Phosphorescent is the recording name used by singer-songwriter Matthew Houck. I didn’t hear “Song for Zula” when it was released in 2013. It found me much later, at exactly the moment I needed it.
On the surface, this is a song about romantic heartbreak. It begins by invoking the familiar image of love as a burning ring, then rejects that comforting idea. In Houck’s telling, love becomes something dangerous—a force that can capture, wound and imprison you.
But songs don’t always remain confined to what their writers intended. People bring their own lives to them. For me, “Song for Zula” became a song about grief.
A close friend of mine, Craig, died last year. Almost immediately afterward, I heard this song on WXPN. I had to find it, bookmark it and add it to Spotify. There was something in its mournful sound—the trembling voice, the repeating rhythm and the strings floating above everything—that matched the sadness and shock I was feeling over how quickly Craig’s life had ended.
At first, the song returned me to that period of loss. Gradually, though, the sadness gave way to a deeper appreciation of our friendship. I began intentionally cataloging the best moments we had shared, almost as if I were placing them somewhere safe.
“Song for Zula” remains bittersweet for me. It brings out a vulnerability and humanness that I don’t always allow myself to inhabit.
It has now been more than a year since Craig left us. His friends still talk about him, remember him fondly and miss him.
I expect we always will.