The Vanished Capaldi

I swear, sometimes my brain feels like a cluttered attic, full of dusty boxes, random treasures, and the occasional trapdoor to another dimension. At least, that’s how it felt the night I stumbled into what I’m calling The Capaldi Conundrum.

So here’s how it started. Two years ago, I first heard of Lewis Capaldi. Great voice, funny guy, tons of emotional power ballads that make you wonder if you should text your ex. But the thing that stuck with me wasn’t his music—it was his last name. Capaldi. That flipped a switch in my head.

In the early to mid-1980s, I clearly remember Jim Capaldi on the music charts. Not just a passing mention—no, I could practically hum one of his songs. The name wasn’t fuzzy. The memory felt like someone had stamped it on my brain. So naturally, I decided to look him up.

Except nothing.

No Jim Capaldi on the charts. No albums. No hits. Not even a footnote. I even dragged out a friend’s Billboard Top 100 book—the sacred scroll of pop-music history. If a musician so much as hummed near a microphone in the 1950s through the 1980s, they’d end up in that book. But Jim Capaldi? According to all available evidence, he did not exist.

I’ll admit it, I got a little spooked. Not panic-spooked, but the “Huh, that’s odd” spooked that creeps back into your thoughts at 2 a.m. Eventually, though, I shrugged and chalked it up to a misfired memory.

I might have mixed him up with someone else. Maybe my brain invented a singer.

Stranger things have happened. But then last night happened.

I’m winding down for bed, doing the usual routine of brushing teeth, setting alarms, pondering the meaning of life, all that good stuff. For background noise, I open YouTube. A few suggested videos roll by, and then, like some cosmic joke, up pops Jim Capaldi – That’s Love.

I froze.

There he was. The man I had desperately tried to find a couple of years earlier. The song I swore I remembered.

The name that had vanished from the charts and every reference book I checked. Suddenly, he existed again, as if the universe had quietly patched a glitch.

Now here’s where things tilt from weird to downright Twilight Zone: the male lead in the video is Eric Bogosian. Yes, that Eric Bogosian, the intense guy from Criminal Intent.

Just casually hanging out in a 1980s music video like that’s the most normal thing in the world. So naturally, I’m sitting there asking myself the only reasonable question: Did I slip through timelines?

I mean, did I originally come from a version of reality where Jim Capaldi never made it? Did I drift into another one where he did?

And if so, what triggered the shift? Buying a different brand of cereal? Petting the dog at the wrong moment?

I don’t have answers. What I do know is that: a) I’m confused, and b) I’m blissfully aware that I’m a weirdo.

But honestly? I kind of like being the sort of person who notices these little cosmic hiccups.

Maybe it means I’m paying attention, or it means the universe has a quirky sense of humor. Or perhaps Jim Capaldi was waiting for me to find him again.

Either way, I’m leaving the door open for the possibility of alternate timelines. Just in case another forgotten musician suddenly decides to reappear.