Sunday, February 10, 2008
What's In A Pop Song? Maybe Your Soundtrack.
I once heard that the sense of smell evokes more vivid memories that any of the other four senses. Maybe that's true. I don't have a clue. But if it is, then the sense of sound, at least as it relates to music, is a close 2nd. In my particular case, I'm pretty sure it comes in numero uno. I'll tell you why.
We went to a Mardi Gras party with a bunch of other Parrothead Club folks last night, and had a great time eating, drinking and making music. There was plenty of rum, cooked animals, short stories and long laughs.
TFMCD and I headed home about midnight. As we pulled away from the curb, the song "Good Morning Starshine" was playing on the car radio. It made my time machine come calling.
There's something about the music of the year 1969. Maybe it was because I turned 14 years old that summer, and it's a coming of age thing. I really don't know. I just know that there are about five songs from the year 1969 that, whenever I hear any one of them, it sweeps me back through 39 years as though it were only moments ago.
The summer of '69 was the last summer I spent with my cousin Mike and my big brother Gene out at the ranch operated by our grandparents. We helped Grandpa with his work around the place - mending fences, repairing windmills, feeding the livestock, rounding up and branding cattle. In the meantime, we fished, hunted, looked for arrowheads, collected critters, learned how to smoke and chew (thankfully, that one never took hold with me), and just generally played grab-ass like all teenagers do.
We had an old AM radio out there that picked up the local Top 40 station from Roswell. The almost-as-old black and white TV only picked up one station on a good day, so Gene and Mike and I spent a lot of time huddled around that ancient, beat up radio. Not quite 14, I thought the Top 40 crap that aired was the best thing since “Lost In Space” or “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” A few years later, I eschewed Top 40 like the plague.
Our parents divorced when I was only eight, and until that summer, I volleyed back and forth between parents and step parents like a tennis ball. At 13, I finally took control and said “Enough is enough. I’ll decide where I go and who I hang out with from now on.“ In retrospect, I see now that the summer hits of 1969 were the soundtrack of the last days I spent on the ranch with what was the closest thing to a traditional family that I was able to enjoy as a kid. It was the sound of my “coming of age” story. That’s why the music of the summer of ‘69, whether solid rock music or bubblegum, is so important to me now. That’s why it evokes such vivid memories, even more than the smell of horses, cow shit, and teenager farts, all of which were also pretty prevalent on that old ranch that summer. The following winter, Grandpa and Grandma finally retired and moved to a little place closer to town. Not long after, I got a driver’s license and a summer job, and the days of pure, unadulterated “kidness” came to an end.
So, “Good Morning Starshine” might be crappy ol’ pop music, but it’s mine.
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We went to a Mardi Gras party with a bunch of other Parrothead Club folks last night, and had a great time eating, drinking and making music. There was plenty of rum, cooked animals, short stories and long laughs.
TFMCD and I headed home about midnight. As we pulled away from the curb, the song "Good Morning Starshine" was playing on the car radio. It made my time machine come calling.
There's something about the music of the year 1969. Maybe it was because I turned 14 years old that summer, and it's a coming of age thing. I really don't know. I just know that there are about five songs from the year 1969 that, whenever I hear any one of them, it sweeps me back through 39 years as though it were only moments ago.
The summer of '69 was the last summer I spent with my cousin Mike and my big brother Gene out at the ranch operated by our grandparents. We helped Grandpa with his work around the place - mending fences, repairing windmills, feeding the livestock, rounding up and branding cattle. In the meantime, we fished, hunted, looked for arrowheads, collected critters, learned how to smoke and chew (thankfully, that one never took hold with me), and just generally played grab-ass like all teenagers do.
We had an old AM radio out there that picked up the local Top 40 station from Roswell. The almost-as-old black and white TV only picked up one station on a good day, so Gene and Mike and I spent a lot of time huddled around that ancient, beat up radio. Not quite 14, I thought the Top 40 crap that aired was the best thing since “Lost In Space” or “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” A few years later, I eschewed Top 40 like the plague.
Our parents divorced when I was only eight, and until that summer, I volleyed back and forth between parents and step parents like a tennis ball. At 13, I finally took control and said “Enough is enough. I’ll decide where I go and who I hang out with from now on.“ In retrospect, I see now that the summer hits of 1969 were the soundtrack of the last days I spent on the ranch with what was the closest thing to a traditional family that I was able to enjoy as a kid. It was the sound of my “coming of age” story. That’s why the music of the summer of ‘69, whether solid rock music or bubblegum, is so important to me now. That’s why it evokes such vivid memories, even more than the smell of horses, cow shit, and teenager farts, all of which were also pretty prevalent on that old ranch that summer. The following winter, Grandpa and Grandma finally retired and moved to a little place closer to town. Not long after, I got a driver’s license and a summer job, and the days of pure, unadulterated “kidness” came to an end.
So, “Good Morning Starshine” might be crappy ol’ pop music, but it’s mine.
