This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2015, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

You got a favorite song, one that you might want played or sung at your funeral? I never did. I always thought funerals were for the living. If they have to sit for an hour, shouldn't they pick what they want to hear?

So, if my funeral were to be a celebration of my life, I figured my wife would choose something that reminded her of me — Eric Clapton, possibly a B.B. King number like "When Love Comes to Town," or perhaps even John Hiatt's "Wood Chipper."

On the other hand, if she was mad because I got killed doing something stupid, she'd get even with me by booking some horrible groaning church dirge, like "You Got Squished But Jesus Still Lives."

Well, the hell with that. I've since put it in writing. Whatever is done with me — cremation, burial or Sonny shooting me out of a cannon from Tavaputs Ranch — it will be to a particular song.

I came by the song entirely by chance years ago while signing books in Park City. I recognized it right away even though I had never heard it before. It was just instantly … part of me.

I remember that it was snowing outside and I was weary of pushing another book for Christmas. I was hating life, and then it came over the store's speakers.

A guy with a deep voice singing, "Just photographs and memories, on pages left to fade ... until they're gone."

Hooked, I tracked down the store manager. She was pleased to report that the singer was a local guy named Dave Hahn. In fact, they were selling his album in the store. Would I like to b— I bought three. One for my truck, another for my office and another for backup.

I listened to Dave sing "Until They're Gone" nonstop all the way home that night. Then I listened to the CD in my truck for the next couple of years, until the dog stepped on it and broke it. Then I was down to just two copies.

Tracking down Dave was harder. Although he played a lot of local gigs, our schedules never seemed to sync. I finally managed to hear him live at a 2002 dinner venue in Park City. He played "my" song. Twice. Give it a listen at http://www.davehahn.com.

Unless you're spiritually dead, that's the way certain songs are. You hear it once and it becomes yours. It speaks to whatever mess inside you that passes for a soul.

This is especially true for those of us who can't sing or play an instrument. It's all the more magical for how much of ourselves we discover in something we had nothing to do with creating.

But the magic can make you nuts, especially when you see how effortlessly it seems to be produced.

I can't sing or play a musical instrument. I can barely manage the buttons on my CD player. If I could be blessed with one amazing talent, something at which I was instantly good — right after killing flies just by looking at them — it would be making music.

Two weeks ago, my wife and I had dinner at the home of Dave and his wife, Terri, along with Ed and Debbie Konopka.

After dinner, Dave got out his guitar and took requests — Crosby, Stills & Nash, Neil Young, Gordon Lightfoot, Harry Chapin, America, etc. It was like having a free jukebox. I drove home hating him just a little bit for making something so beautiful look so easy.

Nearly all human lives have a soundtrack to them. If you're musically talented, take a minute and consider just how much you add to the world by sharing what you're good at.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.