Kind of Blue

Terry Swensen: a gentle giant who smiled with his whole face, who loved the Red Sox and tolerated the Royals, whose vinyl collection numbered in the hundreds, who loved his grandson Michael Houser (NMH).

Swensen had heart problems all his life and, in 2018, spent a long stretch of time hospitalized. 

In the winter of that year, he was finally cleared to leave. 

His daughter and wife drove him home. 

As he got out of the car, he fell to the ground.

He was rushed back to the hospital.

He didn’t survive. 

That night, driving on the last stretch of street before the turn into his neighborhood, Houser’s father told him the news. 

It had all happened so quickly. 

Houser didn’t know that his grandfather was supposed to come home that night. He didn’t know the extent of his grandfather’s condition. He didn’t know how to make sense of the loss.

For years in the basement of his grandparent’s house, Houser had worked sorting hundreds of records with his grandfather. With each record Houser touched, his grandfather would give him a new quip: 

“Elton John’s Greatest Hits,’ I remember the summer I got that.”

“I still remember that anecdote every time I listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’,” Houser said. “He had so much appreciation for music. Biggest love was for jazz. The intricacies of music and the way things are composed are really important to me because of him.” 

A year prior to Swensen’s passing, Houser was going into seventh grade. 

It was a tumultuous time in his life, but his creative writing class offered refuge. In that classroom a friend introduced Houser to the possibility of creating his own music. 

Soon, Houser began writing and producing his own albums. Following his grandfather’s death, he used this as a way to process the loss.

“I started writing about how I would be okay, about the experience I went through,” Houser said. “I had already made music before it happened, so I just continued.”

Houser wrote:

Against all odds, I’m better now. 

Against all odds, I’m lighter than a feather now.

Years have passed since his grandfather’s death, but Swenson has stayed with his grandson. In 2021, Houser released an album titled “3”. “Shame” is one of the last few songs featured on that album. He wrote:

The loss of grandfather was a pivotal point

Do I quit what I’m doing or continue; basically I’m flipping a coin

He meant the most to me

I think about him all the time

Never finished organizing records with him. That’s a crime  

I know he’s watching over me, make sure I stay right

Got a TV in the sky so he can watch the Sox at late night

Now that I think on it my taste for jazz came from him, too, 

So when I listen to Miles I feel a kind of blue. 

Houser played “Shame” for his mother. 

“She was looking down bobbing her head to it, then when it got to the last few lines where it directly referenced him, [she cried],”  Houser said. “I wrote it in 2020 and he passed away in 2018. There had been a long period where we didn’t really come to terms with it. That was a moment that really provided closure. It showed that a part of him was in me and what I’m doing with my music would make him proud.” 

Author's Note: This story was one of the first where I had touched on something as serious and emotional as losing a loved one. Writing this taught me how to build trust and patient with a source. It reminded me of the power of silence and the importance of really listening. Houser and I spoke three times for 45 minutes to an hour each interview. It wasn't until the last interview that we talked about his grandfather. After the article was printed, a friend told me Houser went around showing the article to students in his classes. Months later, I accidently bumped into his mom at Barnes and Noble. She told me how much she appreciated the article, how it made her cry. I am proud that I was able to tell a bit of Houser's story as well as a bit of Swensen's. This feature story made me fall in love with writing profiles.