In this throwback, I started streaming this song sometime yesterday afternoon. “Show Me the Way” by Peter Frampton, from the Frampton Comes Alive! album was a monster hit from a monster album. Nothing against Frampton, but this isn’t one of my favorites as an album, song, or performer, but I heard it often as I traveled throughout 1976-77. I always preferred edgier stuff, but edgier stuff in rarely heard on commercial radio in those years.
I’m not certain of the genesis for streaming this song yesterday or continuing it this morning. Is it the weather triggering memories of youth, or the jetsam of a lost thought? Perhaps it’s just echoes of mortality or mourning for another time. It could be just a misfired neuron setting others off.
Surfing my thoughts this morning as I thought of my dream and tended my dream, I began streaming a Rolling Stones song, “Beast of Burden” (1978). I always considered the song a defiant protest song, but also a pondering reflection of relationships’ complexities, asking at its base, what does it take?
This was in direct response to dealing with Quinn. I was giving him his meds. He doesn’t like them, and hides in anticipation of receiving them. Giving them to him is a small battle, but with experience, I’ve developed a winning technique. Afterward, Quinn takes off and hides from me, distrusting my approach. Yet, he returns in a little while, looking to me for comfort and food.
As an aside, the meds seem to be doing as hoped. His energy levels have gone up and he seems less miserable. While he’d been declining, he’d stopped grooming himself, and had lost his voice. Yesterday, I saw him wash his face after eating for the first time in weeks, and today, he’d found his meow, and his tall was pointed up in classic Quinn fashion when we went into the room for me to feed him.
According to Wikipedia.org, today’s song choice was released in 2007 and has been used in movies and televisions. I hadn’t heard it until I was shopping in Fred Meyers yesterday. Listening to the words, I told myself to look it up when I returned home. And ‘lo, I remembered and did.
Walking before writing, heading toward the coffee shop, almost there, I checked my steps and saw 5150. Oh, Van Halen, I thought, which was an immediate invitation for my mind to begin streaming in songs from 5150 (1986).
This was the first album with Sammy Hagar as the lead vocalist, replacing David Lee Roth. I remember that a friend hadn’t like either singer for the band. He thought Roth was too flamboyant and his skills didn’t impress him. However, Sammy Hagar wasn’t the answer in my buddy’s mind because, with Sammy, Van Halen performed softer rock. I recall trying to suggest other vocalists to him, like Ronnie James Dio. We didn’t come up with a new singer.
I never saw him again as our military tours completed and we went separate ways. I always wondered what he thought of Gary Cherone as the singer.
This is another one that I blame on the cats. Little Quinn is suffering from lymphoma. Picking him up and holding him last night, I sang this to him, but softly and slowly.
Here’s Jimmy Eat World with “The Middle” (2001). It’s amazing to think of this song coming out so long ago. It seems like yesterday. So much has changed since then, but that’s the nature of our existence, innit?
Singing it to Quinn – whispering it, really – I focused on the chorus part that goes, “It’ll take some time, but everything, everything will be all right, all right.”
“Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” (1981) has me hooked today. I enjoy the middle part where the vocalist (Sting) laments,
I resolve to call her up a thousand times a day
And ask her if she’ll marry me in some old fashioned way
But my silent fears have gripped me
Long before I reach the phone
Long before my tongue has tripped me
Must I always be alone?
I think that passage captures the angst that so many encounter when trying to move their relationship forward through the waves of love, hope, fear, and doubt.
I also think often of this song, and how the magic of a relationship changes through the years. The magic remains but often comes in different guises from the magic that we first experienced. Every now and then, though, that first magic is felt and remembered, one more time.
Today’s song comes courtesy of an overheard conversation at the coffee shop. One person said, “Call me,” with the classic hang gesture to indicate a phone.
“Okay,” the other said, with a wave and a laugh. A rushed, “Bye,” followed, and then zipped across the cafe.
By then, my brain had started streaming Blondie’s “Call Me” from American Gigolo (1980). Sometimes soft, gentle, and persuasive, other times assertive, masculine, and urgent to the edge of being frenetic, with a slight sense of desperation, I thought the song was perfect for the movie.
I awoke streaming this song, “Is It in My Head?”, in my head this morning (ha, ha).
I often wonder about the truths of perceptions, impressions, and memories. I don’t wonder about just mine, but how others came to their beliefs, and how difficult it can be to dislodge an idea after it’s burrowed into you. We’ve been exposed to evidence that the winners write history. History is often propaganda to justify and moralize decisions and sustain political or popular support. We all love heroes and myths.
So I wonder with myself about whether I remember something correctly, whether I’m too deeply embedded in silos and bubbles to perceive the truth and grasp it, and often, if I’m conning myself into hoping and believing that my writing efforts amount to anything. It’s a perpetual cycle of challenging, searching, and thinking.
Today’s song selection, made by my mind (and probably invited in by the latest rounds of dreams), “Is It in My Head” is from Quadrophenia by the Who. The album was released in 1973, when I became seventeen years old. I’d been searching and wondering well before I heard this song.
I continue searching and wondering today, almost fifty years later.
Aretha Franklin’s death and the service held to honor her reminded me that I grew up in a privileged time and place. Pop, rock, soul, R&B, punk, psychedelic, rockabilly…these were just a few of the emerging sub-genres of music developing. Reaching audiences like me were aided by advances in the recording, duplicating, and broadcasting media. As people, we were forced in earlier eras to travel to bars, clubs, and other venues to enjoy performers’ offerings. Radio and television changed that, and the Internet has expanded that ability.
I was lucky. I had radios and television, food, a roof, decent schools, and relatively stable home life. I was lucky, too, because great producers, musicians, and entrepreneurs were bringing us the sounds. And I was lucky because there were people and groups like the Stones, the Who, the Supremes, CCR, Led, Santana, Aretha, Elvis, Stevie Wonder, the Jacksons and Osmonds, Eric Clapton, John Mayall…what a list could be made. But that’s what wikipedia is about.
I have my favorites. Guitar heroes and keyboard masters remain my weakness, but great voices and song-writers always turn my head, too. Or, give me a beat…yeah, you know.
Thinking of all that, and the riotous eternal summer that was my youth, I remembered Diana Ross & The Supremes. The catalog of their songs is stupendous, and their hits are cherished as classics of an era and the Motown Sound. Was it the end of the innocence, the beginning of the awakening, or the age of Aquarius?
Here is “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, written by Ashford and Simpson, and recorded by many, but the cover streaming to me today is the one by “Diana Ross and the Supremes”. It’s powerful stuff to stream.
“And the love that I feel is so far away. I’m a bad dream that I just had today. And you shake your head and say, it’s a shame.”
Jethro Tull’s Thick As A Brick album was released in 1972. Sixteen years old, I bought it on vinyl and wore it out playing it. Listening to this concept album last night – concept albums were big in those years – it reminds me of some of the era’s Yes and Emerson, Lake, and Palmer music — or they remind me of Jethro Tull. Like most art, it’s a continuum of exploration and imagining, building on what’s heard and done.
“But your wise men don’t know how it feels, to be thick as a brick.”
Michael Seidel, writer 