Saturday’s Theme Music

Summer’s bustin’ loose in Ashlandia, where the wine is fresh and the chocolate is made locally. 70 degrees F when I catapulted myself out of bed at Tucker’s insistence about 7 AM. Sunshine was climbing the blue dome, exiling clouds to other lands. My Oregon Scientific weather station said we cleared 99 locally yesterday. Weather geniuses tell us it’ll be 94 F as the high; I’m thinking we’ll see 96 at my house. Almost getting to air conditioning weather.

Well, A/C is used in the car, and all businesses. At the homestead, we avoid it. Wife prefers it a little warm, and I prefer fresh air whenever possible.

The Neurons have sown the morning mental music stream with a Bob Dylan song, “It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” from 1965. My mind was primed to remember and hear the song by another’s post regarding scenes that ruined movies for them. One was Easy Rider.

I didn’t hear the song when it first came out, as I was nine. Mom controlled the music in that era. That was soon to end because sis was eleven and discovering pop. I don’t think I heard the song until much later, when the Easy Rider movie came out. Didn’t see the movie at that time due to its rating, but the songs found their way into my head via radio. Had my own transistor by then. I do sharply remember being mesmerized by the lyrics. I later learned they were written by Bob Dylan. I also later learned that the version I listened to and enjoyed was performed by Roger McGuinn.

While the lyrics rhymed, they were about things not usually heard in songs at that time, on those stations. Learning them had me singing them. I remember singing this song to myself while getting something in the kitchen where Mom was cleaning and my elder sister was on the phone.. Mom interrupted me: “Michael, what is that you’re singing?”

I thought she was referring to the title and provenance but she interrupted that answer. “What are those words?”

Since I didn’t know where I’d been stopped, I started from the beginning. Sis started laughing as she heard; Mom rolled her eyes, shook her head, and set her lips into the tightest of tight. She said nothing verbally, but those actions were loud. As I left and went around the corner into the living room, I heard her ask sis, “Do you know that song?”

The reply, “I might have heard it once on the radio.”

I stopped to hear more but nothing more was said and I went on. Made a big impression, though. It’s like it’s all before me once again.

It’s in the head today because the line, “There is no sense in trying,” in that sharply plaintive tone, came up in regard to local politics. Wife said something about why even try, and that’s how my brain responded, and along came The Neurons, and here we are.

Be pos, stay pos. At least try, right? I know some days, quoting my wife, it all becomes exhausting and overwhelming. The question, “What’s the point?”, may sneak in. That’s okay. It happens. Get on top of that and ride the wave until it’s behind you. That’s what I try to do. Generally works.

Hark. Is that coffee calling me? Here’s the music. Cheers

Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying.

h/t AZLyrics.com

Friday’s Theme Music

Get your motor runnin’.
Head out on the highway.
Lookin’ for adventure.
And whatever comes our way.

Some songs and performers are permanently linked in memory for me. The performers have other hits, but one song first comes to mind when I hear their name. Say Pink Floyd, and I think, “Money”. AC/DC, “Highway to Hell”. The Who, “Won’t Get Fooled Again”. Black Sabbath: “Paranoid”.

For Steppenwolf, it’s a ditty called “Born to be Wild”. I was enamored of Steppenwolf when I was thirteen. That would have been 1969. My friends weren’t as impressed. Mom knew I liked them, though. She showed me a newspaper article about John Kay’s escape from Russia. Then Easy Rider came out, featuring the song. Yes, I had a poster of Hopper and Fonda on their choppers on my wall.

“Born to be Wild”, from 1968.

 

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