Billy Joel’s Latest Song Has Me Missing My Mother and Reminding Us That It’s Never Too Late to Have Something New to Say

Last week, Billy Joel released his first new song in decades. For many of you, that might have just been a curiosity. For me, it was huge, and hugely emotional. You see, my parents love Billy Joel, and he in particular was my mother’s favorite musician. So, I grew up listening to his music almost exclusively. Sure, The Beatles, Elton John, and other similar artists played in the house, plus more rock-centric options my dad dug, like Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, and the like, but Billy was a standard. For those of you who think my love of Bruce Springsteen is a family thing, it was actually my teenage revolt. I fell in love with Springsteen music coming from a Joel household. So, he has a very special place in my heart. So many of my childhood and young adult memories are tied into his music. I can think back to late night car rides home as a kid where the sounds of Piano Man or any other album (on a cassette playing in what would have been my parents’ Oldsmobile at the time) would play as a slept in the backseat. Years later, I remember being drawn, for some reason, to play that album during a long subway ride to meet a girl who would end up being my longest relationship to date. The music of Billy Joel has always been playing around me and within me. This made the release of “Turn the Lights Back On” something more for me than many.

Of course, my excitement for a new song of his was also tempered by a deep, profound, sadness that my mom wouldn’t be around to hear it. All week, I listened and listened to the song, all over again. It’s a great song, one that would have been perfectly in place among his hits three and four decades ago, while also feeling new. Decades away from songwriting and Joel comes back with a banger that not just keeps his lyrical voice intact, but somehow evolves it. It’s been swirling around in my head, impressed by its construction, moved by its lyrics, and wrecked that the one person who would have appreciated it most will never hear it.

Fast-forward to last night, and Joel performed the song at the Grammys. Watching it, and the reverence that the Piano Man received, I was struck by something. The message may be about relationships and cutting through what makes our closest into strangers, but it also is just a reminder not to sink into sadness. I think I do a pretty good job pressing on with my life, but I’ll tell you all here, since we’re friends, that there are plenty of nights that I sink into a deep depression. Sometimes it’s very specifically about her. Other times, it’s the weight of the past several years, where I lost my grandfather, whom I was incredibly close with, then had a relationship end suddenly that days before was headed for marriage, with last year’s shocking death of my mother. They weigh you down, these tragedies building. Unfortunately, though, that’s life, and it’s the cruel gift of living a life, let alone a long life (I’m hopefully not even at the midpoint, but you get the idea). I’m struck by a quote by Bruce Springsteen that he said during his recent tour. I attended two shows and don’t remember the remark verbatim, but it’s along the lines of “At fifteen it’s all tomorrows and hellos. At 73, there are a lot more goodbyes.” Goodbyes are becoming more common in my life, when I even get an opportunity to say goodbye.

All of this is floating around my head as I write this in the aftermath of watching the Grammy performance. It was a good rendition, of course, but my emotional reaction is perhaps larger than most. Is there a reason? No, not really, but I do hope that aside from this being an outlet to talk about missing my mom, that it can be a reminder that as long as you’re alive, there’s still time. Do the thing you’ve been putting off. Write that story. Go to that show. As much as 2023 was the worst year of my life, I also did things I probably never would have done otherwise. In the past year and change, I’ve had experiences that I’ll never forget. Would I trade them in a second for another conversation with my mother? 100%. Barring that, I think I’ve done what I can to keep my lights on, as much as possible.

Think about the lyrics. For example:

I’m late, but I’m here right now
And I’m tryin’ to find the magic
That we lost somehow
Maybe I was blind
But I see you now

And of course, the big one:

Did I wait too long
To turn the lights back on?

My lights aren’t fully back on yet. I don’t know that they ever will be. These things take time. I know that I’ve tried. I haven’t missed a day of writing in the year plus since I lost my mother. Some days are harder than others. At the same time, songs like this bring her back, just a little bit, even if it’s tinged with sadness. So, I look for these kinds of things as signs, as a non-religious person, that connect it all. Billy Joel turned out his songwriting lights back in 1993, according to him, and it held true until now. My mom isn’t here to hear it, but he’s done something that has her on my mind even more than usual, so there’s something there.

Moreover, consider this a reminder. It’s never too late to say what you need to say. Writers write. I know I’ll try to remember that lesson. Are there things I should have told her? Of course. However, I know that in some way, the conversation is never actually over. Thanks, Billy. My mom would have loved the new song, too. Welcome back.

This one is for you, mom.