Eva Cassidy could play the guts out of a
guitar. I said could because she died in her
30’s. She could tear the heart out of a song,
too, like in her rendition of “Over the Rain-
bow.” I told a friend how I loved her “Over
the Rainbow,” but he who hadn’t heard Eva sing
or play anything dismissed her with a flick of
the wrist claiming no one will ever out do the
standard-bearer Judy Garland. True, Judy had
known real sorrow and hardship, but my friend
hadn’t. He ended his tepid, prejudiced protest
with a sigh. See, that’s the difference. Eva
ended “Rainbow” with a sigh but not before touch-
ing the hem of some angel’s robe with heart wrench-
ing high notes. When she hit and carried forever
those searing notes of the last refrain “Some-
where, over the rainbow,” those notes flew
from the East Coast to the West Coast raising
from the grave every unjustly treated human
who ever suffered the tragedy of great loss.
Even the petroglyphs in the Painted Desert
leapt off rocks, soared on Eva’s notes and
pleaded to the heavens in that final sigh,
“Why, oh why, can’t I?” before returning to
the rocks.