In "Lunch Never Served (for JFK)," Lepagou subverts a museum memory by transforming it into a disquieting sound experience. Inspired by a visit to the 6th Floor Museum in Dallas, where JFK's untasted lunch sits eternally untouched, the song takes you into a realm of reverie and affecting storytelling. "Lunch Never Served (for JFK)" is not about theatrical flourishes, nor does it indulge in obvious sentimentality. Its strength lies in restraint, in finding just the right balance of melody and memory, and in doing something few of us want to do but need to do: force us to stare at the weight of history in a simple, single image.
Each note hangs in the air like a firecracker's sizzle, like the racetrack-like echo of footsteps through Dealy Plaza, every silent beat as resonant as the hush of a life bleeding away too soon. Dylanesque the thematic elements might be, but the device of the uneaten meal is so effectively entwined with the words that it makes what could be nothing but a fairly run-of-the-mill dedication into a lament on loss, fate, and the impermanence of time.
In the end, the song does more than pay homage; it's a reminder of music's ability to grasp the moments that museums preserve, of art's power to transfigure history into emotion, and that even the bleakest details, a plate left untouched, can bear the burden of a nation's grief. Lepagou has crafted a piece that stays with you long after the last sound has vanished, or that beckons you to come back inwards and reflect, process, and remember together the moments that still linger in time.
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