The Beauty of the Breakup Album

My husband’s girlfriend’s husband just called me up.

How messed up is that.

Everyone over the age of sixty should have a pair of Millennial children. Even if it requires you to adopt late in life. Just to keep a tiny bit informed.

When my daughter Abby told me to buy the Dixie Chicks latest CD, Gaslighter. I did as told. (Abby knows I don’t do Spotify or Apple music or whatever — I still have actual discs that I insert in a player.) Two days later I received my CD, which has the word ‘Dixie’ emblazoned on the cover, though the progressive country feminists have since dropped that politically dubious adjective, and are now officially The Chicks. I’m not sure that moniker is totally liberating either.

I listened to the album several times through, the way a person must to absorb an album into their fascia. I texted Abby, “It’s terrific.” She responded, “I love breakup albums.” I considered whether that was a distant, personal call for parental help and decided: no. Then I listened to Gaslighter a few more times.

After the pounding title track (Gaslighter / Denier / Doing anything to get your ass farther…), the second track, “Sleep at Night” could be a lullaby. Not. Midway into the first stanza I’m hit by “My husband’s girlfriend’s husband just called me up / How messed up is that.” And…