The musical life, or lack there of

Here's the scoop on a pair of albums that I enjoyed listening to as a youngster all the way through graduating from the University of Georgia in 1999. These were not my albums, but rather my Dad's. And technically one was just a tape recording of someone else's album, but the effect was still the same. For a kid my age and of my generation, listening to this music was a little odd. But I'll get back to this in a moment.


The albums are, Chuck Mangione's 1977 "Feels So Good" and Ry Cooder's 1986 soundtrack "Crossroads". "Feels So Good" is jazz, but with a lot of groove and disco added in. The title track went to the top of the charts back in the late 70's, but by the time I was a kid selecting my own tunes in the mid 80's, disco was dead and in small town America you just didn't find kids listening to jazz on every street corner. I was not then and am not now a big fan of jazz, but this album from start to finish transcends genres. It's got lots of driving drum and electric bass, very smooth electric guitar that lays down disco riffs when it's not doing gorgeous solos. Chuck Mangione himself plays the flugelhorn, but this band is tight and Mangione doesn't push his solos. Everyone shines.

 "Crossroads" was a movie soundtrack that Ry Cooder arranged, produced and played slide guitar over. It's basically Delta Blues. As the only other Ry Cooder album I heard was essentially old Southern minstrel music, for years I assumed Ry Cooder was a Black American from the South. Not until "Bueno Vista Social Club" came out did I realize otherwise. I suppose the music on "Crossroads" is a heavy, old style of blues. Although a soundtrack for a Hollywood film staring Ralph Machio, there's nothing mainstream about the music itself.

Some of my earliest memories of listening to music go back to "Feels So Good" when Dad was playing it on the record player in Spearfish, South Dakota. I would have been 4 years old. It left an impression on me, because I was brave enough to play if for friends in Alpine, Texas, the first year I started middle school. I was a John Denver fanatic at the time, but wouldn't dare play John Denver for my friends, who were all listening big hair rock like Bon Jovi and White Snake. But "Feels So Good" is just such an amazing album. When you hear it the music just lifts you up and takes you to the best of places. It taps into an undeniable human impulse to open up and smile, to feel good. My friends were amazed by this music. They said it was definitely weird, but damned good. Before moving on to another town, in another state, I was able to play the album a few more time for my friends, which in my mind is a testament to the albums staying power.

"Crossroads" is not such a different listening experience. Hearing the crazy vocals and lyrics here will automatically plaster a smile on your face, and the driving harmonica gets feet and fingers tapping in time. I believe my Dad got the tape from a friend, Allen, in when we all lived in Texas. Allen and my dad met at the University of Colorado as hiking buddies, and later in life our families' paths would occasionally follow similar trajectories. For example, our families all lived in the UK at the same time, and later in Texas at the same time. So, I recall this visit to Allen's house in Texas, somewhere Houston. The dude's marriage was falling apart. He was a physisist who worked in weapons development, or some career that sells the soul down the sewer. It was late at night and I think we were just couch crashing on the way to somewhere else. He played these Ry Cooder albums but, half drunk on wine, Allen was waxing nostalgiac talking about the the good times now past, and the Beatles in particular. I remember thinking right then that my Dad was not much a Beatles fan. The evening left an impression on me. Outside of movies, that was the first time I had seen someone stuck on memories of a past golden age. I was probably nine or ten at the time. Now, middle aged with a child of my own and married, it's routine to look back longing for those golden times.

My Dad played "Crossroads" in our old massive Chevy Van as we drove down from Oregon's Mount Hood in the summer of 1985. Our cousins Eric and Jen, plus their parents were packed in with our family of five. When Eric and Jen heard "Crossroads", starting with the tune, Down in Mississippi, they got those smiles plastered on their faces. Jen screamed out; "Holy Cow! What is this?" in disbelief. I think we got two or three songs into the tape before my Aunt Kathee screamed; "Turn it off! It's giving  me a headache!" Today I still here those gravely lyrics drawling out; "Down in Mississippi where I was born, down in Mississippi where I come from, way down." On the word "down", another vocal with a deep bass slides in with the deepest of downs. At that time on Mount Hood, cousin Jen, starting high school, was making it her goal in life to wear a different outfit every day of the year. She could sew her own clothes and was a strait A student, and my grandmother from the other side of the family called her the All American Girl. Eric, a full generation ahead of me, was nearing the end of high school. He was a star basketball and football player. He still had the same girlfriend he met in middle school (Kathy) and would later marry, and he was still playing role playing games, board games, war games. Aside from the role playing games (or maybe because of them) Eric was essentially the all American Guy. Eric and Jen were not sure what to do with "Crossroads", but it sure got that slapping time with the harmonica.

Looking back, I see that musically I was a more than a little off from my peers. The only album I ever recall buying before starting college was a Cheiftans tape, Ireland's ambassadors of traditional music.About the only place I went to for music was my Dad's record and tape collection. It was vast and pretty eclectic, abounding with folk and classical music, but also including jazz, rock, blues. Honestly I think I can say that his music included just about every musical trend to hit America prior to 1975. After that it slides off dramatically. I listened to pretty much everything in there once. The music I went back to time and again was John Denver. Before starting middle school I claimed not to listen to anything that had electric guitar. My older brother drove Lief and I into fits of rage and tears by blaring his AC/DC records when our parents were out of the house.

Seventh grade filed trip to Washington DC and New York City. On the long bus ride north, I have this memory. There is the dim cabin of the bus, classmates sprawled out, one student to two seats, mostly trying to sleep or play cards, most listening to the latest top 40 on their Walkmans. Me, I too am listening to my Walkman. It's Peter Paul and Merry's hit, Where Have All the Flowers Gone. I play it over and over again. I am pretending to fall asleep, singing softly, maybe not even audible over the drone of the bus engine. But I hope that Brandy or maybe Alison (but really Brandy) will hear the words of my song and be moved. She will understand my heart and want to become my girlfriend. A few days later we spend the night with several other student groups near Valley Forge. Our chaperones provide us a dance party. We walk in and the new rendition of Wild Thing is playing. Alison and Brandy scream wildly and bust out dancing. Moments like that bring a stark honesty to one's vision. In later years, preparing for those Friday night football games in that dingy Valwood locker room, I would play Andean flute music on a Walkman. This while my teammates thrashed to Motley Crew's Night Train. Again a moment of clarity.

The closest I came to reality in terms of music was the Beatles. I believe at age 17 my twin brother Leif took hold of the family VW van as his primary mode of transportation. Somehow we also came up with several Beatles' albums on tape. A few we may have recorded off of Dad's records, and a few our friends passed to us, and Leif may have even bought one. Anyhow, while driving the Pube Mobile, Leif (now the Great Pube) and I would play Beatles tunes, mostly from the "White Album". David Schert, our musically gifted best friend, bought a Canned Heat tape for us that I sorely miss now. Besides this purchase, he also expanded our collection of music with the selections from the following: Pink Floyd, Santana, Crosby Stills Nash, CCR and Almond Brothers. These we played in the Pube Mobile. At home I still listened to my Dad's records and tapes. And Dad's collection being what it was, it also included a few CCR and Crosby Stills Nash albums.

 I followed the beat of a different drummer. I know that for generations we Americans have defined ourselves through the music we choose to listen to, and the music we exclude. For some, music becomes a foundation of their identity. For me, music had a smaller role. I think I could have lived without it and just been content with my own humming and whistling, or my Mom's quiet singing and my Dad's drumming. 

Concerts. I've been to a few concerts in my life. The big ones I can list. David Schert and I went to a Who concert in Atlanta. I was completely underwhelmed. David, Mom and I went to an Greg Almond Band concert near Atlanta. We convinced Mom to take us by rattling off a few of their more famous tunes, like Rambling Man. The show was all acid induced groove jams. Mom was underwhelmed, I got a headache, but I think David enjoyed himself a bit. In Colorado's Red Rocks Ampetheater I saw three concerts, all with David Schert and Leif. We smuggled ourselves into the edge of a Dave Mathews Band show. We were more impressed by being tossed out by security than the show itself. Something similar happened at another concert, but I don't even recall who played. The third Red Rocks show was Sarah Mc with the Cheiftans. It's the only big concert where I actually felt a connection with the music and found myself transported. David too, I am happy to say. Near the end a thunderstorm hit. David recalled the old fiddler playing boldly against the wind and those few big drops of rain. Seven or eight years later I went to a U2 concert with cousin Jen in Denver's Pepsi Center.  This was shortly after September 11th. It was a huge concert. In part U2 were also  paying tribute to the victims of the attacks. I love U2's music, but at this concert I never felt like anything more than a spectator, floating harmlessly around the edge of something that I didn't understand and couldn't be a truly part of. 

To think that "Crossroads" and "Feels So Good" stand out as music that has touched me.....
I stop, blink, and wonder, what happened to me? At least these albums are so good that pretty much anyone who has a hankering to listen to music would say; "Well, yes, I can see why this music would leave an impression." 


I will pile on a few more thoughts here. As I was unpacking a load of airfreight this morning in Shanghai at our new abode, the Tuscan Tower, out came a little stereo system. I like to listen to music while packing and unpacking, so I plugged in the iPod and decided to play some Velvet Underground, their simplistic edge a needed counterbalance to our new overdone Shanghai neighborhood. As the Velvet Underground began to play, I was immediately taken back to Athens, Georgia, the year 1999, when I fell in love with Shin. She introduced me to the Velvet Underground. I had a simple life a that time. All my belongings fit into my car, I rented from friends without need of a lease, I worked in the UGA Library mail room. Falling in love with Shin was completely the opposite of simple ad turned my life upside down. Now, I am here in my Shanghai house, a very tall three story affair that truly evokes the image of a tower in Tuscany. I am a foreign service officer in the US Department of State. A few blocks away a tailor is making a custom fitted suit for me, plus two dress shirts with white collars. I never wanted a life as complex as this. Such are the compromises one makes for love. Shin's other strong musical influences on me - Cat Stevens, Bell and Sebastian, Silvio Rodrigez, and to take this full circle, The Bueno Vista Social Club.