When I heard “Share the Land” by the Guess Who, I knew that wasn’t Randy Bachman on the guitar. The style sounded different. Nothing against Bachman, who did some excellent playing with the Guess Who (like “American Woman”) and with BTO, but I really liked the guitar’s fast, fluid movements and high notes on “Share the Land.”
Because of that one song, I became a Kurt Winter fan. He died of kidney disease when he was fifty-one, but he left some wonderful performances to remember him. I like how Burton Cumming’s honky-tonk style piano in this song underscores Winter’s guitar work.
I was walking this morning when this one streamed out of the ether.
“Mississippi Queen” by Mountain was one of our art class staples in high school in my senior year, 1974. Scott had a large rock vinyl collection, and brought in a huge number of albums. I don’t recall how other students reacted to it, but Scott and I really enjoyed it.
Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer
The future’s uncertain, and the end is always near
And with that, today’s song goes into its final minute.
I always liked singing “Roundhouse Blues” at work. A rousing, rowdy song, it was a great defiant response when bosses would say, “Let it roll.” Well, alright, let it roll.
I’d also sometimes sing, “The future’s uncertain, and the end is always clear.” I was divided about what Morrison was singing. Wasn’t till the net came about and I could look it up that I was satisfied. But my misheard word fits as well. The future for us all ends the same way, so it’s always clear. It’s all those damn little steps in between now and then that cause us problems.
Here are the Doors, from way back in 1970. That was a pretty good year to be a Pittsburgh Pirates fan, until they ran into the Big Red Machine, and the year turned sour.
We watched “Thor: Ragnorok” at the cinema yesterday. The movie features Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” twice. Led Zep III was one of those albums that I listened to repetitively when I was fourteen in nineteen seventy, and I came to know the album by heart. Once I heard “Immigrant Song,” I streamed the subsequent tracks into my head. Eventually, “Celebration Day” dominated more than the rest. Always like that beginning sound, and then the words, “Her face is cracked from smiling, all the fears that she’s been hiding, and it seems that pretty soon, everybody’s gonna know.”
Here, let me play it for you, and get it out of my head.
Neurons fired, streams opened, and this song came to me today. Although I’m a Blood, Sweat and Tears fan, I don’t own any of their albums. Still, I know a number of their songs, like “Spinning Wheel”, “When I Die”, and “You’ve Made Me So Very Happy”, the song that passed into my slipstream of memory was “Lucretia MacEvil”. Sit back and enjoy Clayton-Thomas’ throaty vocals and that soulful fat brass sound.
Jimi Hendrix took me like he’d done so many others. I heard his music and thought, “Whoa. Who is that?”
Hendrix died when I was in my freshman year at high school. School had just begun a few weeks before. Attending John H. Linton Intermediate school, I was smitten with Melissa Smith. Melissa sat behind me in science. I was shy, so Melissa took it upon her to talk to me. Her opening gambit was about music. First we talked about “Tommy” and other Who songs. Then Hendrix died, so we talked about his music and death. Funny, but in my memory, Melissa was my opposite. She dressed in a preppie style, skirts, blouses and sweaters, while my attire skated along the spectrum toward unkempt hippie. My hair was a wild and curly mess while she sported something from “That Girl.” Nevertheless, we liked each other.
Years after Hendrix’s passing, I learned about his influence on the British musicians, like Clapton, Lennon, Jagger, Jones, and Townsend. Their interest and impressions of him provided me with a vicarious bond to the times. Almost fifty hears later, “Fire” energizes me in a way few other songs ever do.
Here we go. Reference to what is a classic in your personal realm of taste is different from others. Age, era, and where and when you grew up all count into it, right? Other factor play into it. The net, what’s classic in my personal universe is foreign to you, and the reverse applies.
But this is a classic for me. It often streams into my head in conjunction with my muse. Muse might be properly plural here. I have multiple voices in my head. They all might belong to one muse, who likes doing other voices, or an army of muses. I don’t know. I sometimes wonder, when you die, what happens to the voices in your head, like your muses? I believe they go find someone else to reside in.
Here is my classic, a song for my muse. Several have covered it, but the classic for me is Santana, in nineteen seventy. I remember listening it on my little AM/FM clock radio, “with stereo.” Then I had it on vinyl, open reel, cassette tape, and CD.
“Driving that train, high on cocaine. Casey Jones, you’d better watch your speed. Trouble ahead, trouble behind, and you know that notion just crossed my mind.”
Those were the words I was singing one day while passing through Mom’d living room. She was busy cleaning. Mom did – and does – have a spotless house. I was fourteen or fifteen, with long hair that irritated Mom and Dad, and a faint mustache and goatee that annoyed my school and coaches. Mom said, “What are you singing?”
I stopped and grew still, as children often do when suddenly challenged by an adult about something that seems obvious. “Singing “Casey Jones.””
“But what were you singing?”
“I don’t know.”
Yes, claim amnesia whenever possible. Mom didn’t look happy but, after waiting for follow-up questions, I discreetly scurried away. Later, I concluded, it must have been the cocaine part, right? I chuckled about that.
Mom and Dad were divorced, and still later, while at Dad’s place, I was walking through his living room, singing…you know it.
“What are you singing?” he asked.
Having been through this questioning and being older, I skipped ahead to the lyrics instead of providing the title. After hearing them, he shook his head. Smiling, I moved on.
Here it is, as performed by the Grateful Dead, “Casey Jones,” from nineteen seventy.
Going to see the Four Tops and Temptations at the Britt this year. Buying the tickets triggered a need to hear some Motown today. What better song for this era of burgeoning WH scandals and a plethora fake news than ‘Ball of Confusion (That’s What the World Is Today)’, from nineteen seventy? Shows just how long we’ve been a ball of confusion.
I walked eight miles yesterday. Not all in one go, but through three different ventures. While doing that, multiple songs were streamed. One of them is called ‘Mongoose’, by Elephant’s Memory. A hit in nineteen seventy, I don’t believe anyone I’ve ever met recalled the song when I mentioned it. I had to confirm with Internet sources what year that it was a hit and could only recall about a third of the lyrics. I’m not certain why I started streaming it into my head yesterday. Just one of those curiosities.
What about you? Do you remember this song, or have you ever heard it?
Michael Seidel, writer 