead, I quietly empathize with their solemn, abstract melancholy. Their vast expanse echoes the hymn of the golden heron.
When art provokes such reflection and sentiment, it validates and reassures me that I’m not alone in experiencing similar feelings. I feel alive and connected to myself and humanity.
A few months back, I was listening to an album when Spotify’s algorithms kicked in, and a song captured my attention and instantly tugged at my heartstrings. I paused what I was doing, was completely engaged, and listened intently. I soon found myself repeatedly listening to the song while closing my eyes and allowing the music to wash over me like Rothko’s color fields. I had completely immersed myself in its poetic melody and lyrics.
I don’t know anything at all about the singer-songwriter Dennis Stoner. I don’t think many people do, to be honest. Hailing from Hershey, Pennsylvania, Stoner dropped one record in 1971 on the Vantage label, also released by Rare Earth Records. As far as I know, it was the one creative gift he shared with the world, and it probably went straight to the cutout bins and disappeared into obscurity.
The record itself isn't particularly noteworthy, nor is it remarkable. There is, however, one truly outstanding track that makes me think that if all the songs were as good, Stoner could have become a household name or a highly coveted LP amongst collectors.
Maybe Someday/Maybe Never
Thanks to the dedicated crate-diggers who discovered the song and included it on the 2019 Anthology Records compilation Sad About The Times, Stoner's music is likely receiving more attention today than it did back in 1971. This double LP assembles a slew of introspective singer-songwriters who effortlessly straddle folk and the hip "cosmic country" label. Stoner’s song concludes an album of carefully curated tracks, but for me, it’s his that stands head and shoulders above the rest and led me to hunt down an original copy of his self-titled 1971 record.
The song starts with a breathtakingly exquisite piano and gorgeous guitar that gently trickles like heavy teardrops cascading down woeful eyes. It maintains its slow and emotional pace throughout. Stoner’s voice exudes warmth and is very comforting, making me feel safe and secure in his company. I melt into their soothing embrace when the enchanting accent of Sandi Simpson's angelic vocals joins in during the chorus.
I interpret the song to be about the deep-seated sorrow of losing someone we hold dear and the realization there are many people in our lives whom we know, yet may never truly know. The masks that people wear, the guarded barriers they build, and the self-centered, narcissistic mindset of today that is so prevalent on social media make it even more difficult for us to form sincere and authentic friendships. People tend to be too absorbed in themselves and often lack genuine engagement or interest in others. Simply clicking "like" is sometimes interpreted as a sufficient connection. As a result, the depth of our relationships often encompasses a much smaller circle than we might imagine.
Now, if I try real hard
I can make myself clear
Tho, my thoughts are slow
The most important one is here
There is no one
Yes, it’s sad but so true
In my entire world
That I know as well as you
The lyrics also hint at Stoner’s contemplation of religion and the uncertainty of what awaits us after death. For me, it conveys the longing that spiritually, maybe someday we will reunite with our loved ones in the future but also acknowledges the possibility that such a reunion may(be) never occur. The song transforms into the ballad of the soaring majestic golden heron, singing the melodies of the departed as it guides them on their journey to embark on a new story.
As I walk through the door
Though I hoped we’d be together
I said maybe someday, now
Then again, maybe never…
If I could compose a tune as thoughtful, mesmerizingly sad, and beautiful as ‘Maybe Someday/Maybe Never,’ I might find some solace knowing that the rest of my album didn't quite reach the same level of magic. Dennis Stoner creatively struck gold with this song and should be proud of the treasure he shared and left for us to discover.
Rare Earth Records was a subsidiary of Motown (named for the band of the same name which recorded for it).
Forgot to add, the film you write about reminds me of The Boy and the Heron, which I viewed with my 10 year old granddaughter recently, giving us hours of conversation in the attempt to untangle its meaning. Gorgeous stuff.