Mike Maimone Faces the Universe Head-On With “Waiting in the Light”

Some songs punch you in the chest. This one goes straight for the soul and doesn’t apologize for it.

“Waiting in the Light,” the final track on Mike Maimone’s upcoming album Guess What? I Love You, isn’t just another grief song; it’s a cosmic gut-check on what love really means when life gets ripped out from under you. Mike isn’t chasing pretty metaphors or staging a Hallmark moment. He’s telling the truth the way grief actually feels: weird, holy, disorienting, magical, ugly, and absolutely alive.

The single, a tribute to his late husband Howard Bragman, pulls from Leon Russell grit, Elton John drama, and a little Beatles psychedelic glitter, but the heartbeat is pure Maimone. It’s Americana cracked open by something bigger than genre. The song swells, spirals, and combusts, then lifts into a gospel-drenched release that feels like watching a star burn out and become something new.

For an album built on loss, love, and healing, “Waiting in the Light” lands like the moment the clouds finally stop fighting the sun. Not closure, evolution. Not goodbye, “I’ll meet you where the energy goes.”

Maimone isn’t trying to tidy up grief. He’s showing that the connection stays messy, mystical, and maddeningly alive. And that maybe, just maybe, the light we think we’re heading toward isn’t an ending at all, but a reunion.

You talk about light showing up in uncanny, almost mischievous ways after Howard passed. How did those moments reshape what you believe happens after we lose someone?

I’d always been skeptical about whether spirits can interact with the physical world. I’d heard plenty of convincing “ghost stories” from people I trust, so I wasn’t a total disbeliever—but I’d never experienced anything myself. After we were married in Howard’s hospital bed, he told me to watch out because he was going to “fuck with me.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like he already knew he’d be able to reach me somehow. I scoffed. I thought spiritual encounters looked like something out of Unsolved Mysteries or books flying off shelves in Interstellar.

But the couple of things that happened weren't scary or dramatic. They were pretty gentle. And a wave of calm came over me—this sense of peace—and I just knew it was Howard saying hi. It made me believe that whatever happens after we lose someone is far more subtle than I'd imagined. I don't know where the soul goes, but it feels tied to the energy that's all around us.

This song feels like the emotional ‘final chapter’ of the album, but you’ve said it’s actually a ‘to be continued.’ What do you think this story is pushing you toward next?

Losing Howard broke my heart. But in the weeks that followed, I received really beautiful messages from friends, family, and even some iconic celebrities like Stevie Wonder and Oprah, insisting that I keep my heart open to whatever's next. It was so surreal; Howard changed my life when he entered it, and again when he left it. The best way I knew how to pay tribute to him was through music. But I also wrote a book. It felt like I needed to immortalize our brief but transformative time together. It'll be out the same day as the record, and already has some nice endorsements. I don't know what my next step will be, but it feels like I'm being nudged toward some surprising and auspicious new creative endeavors.

There’s a huge musical shift here of gospel, psychedelia, and Americana. Which part of the production surprised you the most once the band started shaping the track?

My piano part is very sparse, and I lived with the song on just keys and vocal for a long time. I had a lot of theoretical production ideas, but as soon as Rob Gould and Patrick McIsaac started grooving, the song finally made sense as a full band arrangement. From there everything fell into place. I knew I wanted the end to sound like an epic celebration of life and love, and everyone in the band gets their chance to sort of wave goodbye. There are nine of us at that point, plus a couple of additional overdubs, and somehow it all just fit together perfectly.

Your wedding became the emotional nucleus of this song. When you look back now, what details of that day feel the most spiritually important rather than painful?

Howard and I had talked a lot about our wedding before he got sick. He'd been married and divorced, and I'd been engaged and called it off. So Howard wanted a subdued second wedding, but I wanted my first and only wedding to be a festive event. We'd compromised on two tuxes and food trucks - classy and casual at the same time. But we didn't get there. Instead, we got married in his hospital bed wearing tee shirts and sweats. He had a rush of energy that morning, but by the time we signed the wedding license, he was exhausted. So we didn't get to walk down the aisle, or dance at the reception, or cut a wedding cake. I was grateful that we had beaten the odds and tied the knot - while hiding my sadness that it was so far from what we'd envisioned. I was feeling really down when Howard's niece Lizzy came back into the room. She handed me a bag from the Starbucks in the hospital lobby. It had two cake pops. We both cheered up. Howard and I got to have our wedding cake after all. 

Howard told people he wasn’t going anywhere. When you listen back to “Waiting in the Light,” where do you feel him most, lyrically, sonically, or somewhere outside the music entirely?

That is an awesome question. It's in the backing vocals - Cole DeGenova, Nalani Rothrock, and Nikki Morgan - especially Nikki's riff that kicks off the improvised fade-out jam. She sang the backing vocals on "Unfollow," and Howard loved them so much. I wish I could've shown him her contributions to his record in person. But at least I know he's hearing it.