The Music Inside Never Ends

For any of my new (or old) FB friends who haven't looked at my blog, I hope you check it out. It contains chapter excerpts from my unpublished book The Music Inside, about the music that develops and remains in all of us. You can scroll down to start chapter 1 to 31. Your comments are always welcome! -- Tom

Deja-Voodoo (excerpt from Final Chapter 31)

Music and rhythm is everywhere -- the folks such as those who present Stomp have proven that in their unique performances. I recall the difficult, final few miles of running the Chicago Marathon in crisp October air, the sound of traffic on Lake Shore Drive merged with crowd cheers, distant music and the breathing and footsteps of runners, fatigued but visualizing the triumph of completion. Those sounds created an unearthly life rhythm that I can never forget. Yet it surrounds us -- in bowling alleys and factories, shorelines and forests, from flags and sails -- all those places where musical rhythm instantly forms in our heads.

Excerpts from The Music Inside have, hopefully, caused you to reflect on all those changing musical moments in your life. Yet, I sometimes wonder where all this music is headed. Who is carrying on the tradition of all those Slovak melodies played on ukeleles at my family picnics so long ago? Where are all those old friends who bravely emulated songs of others in our living rooms and garages? What became of the original songs that friends, and so many others, wrote about the times of their lives? Will they suddenly reappear or become re-invented on YouTube? What about those hip media of my times that embraced musical evolutions and presented it to us -- such as Rolling Stone Magazine and MTV -- who themselves transitioned and will continue transitioning their methods of conveying the music?

Jann Wenner, who built Rolling Stone magazine into a publishing empire, is enthused about the possibilities of downloading technology. In Boom!, Tom Brokaw's bestselling book about the sixties era, Wenner declares -- "Now it's instantly available on your computer, on your desk -- anytime, night and day, and that progression is just so powerful." It opens up new sounds for younger generations -- kids who can appreciate the legacy and significance of the Beatles, Hendrix, Dylan, Sinatra, etc. etc. But, in reverse, older generations (those with interest and curiosity) also have easy access to current music of all types.

Music constantly reinvents itself in both form and distribution. But, it ultimately returns, often from strange places in the past. Thanks for listening.

Year of the Cat (excerpt from chapter 30)

There is a near-perfect song from 1976 called "Year of the Cat," from a Scottish artist named Al Stewart. It is a poetic, soft tune that refers to a term from Vietnamese astrology, also know as "Year of the Rabbit." It is supposedly a stress-free year which occurred in 1975 (just before Stewart's hit), 1987 and 1999 with one on the horizon in 2011. On a website called "Songfacts," i found numerous comments about this song, some people interpreting it for deep analogies, others caught up in the Casablanca movie-inspired imagery:

On a morning from a Bogart movie
in a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime

She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolor in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations
She'll just tell you that she came
In the year of the cat.......from "Year of the Cat", Al Stewart, 1976

Throughout musical history, there are countless songs with words about time, age and the meaning of life. All are subject to interpretation but some become "earworms," haunting us with melodies and thoughts that may even guide us on our paths. Sometimes we see ourselves in these songs and realize our own changes. We are influenced by heredity and the people and places along the way, endlessly hoping that every year will be our "year of the cat." The music inside follows us from birth to whatever lies beyond death. Harps in heaven? Bass drums in hell? Maybe, but we can always expect new sounds to add to our immortal playlist.

It's All Relative, Part 2, The Junior Class (excerpt from chapter 29)

These next selections are from a nephew and a niece with her spouse, all 30-somethings:

My Nephew's Songs: "West End Girls" by the Pet Shop Boys. He notes: "Growing up in rural Indiana, I embraced all things exotic and European, When I first heard the album Please, I loved the urban sounds and dreamed about the bigger world out there." Others described: "Miss You" by the Rolling Stones, "Boys Don't Cry" by the Cure, "Jump" by Van Halen and "Bodhisattva Vow" by the Beastie Boys.

My Niece's Songs: She listed "Crucify" by Tori Amos, "Where Are You Going" by the Dave Matthews Band" and "Fragile" by Sting. Also, the album OK Cumputer by Radiohead and listening to it "in front of a campfire, under the stars after being on the river in a canoe all day."

My Niece's Husband's songs: This artsy guy readily admitted that this exercise was "like asking what your favorite color or food is -- too many variables." So he provided plenty of diverse samples, such as: Viper House "Shed, Give it Up;" Amos Lee "Keep It Loose, Keep it Right;" Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong "Summertime; Alexi Murdoch "Orange Sky;" Arlo Guthrie "Alice's Restaurant" and more. He also noted Pink Floyd's "Great Gig in the Sky" (a song by his all time favorite band.

In time, music all rolls together as an eclectic playlist of who we are. Music is ageless, timeless and always full of surprises.

It's All Relative -- part 1, The Senior Class (excerpt from chapter 28)

Up to this point, I've provided snippets of the music inside my head. But I know I'm not alone in conjuring up vivid mental pictures when a certain songs rings in the air. I decided to take a little poll of some of my relatives of various ages and life experiences. Some of their thoughts follow:

My spouses songs: "Where the Boys Are" -- Connie Francis. "My mother loved Connie Francis and my younger sister and I would sing along and dance in the living room." "Our House" -- Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. "The second house we bought that had two cats in the yard (in the lyrics), named Emily and Jaws."

My Mom's songs -- Age 89 as of this writing. "Stardust" by Hoagie Carmichael, popular when my Dad was in high school. She also noted "I'm in the Mood for Love" by Frank Sinatra.

My Dad's songs -- he really admired Johnny Cash's "Live At Folsom Prison" LP, particularly the tune "I Walk The Line."

My sister's songs -- "Misty" -- Johnny Mathis. She simply notes "our song" -- shared with her husband. Also "Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In" by the Fifth Dimension as a recollection of watching her young daughter dance.

My brother-in-law's songs -- an interesting, eclectic '50s-'60s list including "She Cried" by the Lettermen ("haunting," he said), "Spinning Wheel" by Blood, Sweat, and Tears, "El Presidente" by Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass.

My sister-in-law's songs -- A huge Beatles fan, it was no surprise when she mentioned "A Hard Day's Night" and "All My Loving" as songs that instantly put her in a good mood.

Next, I needed to take this test another generation deeper....

In Honor of Genres (excerpt from chapter 27)

I suppose everyone can identify musical genres that we simply love to hate. This is music that we listen to, at various junctures in our lives, but somehow can never relate to. If you're a big fan of traditional country and western music, for example, chances are good that you don't become excited about rap music, contemporary jazz or opera. When an artist crosses over, experimenting with different musical forms, it could work well or it could fall flat. Sting and the Police merged reggae with rock quite seamlessly, for example. Emerson, Lake and Palmer were very much influenced by classical music in their rock compositions. The Dave Matthews band rocks but there are plenty of surprise elements of other genres inbedded in their songs. Yet these are giants, not those who pretend to be musically versatile.

Have you ever been totally misled by a song title or even the name of a band (for example, music by the group named Barenaked Ladies doesn't match in my head)? One of my wife's relatives once bought a single called "Hush," assuming it was a bedtime lullaby to play for her young daughter. When she brought it home, to her dismay, the Deep Purple tune was anything but a gentle sleep-time song. Deep Purple: one of the loudest rock bands in history. Genre confusion at work in our perceptions.

In my analysis of musical tastes, a search in ITunes uncovered 42 genres by their definitions. I expected rock, blues, jazz, but I also encountered "Disney." The annoying strains of "It's a Small World" instantly and once again invaded my mind. And "Spoken Word" as a genre? I'm thinking Arlo Guthrie's talking tale "Alice's Restaurant." Or maybe even (check this one out): Lorne Greene's "Ringo," a '60s chatty chartmaker from Bonanza's "Pa Cartwright." Other genre names were totally alien to me, namely Kayokyoku, Anime and J-Pop. I decided that I really didn't care for the sample cuts, or maybe just couldn't get a sense that they were an actual genre.

Okay, so everyone has specific tastes and favorites, but with an open ear we may just find something fresh outside of our element. It's like tasting a new food or seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time. Still, our prejudices about the music may emerge, now matter how hard we try.

Living With Our Music (excerpt from chapter 26)

In our homes, a comforting meal with good music is a special joy. I once discovered that Bon Appetit Magazine -- experts in fine cuisine -- also relate to food in song. "Food will always be our valentine," according to a piece in their February 2007 issue. The magazine recommended a "venerable collection of songs that celebrate the greatest love of all:" "Savoy Truffle," The Beatles; "White Pepper Ice Cream," Cibo Matto; "Do Fries Go With That Shake?," George Clinton; "Red, Red, Wine," Neil Diamond; "Vegetables," The Beach Boys; "Jambalaya," Hank Williams; and "Beans and Corn Bread," Louis Jordan. To their list I would add Steve Goodman's "Chicken Cordon Blues" and a '60s oldie by Jay & the Techniques called "Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie."

In 1968, a The Ohio Express sang "Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, I got love in my tummy and I feel like a-lovin' you..." In about 1601, Williams Shakespeare wrote in Twelfth Night "If music be the food of love, play on..." Forgive me for quoting a bubblegum pop group and the great bard at the same time, but I couldn't resist. There is a strong correlation between music and food.

My intent in all of this is not to cause you to head for the refrigerator or nearest restaurant. Sorry if I did, because we Americans need to stick to our diets. Maybe it's time to jump on the treadmill to the pounding tune of the Bangles' "Walk Like An Egyptian" or the Romantics' "What I Like About You." Let the energizing music in our heads help us shed the pounds that the music with our food has helped create. Food for thought.

Tropidaze (2nd excerpt from chapter 25)

I never expected my life to evolve to one of wearing sandals and flowered shirts. It was too close to visions of old guys on golf courses, pants pulled up over their beltlines, white shoes and hairless heads. But in the Sunshine State, I became thrilled with the sight of dolphins showing off in the Gulf and enjoyed comfortable January nights of star gazing from our lanai. The soundtrack in my head was now laced with steel drums though, only a few miles from our new home, musicians played bluegrass regularly at a riverfront bar. Sometimes Florida sounds take on a whole different spin, such as classical music concerts performed by the Charlotte Symphony in a Punta Gorda theatre that was magically spared from the wrath of Hurricane Charley in 2004.

Mostly, the music had become the e-mail moniker that I had used since the inception of the internet. The name now became a tropical love song set to a smooth rhythm:

Tropidaze

Palm trees are waving on my front lawn
Tropical birds are waking up before the dawn
The afternoon thunder brings the usual rain
Followed by sunshine in the daily chain

I just can't believe that I'm not dreaming
Florida realizes its cliches
I just can't believe that I'm not dreaming
I'm living my tropidaze with you
I'm living in our tropidaze, tropidaze

The footsteps we leave behind on the shore
Not like any others that we left there before
The bars and the restaurants have a different glow
Vacations are pictures but this is our home

So many people come from everywhere
The bustle is growing but nobody cares
The call of the ocean that draws us to come
Gather at sunset where we're humbled as one

I just can't believe that I'm not dreaming
Florida realizes its cliches
I just can't believe that I'm not dreaming
I'm living my tropidaze with you
I'm living in our tropidaze, tropidaze

Tropidaze (excerpt from chapter 25)

The Van Wezel is situated on the edge of Sarasota Bay, a beautiful and tropical location. It's an indoor concert venue that's designed to keep the audience cool from the Florida heat. The theatre seemed about one-quarter filled, and we were able to to secure prime, close-up seats as Rita Coolidge took the stage. Her set was jazz influenced, and included her biggest pop hit, "(Your Love Has Lifted Me) Higher and Higher" from 1977. We felt young among the audience of mostly senior citizens, who politely applauded Rita's tunes. Then Rick Derringer took the stage.

I knew only this about Rick Derringer: He was the leader of a group called the McCoys,who had a giant pop hit in 1965 wuth "Hang On Sloopy." He moved into the 1970s as the guitarist for the Edgar Winter Group, a blazing blues rock band with some pretty cool radio songs such as "Frankenstein" and "Free Ride." Now, the graying Derringer stepped onto the Van Wezel stage with only a young drummer and bassist behind him. With the first screaming notes from his guitar, it was clear that Derringer was here to rock n' roll. Within 10-15 minutes, dozens of senior citizens headed for the exits as the group rocked at high decibels. Derringer wasn't about to submit to an acoustic set. He plunged into extended jams on "Hang On Sloopy" and his other other signature song, "Rock n' Roll Hootchie Koo."

My wife and I were somewhat awed by this blatant, cocky display of rock and not exactly loving it. My rock n' roll ears had somewhat mellowed over the years, nevertheless, I was still impressed by Derringer's skillful playing and singing. With my head ringing on the drive back to Port Charlotte, I realized that this guy was all about the music. He wasn't about meaningful lyrics, excursions into jazz, hip-hop or anything new. Rick Derringer played what he loved and knew best and wasn't about to make adjustments for the audience. I believe that Dave Mason, originally scheduled and who I hope to eventually see, would approve. These guys were our new southwest Florida neighbors and I admire their legacies.

Floridaze (excerpt from chapter 24)

I don't think it was any big surprise to friends and family when we made the big move to Florida, settled in and adapted easily. If you've done any moving in your life, there are signs of differences everywhere -- in dialects, food, businesses, weather -- and music, as I've found, is always a part of that new ambience. My musical head was spinning with Jimmy Buffett tunes and tropic-pop obscurities such as the Kinks' "Come Dancing" and Bette Midler's "Yellow Beach Umbrella." And my enthusiasm for playing guitar and writing, fueled by Bedford's bluegrass agenda, was growing, with a tropical twist of course.

We discovered that Florida and definitely our fast-growing southwest Gulf Coast area, was a melting pot of transients from other states, particularly the Midwest and Northeast. Plenty of retirees, sure, but we were in our pre-retirement years and ahead of the baby boom descendance into the Sunshine State. I quickly encountered live, spontaneous music in Punta Gorda's Lindquist park. There, musicians who dubbed themselves the Punta Gorda Guitar Army assembled weekly for impromptu jams. These were mostly players and singers with varied repertoires in country, rock and folk. They brought their songlists and instruments from places throughout the United States, gathering together to play both classic and original songs. I was a passive observer, soaking in this exciting and inspiring assemblage.

It wasn't long before I discovered another group of musicians, called the Englewood Acoustic Guitar Society, who played occasionally in a waterfront park pavilion in the beach town of Englewood. I was ready to participate. On a typically beautiful evening, I joined with several guitarists as well as people singing and playing harmonica, mandolin and bongos. I took my turn leading at the microphone as pleasure boats passed by, passengers waved and egrets grazed along the shoreline. My new musician friends were all transplanted Floridians, ranging in age from the 20s through the 6os. The music varied from the Eagles to Pearl Jam to Bonnie Raitt and everything in between. This was about as perfect as the music, the collaboration and the ambience could get.

World View (excerpt from chapter 23)

The "lotus" word came into my life again, not in the form of bluegrass or new age meditation, but in an experience called the "Lotus World Music Festival." This annual weekend festival in Bloomington took on the same form as Elkhart's Jazz Festival. Food vendors, art exhibits and several music venues were spread out within walking distance in the downtown. And, naturally, it was the diverse range of music that caught my interest.

At Lotus, my wife and I encountered Caribbean music by a Dominican Republic band, a fast-moving set of Romanian gypsy music, drum circles, African jazz, cajun, Irish folk music and so much more. The event featured talented musicians from around the world though every set wasn't necessarily for everyone (we were pretty bored after the first 10 minutes of a flamenco guitar solo, for instance).

At this festival we witnessed a performance by an aging pop singer, Janis Ian. She had left her mark in 1967 with one of those hyped racially "controversial" songs, "Society's Child (Baby I've Been Thinking)" then resurfaced with "I'm Seventeen" (another song with underlying themes)in 1975. The Janis Ian concert was a pleasant surprise. Janis played solo, displaying true guitar prowess with only a rhythm machine for backup. Her words, in the songs and in her short parables before each one, grabbed our attention, amused the crowd and showed a true sense of her emotions, world perspectives and intelligence. It was another one of those "Little Feat" experiences, when the pure joy of performance and revelation became the music.

Who Was Lotus Dickey? (excerpt from chapter 22)

We started the new millenium packing our stuff, selling our house and heading south, not far enough to lose all the snow, but nevertheless south. We weren't entirely prepared, however, to adapt to life in Bedford, a small, rural town, although close to Bloomington with Indiana University.

Once we settled into a new home in a country subdivision, I made friends with the news editor who played guitar. In fact, this compact, marathon running, married-without-kids friend shared many lifestyle similarities with me. We got together to play music a few times and I dusted off some of my original songs as well as favorites by the Eagles, CSN&Y, the Beatles and others. He could play guitar well and introduced me to the music of Lyle Lovett and some folk/country songs. Then he started telling me about a group of local musicians dedicated to Lotus Dickey and other bluegrass artists. "Lotus Who?" I asked. I knew nothing about bluegrass music but was about to step into a world that seemed to emanate from nearby Paoli, Indiana.

One weekend, Bedford was hosting a small festival on the grounds of the county courthouse about a half block from the newspaper. My new editor pal told me that the Lotus Dickey people would perform. "I'm bringing my guitar, bring yours, too," he said. But I wasn't quite ready to sit in on a bluegrass session with an audience. I needed to hear the music and declined to take my guitar. When the Lotus Dickey Reunion Band took the small stage, it was like nothing I had seen or heard live before -- a half dozen players with acoustic guitars, banjos, mandolins, violins, even an old guy in bib overalls playing the spoons!

The newness to my ears was foot-stomping contagious. My friend, along with the publisher of the paper, knew the people in the band and the words to most of the songs. They requested tunes such as "I'll Fly Away," "I Want To Sing That Rock n' Roll," and some Lotus Dickey originals. Kids danced on the courthouse lawn and people chomped on apple fritters. it resembled those family picnics of my distant past, little sugar-filled cousins bouncing to Slovak melodies. De-ja Vu!

Little Feat (excerpt from chapter 21)

"If you'll be my dixie chicken, I'll be your Tennessee lamb. And we can walk together down in dixieland..." From "Dixie Chicken" by Little Feat, 1973

We celebrated with friends on New Year's Eve 1998 at a Little Feat concert. In a Richmond, Va, hotel with hundreds attending, we heard an extended jam of "Dixie Chicken" plus songs such as "Let It Roll," "Hoy Hoy," "Time Loves A Hero," and "Oh, Atlanta" in Feat's rockin'/cajun style. The band was polished and entertaining but mostly know only to its dedicated following. The members were seasoned veterans and backup musicians for other, much more familiar bands, but Little Feat was their core. We were invited backstage and chatted with the members, then we caught up again the next day at a Cracker Barrel restaurant, en route to a Norfolk gig.

That night in Norfolk, Little Feat performed for a new crowd at "The Boathouse." Afterwards, we were joined at dinner by keyboardist Bill Payne. Sitting next to Bill, I tried to forget that he was at the keyboards for some of the early Doobie Brothers' hits. Table conversation was more about the food, the latest movies, golf, family and just about anything besides music. The members of the Little Feat band, as it turned out, were just regular people away from their home and missing their families.

The Little Feat experience was not unlike Jackson Browne's message of the road in "Stay" or Bob Seeger's in "Turn the Page." The rock tour is hard work. There's memorabilia, t-shirts and cds to be sold, roadies packing and unpacking heavy equipment, sound checks, lighting and instrument tunings, all for the purpose of producing seamless, high energy concerts. Everything has to be perfect regardless of the venue. The fact that this band has continued for so long, with minimum personnel changes and a steady flow of new material, is commendable.

All That Jazz (excerpt from chapter 20)

We all have preconceptions about certain unknowns and lack of understanding in the world of music, art and literature. Pure jazz to me, had a dullness, maybe even an intellectual air that made me a bit apprehensive. Like so many baby boomers, I was raised on rock n' roll and the Elkhart Jazz Festival would surely be just a passing experience, not a lasting one. Never assume, open your ears, came this other voice from inside.

We didn't know what to expect when we entered downtown Elkhart on a Friday evening in June. Several theatres, an art museum, a Knights of Columbus hall and five other venues were hosting a wide range of jazz performances. There was classic jazz, swing, be-bop, blues, Diexieland, fusion and more from dozens of artists, many from the Chicago area. I didn't know where to start. Most attendees were dressed formally for this event and we were in blue jeans. Yet, my wife and I were about to spend a weekend immersed in a world of jazz.

By Monday morning, I had all kinds of new music in my head. I remembered Joan Collaso, with her silky blues voice, and an excellent guitarist named Phil Upchurch. There was a group call Steve Reid's Bamboo Forest who played spacey Pink Floyd-type music fused with jazz. There was Latin Jazz from a group called the Afro-rican Ensemble. It was difficult to leave one great set and move to another that was totally different, but all of it was a form of jazz played by brilliant musicians. I was hooked.

The Joy of Cleveland & Other Musical Cities (excerpt from chapter 19)

We had never been to Cleveland and didn't know what to expect at the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame Museum but I quickly discovered a place with tasteful memorabilia. All that stuff captured not just the spirit of rock n' roll but also the many elements that composed it in song. Sections were separated by city, such as Detroit and the Motown sound, Seattle and grunge rock, San Francisco and psychedelia and so forth. Music of the eras played but the details of the displays really interested me.

Where else would you see a photo of Roy Orbison in his high school yearbook, authentic Beatles and Johnny Cash concert posters, a Syd Viscious doll and the Temptations' microphone stand (with four mikes)? Everywhere, there were guitars, from Carl Wilson's 1981 Gibson to John Lennon's 1964 Ricken-backer to Paul Simon's 1965 acoustic Guild. Clothing ranged from Keith Moon's shoes to Fat Domino's stage jacket to Run DMC's funky eyeglasses. There also were items that humanized these rockin' saints, such as Phil and Don Everly's report cards!

Okay,I was caught up in all that stuff, staring way too long at the displays while the music churned in my head. I realized that it was pure nostalgia, all those instruments,clothing,concert souvenirs and pieces of the early lives of future rock stars. But there was something else I started noticing and then started searching for at each exhibit. It was the song lyrics, in their original form, as inspiration came into the heads of so many great writers.

I discovered typed manuscripts with hand-written corrections for Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love" and the Grateful Dead's "Truckin" (a song that my old "4 A.M. Band" once muddled through). I saw a battered, hand-written page of "In My Life," a beautiful Lennon-McCartney collaboration. Whose handwriting was it? Who found the words to make it rhyme? Where was the melody? I wondered, then felt an eerie tinge upon seeing another scrawled page from Jimi Hendrix title "Purple Haze -- Jesus Saves." It became more than just a '60s feeling when the lyrics of U2's "The Ocean," circa 1980, appeared in shaky writing on a small sheet of paper.

Travels In Song (2nd excerpt from chapter 18)

From Indiana, it took a full day of travel on two planes, an ocean ferry and a rented car to get to the old vacation resort of Rendezvous Bay, on the Caribbean island of Anguilla. We gambled on the weather, venturing to this remote place as hurricane season roared down and the tourist season hadn't geared up yet. The Rendezvous Bay Resort was situated in a quiet area on a long, desolate beach. We loved to walk that beach to the music of the waves. One evening, we heard reggae music coming from one of the oceanside shacks.

Locals had mentioned the Dune Preserve Bar and so we wandered inside a structure that seemed to be constructed from old warehouse pieces and assorted debris. In fact, it was, since it had been rebuilt more than once after hurricanes lashed the tiny island. Upstairs, a reggae band played energetically, though there were few customers. We were reluctant to stay, but a dreadlocked man warmly welcomed us inside and we ordered a beer. Small, skinny dogs and cats roamed the ramshackle rooms and a sweet smell, probably ganja, lingered in the air. As the band pounded reggae rhythms in the next room, we sat down across from a couch where a middle-aged black man lay sprawled.

"Where y'all from?" Bankie Banx asked. When I replied "Indiana," Bankie quizzed me about bluegrass music. "How can they play so fast?" he wondered. After awhile, another man appeared, blowing into a saxophone as he jammed with the reggae sounds. Michael was another Anguillan, friendly and talkative. We relaxed and enjoyed the place awhile longer before we trekked along the moonlit shore to the resort. Later, I learned that Bankie was somewhat of a celebrity on Anguilla, a genuine reggae star with a philanthropic heart for his island country. Although I didn't know his music, I learned that he mostly sang about his life and love for his tiny homeland. The Dune Preserve Bar lived up to its name. It wasn't about playing "I Shot the Sheriff" for tourists; it was about "preserving" the music inside that needs to be preserved.

Travels In Song (excerpt from chapter 18)

On day four of a Windjammer sailing adventure in the Grenadines, we passed Mustique, a "Rich and Famous" island occasionally inhabited by such rock persona as Mick Jagger and Sting. However, it was not the rock celebrity thoughts but rather that evening's event when some real music emerged while anchored at the small island of Bequia. The captain recommended karaoke at a local place called Schooners, so our group of 10 tendered over for a barfest. When we arrived, the bar was closed and our tender had returned to the ship. We were ready for fun and song but, for the moment, we seemed temporarily stuck in an island town that had gone to sleep early.

As we waited for the tender's return under a star-filled sky, someone from Schooners turned on a light and motioned us inside. We helped flip plastic chairs over as the owner opened his bar and cranked up the karaoke machine. Our shipmate friends, from different places around the United States, took turns singing songs as locals gathered inside and out. The place started hopping! I grabbed the microphone for my first ever attempt at karaoke and sang awkward versions of "Runaround Sue" and "Your Mama Don't Dance." Without question, I was no match for a guy who made his living as a television weatherman and sang an incredibly polished version of the Richie Valens classic "La Bamba."

As the Americans took their karaoke turns, the Bequian natives, who had merged into the crowd, politely clapped, though they held out for songs they knew well. When all of us travelers exhausted our efforts, the Bequians stepped to the microphone. Young men started singing American country and western songs in strange but delightful accents. We were hundreds of miles from any real night life where polished professionals sang for their supper. But this was one of those timeless, magical nights of momentary joy where cultures merged in song. It was also the first time viewing of the Southern Cross star formation -- an instant link to the song lyrics of "Southern Cross," by Stephen Stills.

HALFTIME!

Readers:

This is about the halfway point in my daily blog, featuring excerpts from my unpublished book, THE MUSIC INSIDE. I have chosen portions that I hope you find interesting -- more important -- I hope that this helps you to discover or re-discover your own life’s soundtrack.

In all of these chapters, there are more music adventures, trivia tidbits, an occasional lyric, etc. and I’ll keep it moving with music discovered through travel, a little bluegrass and jazz, tropical sounds, even some music inside thoughts from my own relatives. Please feel free to comment or share your musical journeys on my Facebook entries or on the blog itself. There’s music in your head just waiting to come out!

Tom

Re-Tuning (excerpt from chapter 17)

In the late 1980s, I received word that a classmate, from elementary school, was killed in a refinery accident in my hometown. Since I had moved away, I had not thought much about the industrial area where I grew up. I had forgotten about so many old acquaintances who chose to stay in that place to live and work. The distant news led me to my Gibson guitar. And, after many years of writing just a few meaningless songs, a blues melody came into my head and became a song called "Oiltown (A Song for George):"

George was just thirty-seven, when it took his happy life
Flashed in an explosion before his very eyes
Like all the men who chose it, the chemicals and noise
He could turn it off at four o'clock to drink one with the boys

And their fathers and their uncles all knew what was going on
Cause that's the way it was, you lived in Oiltown

They put up with the dangers and the horror stories they heard
For the sake of that sweet paycheck, just seemed a bit absurd
But it was very easy to go home to the TV
To the wife and the kids and the dreams of winning the state lottery

And their fathers and their uncles all knew what was going on
Cause that's the way it was, you lived, you stayed, in Oiltown

When George was gone and the shock slowly lost its iron grip
The men went back to that fateful site to continue on their trip
And George's wife and child, left alone in the shadows of the pain
Maybe they'd find escape someday, from the living drain, of Oiltown

And their fathers and their uncles all knew what was going on
Cause that's the way it was, you lived, you stayed, you died,
in Oiltown

Pipeline (excerpt from chapter 16)

After writing many album reviews for the newspaper where I worked, I developed an idea for my own music trivia column. "Pipeline to the Sixties" debuted in the Elkhart(IN)Truth on June 3, 1983. I designed my own logo and used a photo of Little Richard for the first column. The idea was simply to provide tidbits of '60s music trivia, such as listing the top songs of 20 years ago, brief bios of an artist or band and quirky facts, such as: Stephen Stills once flunked an audition to be in the Monkees; Dave Clark was once a film stunt man; the Righteous Brothers weren't really brothers and Paul McCartney wrote "Martha, My Dear" for his English sheepdog.

"Pipeline to the Sixties" was published monthly for six years. I never ran out of interesting ideas -- at least interesting ideas to me. I added more features, such as "One-Hit Wonders," "Beatle Bits," "At the Flicks" and a trivia quiz. I found or created all sorts of oddball lists: goofy songs such as "Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport" and "Beans In My Ears;" bird band names such as the Partridge Family, Yardbirds and Crow; show biz kids such as Nancy Sinatra and Gary Lewis. I found unique photos and album covers to run with my logo, which changed three times. Eventually, the column name was shorted to "Pipeline", as I added late '50s/early '70s trivia to the '60s mix.

"Pipeline" uncovered a new connection to the music of years past that lived in my head. The best music of the '60s era, really rolling far into the 1970s, created a new genre called classic rock.

Running Through the '80s (excerpt from chapter 15)

The "Nike Fair" race in Dowagiac, Michigan, was always held on a hot summer day and on a 10K(6.2 miles) course that was definitely challenging. It attracted top-notch runners, but my wife and I participated for the adventure, content with finishing and collecting the usual free t-shirt award. The trail traversed a golf course, forced runners to jump over bales of hay on a narrow forest path and ended in an uphill blast of pain. The pre-race packet included a "poop sheet" of restroom facilities and something called "The Guide to Music Stations for Your Listening Pleasure." This was no ordinary race -- and the musical twist intrigued me.

"The Guide" was a preview of the music that would blast from tape decks as runners passed various points in the race -- audio joy in a difficult run. Here it is, straight from the runner's packet:

Start: Willie Nelson and "On the Road Again." Sweet Willie gets us off and
running with this traditional favorite.
At .2K, Vangelis and "Chariots of Fire." This year's live band --Voyager--will "fire and inspire" the runners as they pass the park. Caution -- a special touch on the keyboard utilizing a synthesizer may involuntarily increase your pace.
At .5K, the Police and "Every Breath You Take." This steady pulsating beat will get you into the rhythm of the run.
At 1.6K, Bob Seger and "Roll Me Away." Moving out of town along route M-62, this mesmerizing tune captures the very essence of sweet rock and is sure to get you on tempo for the country roads.
At 2.0K, Devo and "Whip It." A traditional, upbeat favorite to get everyone up the first hill.
At 3.2K, Kenny Loggins and "I'm All Right." You'll be looking good coming across campus at the halfway point with this uplifting beat from "Caddyshack."
At 3.2K, Don Henley and "Dirty Laundry." You'll create some sweaty laundry and fire out on the trails to this haunting, steady beat.
At 4.3K, Journey and "Straight from the Heart." Bryan Adams tells you what it takes as you hit the tough sun stretch for town.
At 5.0K, Bonnie Tyler and "It's a Heartache." The raspy voice of Bonnie inspires you to reach down and pull out your best.
At 5.5K, Stray Cats and "Rock This Town Tonight." All right! You're back in town and almost home and it is time to celebrate with this neat beat a la 50s.
Finish, all kinds of live music in the park. You conquered the trails and did great!
..........Creative stuff from someone's music inside.

Wedding Song (excerpt from chapter 14)

In a Catholic Church, in the bicentennial year filled with patriotic music, we were married. Our ceremony music was light classical piano (not our first choice, which was the Beatles) but just fine. We hired a local trio for our reception, a group that played plenty of polkas and other standards, including the obligatory rock gems such as "Proud Mary." They got the crowd up for disco dancing with the latest pop hit, K.C. & the Sunshine Band's "That's The Way I Like It." With 200 friends and relatives of all ages attending, Deep Purple and the Moody Blues probably wouldn't have been an appropriate soundtrack.

Getting married and sharing a new life forever with another person creates new music inside. If you have a "significant other," as the term goes, some of your strongest music inevitably merges with their songs. It's the sense that, together, you can create your own path, sharing the ups and downs along the way. The soundtrack follows the path. We appreciated certain love songs together: "You Showed Me" by the Turtles, "Hello, It's Me" by Nazz, "Have You Seen The Stars Tonight?" by Jefferson Starship and into the future with Beyonce's rendition of "At Last," Jack Johnson's "Banana Pancakes" and more. We also concurred that Bryan Adam's Spanish sounding song "Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?" was one of the sexiest songs ever recorded. It comes from an obscure Johnny Depp film (pre "Pirates of the Caribbean") call "Don Juan DeMarco" (Faye Dunaway and and an aging Marlon Brando alsoe starred.)

"Our House" wa a love song from Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young in 1970. Graham Nash wrote it and described a little house in Laurel Canyon that he shared with Joni Mitchell. It was a poetic celebration of their life together: "I'll light the fire while you place the flowers in the vase that you bought today..." The song was a perfect symbol of sharing lives.

Plugging In (excerpt from chapter 13)

So many great bands transitioned with different names, personnel changes and experiences that are part of their legacy. The history of the Beatles includes former band names The Quarrymen and Silver Beatles. Stu Sutcliffe, Pete Best, Brian Epstein, Yoko Ono and Linda MCartney are all tied to the lives and music of the Fab Four. Would my first rock band,called Jug, go through as many ups and downs on the road to fame and fortune? I envisioned these things, even compiling lists of potential songs and other band names for future use. It was all part of the rock and roll fantasy.

Jug was looking to create our own sound and we started messing around with the acoustic/electric songs of CSN&Y, The Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker Band and others, plus a couple of originals. In a few months, Jug was sounding pretty decent and attracted the interest of a nerdy-looking guy. He had anachronistic short hair, wore thick eyeglasses and wanted to be our "manager." He offered a sound system and his very large basement for practices, a supposedly soundproofed place with egg cartons plastered on the walls. This was all pretty crazy but we agreed, moving our equipment to his house and deciding to identify all the songs that we would play when we finally secured a real gig. And, in the neighborhood, there were girls -- mostly young teenyboppers who spotted our long-haired band of oil and steelworkers as we carried our guitars into the house regularly.

The problem with being in a rock n' roll band is that five players and a manager shared different opinions about choosing the music we played or were capable of playing. It was beneath us to do an old pop favorite like "Hang On Sloopy," but impossible to replicate anything out of the Frank Zappa catalog. We would argue among ourselves, refereed by our manager, then shake hands and play on. We eventually focused on learning a few songs really well, but most sessions just ended up in long, improvisational jam sessions. It was exciting and exhausting, but somehow we all knew it wouldn't last long.

Vinyl Obsessions (excerpt from chapter 12)

Although FM radio was beginning to play more and more album-oriented rock, it was usually through friends that I encountered the most exciting of this music. My old bass-playing friend, the kid who brought want-ad musicians into his living room for a jam, was always discovering the most abstract (or least played on the radio) music, though it didn't always appeal to me. He spun solo albums by people such as Robin Trower, from Procol Harum ("Whiter Shade of Pale"), who extended his guitar prowess in true Jimi Hendrix style. Or Stevie Winwood, from Traffic, joining Eric Clapton and other talented players from known bands to create new expressions in a short-lived group called Blind Faith.

"Wanna go to Hammond?" my friend would ask in his spontaneous decisions to stock up on more albums from a record store that was a bus trip away. There was always a steady stream of new music emanating from his bedroom turntable. On it, I heard bizarre, hippie comedy from a group called Firesign Theatre on a strangely named album, "Don't Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me The Pliers." Or imagine the sounds of someone swatting a fly in the grooves of a disc named "Ummagumma", from a once-obscure group called Pink Floyd.

And how many artists, other than perhaps the Beatles, would really explore the vinyl creatively by putting a groove around the labels of one of their albums? If you just happened to have a manual turntable, a voice would repeat "Turn me over" at the end of the last cut. On the flip side, the words "Play me again" were a unique reminder to change the album sides! The James Gang, with Joe Walsh as it's most famous and humorous member, did it and my friend discovered it.

Live On Stage (excerpt from chapter 11)

The British band King Crimson was one I was able to see perform in a majestic venue, the Chicago Auditorium Theatre. King Crimson produced a type of music far removed from the pop charts, even the acoustic music that I loved. It was a new direction that fused rock with jazz and other genres, played by well-disciplined, talented musicians. They were led by Robert Fripp, a guitarist who was all about the music and not about the hype. At one point during the concert, Fripp stopped playing in the middle of an extended jam. He had noticed someone talking in the front section of the audience, not paying full attention to the musical experience. Fripp was offended and made it clear he would not perform with distractions. Fripp and King Crimson then continued the concert.

I was amazed at Fripp's outrage, but realized that this was one band focused on meaningful art through music. Recently, I read an excerpt from an interview of Robert Fripp by Anthony DeCurtis that originally appeared in "Record," May 1984. Fripp talked about a revelation he had in 1981, in which the music is always present, as a friend. Instead of looking for music, Fripp suggested being quiet enough to hear the music that's already there. Reading his words, for me, was a close encounter with someone who truly visualized the music inside. Robert Fripp, genius musician and artist in so many ways.

The 4 A.M. Band (excerpt from chapter 10)

"One Thing Leads to Another" sang The Fixx in the 1980s. That fact definitely applies to our music inside. Although Lakeside Coffee House was a tremendous experience, it was only the starting point for others. High schools hosted informal music jam sessions and Calumet College, where I attended, promoted acoustic open microphone nights. I played at these places periodically, even doing a few songs with friends in a club called "The Cave," on the same stage where Chubby Checker once performed. Slowly, I began fine-tuning the few songs I had memorized, writing and expanding my small repertoire.

After Lakeside closed, my new friends gathered in parks or apartments. My home basement was roomy, had furniture and was available on weekends when my parents were building their retirement cottage in another part of the state. I found dedicated musicians and friends at Lakeside and four of us played together frequently at my house, occasionally joined by two others. We played the songs of each other's favorite artists: Cat Stevens, John Prine, Joni Mitchell, Steve Goodman, Neil Young, James Taylor, Tom Rush, George Harrison and Eric Clapton, among others. We worked on harmonies and filled in guitar parts. It sounded good.

Our group didn't need a bass or dums, although we found different ways (low notes on guitar and thumping on the wood) to fill up the sound. I was improving but still felt like a beginner among these talented musicians. Our sessions went long, yet no one cared about the time and we often hit a peak in the middle of the night, towards morning actually. At some point, someone suggested that we call ourselves "The 4 A.M. Band" and the name stuck. We had no plans to perform or write -- we were caught in the moments of our music.

Lakeside (excerpt from chapter 9)

An old Methodist church had been "de-sanctified," I was told, and was no longer a place of religion, but rather a coffeehouse. On certain evenings, anyone could go to Lakeside, take an instrument and sing along in the impromptu jam sessions. I had never been to a coffeehouse, but watched enough episodes of "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis" to envision finger-snapping beatniks reading bland poetry. Images of Maynard G. Krebs flashed in my head. Still, this was the early 1970s, beatniks were now hippies and the whole counterculture movement was continuously splashed throughout the media. I was curious but, at the same time, apprehensive about this new place called Lakeside. I decided I should check it out once.

Upstairs in the old church building, I found myself in a small, candlelit room where my two new musician friends and at least 10 other unfamiliar people crowded. One of these was a young, clean-cut Methodist minister. He seemed to be well-acquainted with a quiet, strange-looking couple, who held hands and sat in the lotus position staring into space. (Later, I learned that they actually lived in the church.) There was no music. With my battered guitar case in hand, I was ready to turn around and forget the whole idea. But the minister was friendly and personable; he motioned me to sit down and join in the rap session. Reluctantly, I set my case aside and sat on the floor, since the room had no furniture.

Initially, I was afraid of being pulled into some bizarre cult or new religion, but I soon found out that there was something else going on here. Teenagers and young adults were discussing Vietnam, civil rights, women's liberation, and ecology -- signs of the turbulent and changing times. These were intelligent, likable people with views to be conveyed to anyone who would listen. It was fascinating and engaging conversation but it also did not take long for guitars and harmonicas to come out of cases. The songs played weren't necessarily from the current pop charts. Instead, they were the songs of Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, John Prine, Steve Goodman and others. It changed my perception of '50s American folk music (I'm thinking The Kingston Trio's "Tom Dooley"). This was folk music for my generation and it intrigued me.

Cruisin' (excerpt from chapter 8)

At first, I found it unusual that a friend's car had this cool eight-track tape player with great speakers but that he didn't own any taped music. Cruising in his Chevy Malibu, we played the radio but I tired of the redundancy of pop hits. It wasn't very long before I convinced my buddy to go shopping. He had a pretty good "clean hands" job at the local drug store, so on payday we made a visit to the local K-mart and headed for the tape bins. My friend liked the AM radio hits of the Beach Boys, Three Dog Nite and the Guess Who, so he grabbed their latest releases. "What else is good, Tom?" he asked, obviously willing to buy more. I reached for a copy of Santana's "Abraxis." As I did, he was admiring the dark, eerie cover art of a tape called "Paranoid", by Black Sabbath. "Uh, you might like it, it's loud," I said. I knew that it was a harder rock n' roll than they played on AM, but I wasn't very familiar with the band.

My friend took the handful of tapes and we checked out. In the Malibu, we listened to the Beach Boys and the Guess Who, good music only interrupted by the loud clicking of the tapes changing tracks. When we got to the main street of town, the windows came down and I popped in the "Paranoid" album. With the first strains of "Iron Man", my sports-minded friend was hooked and he cranked up the volume until the dashboard rattled. It was Ozzy Osbourne, singing in devilish style to a driving, hard beat. Instant cool.

I should have realized that Black Sabbath would interest my friend. Growing up with him, I knew he was obsessed with old Frankenstein, Dracula and Wolfman flicks, even the classic late night TV show called "Shock Theatre." There were times in his house, late at night, when we would watch this stuff, only to fall off our chairs as his Dad jumped out from another room to scare us. His father had a weird sense of humor, which sometimes emerged from my friend. We would go on many, many cruise nights, never picking up girls but listening to the same eight-tracks over and over. In the case of Black Sabbath, in particular the "Iron Man" song, he insisted we listen to it over and over and over and over. Many years later, in 2008, the heavy metal anthem would be introduced to new listeners in the popular "Iron Man" movie, about the fictional comic book superhero.

Behind Garage Doors (excerpt from chapter 7)

One of my guitarist friends prepared to join or start a band and decided to run a newspaper ad to find more guys to jam with. One Saturday, he called me to say that his parents were not at home and that another guitarist and a keyboard player, found through the ad, were coming over! "Bring your ax, man, and you can sit in. We may even get a band started!" he exclaimed. Reluctantly, I agreed, and joined the players in my friend's living room, where all the furniture had been pushed aside. Amplifiers and "pre-amps" were set up along with microphones and stands. No drummer, but it still looked cool. The two older kids from nearby Hammond were ready to play, wearing paisley shirts, somewhat long hair and definite rock n' attitudes.

I pushed my short, curly hair over the tops of my ears and opened my cardboard guitar case. The invited guitar guest and I plugged into the same amp as the room buzzed in feedback. He looked at my cheap guitar suspiciously and said "Let's try this" as he hit the first chords of Steppenwolf's "Born to Be Wild." The others joined in and I followed along but it clearly wasn't working. Our guitarist invitee was getting irritated and harshly asked "Can you sing, man?" as he swung the microphone in my direction. We then attempted Cream's "Sunshine of Your Love," sharing the vocals. But I was no Jack Bruce and the other kid was no Eric Clapton. My friend, on bass, and the keyboardist jammed along without singing but any vocals were inaudible over the amps anyway.

That experience in my first jam session was not really a good memory. Too much time was spent hauling equipment, setting up, blowing fuses, tuning guitars and trying to find out who knew certain songs (and could play and sing all the way through). The result was more of a distortion of sound through crackly amplifiers and fuzz tones in a crowded living room. The want-ad volunteers were okay musicians but we could all sense that it was going nowhere. There were no screaming, admiring girls outside the window, either. When my friend's mom arrived to abruptly halt the loud music, everybody dispersed without plans to take this another day.

Born To Be Wild (excerpt from chapter 6)

As much as I enjoyed the pop AM stations, by the late 1960s rock n' roll was transitioning beyond the standard radio rules. Chart makers such as the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" and "Paperback Writer" were stories in rock and roll. reaching further out from the "Twist and Shout" days. It didn't take long for The Mamas and The Papas to emerge with a folkier California sound and, in tune with the times, a psychedelic revolution in music was taking hold. I gravitated to it, longed to hear more but didn't know where to find it. By the very late 1960s, my rock n' roll appreciation changed forever when I heard about a cult radio program deemed "The Underground Den."

Radio -- whether you are from "The Shadow" serial era or tuned to the diverse playlists of satellite or Internet radio -- is usually unpredictable and entertaining. I became obsessed after first tuning to"The Underground Den." It was quietly promoted as Chicago's first underground radio show, a special program aired only on Saturdays from Midnight to 1 a.m. on WSDM, 97.7 FM. My transistor radio only played AM, but I borrowed the family's kitchen Zenith, which could pick up FM radio and actually had a bass control. Every week, I tuned in on low volume in the after midnight sanctuary behind my closed bedroom door. To take it even further, I recorded a lot of the music to enjoy later on a small reel-to-reel tape recorder.

The music that I heard on "The Underground Den" was unlike any of the brief AM radio songs wedged between all the drag racing and cola commercials. At midnight, the show started with its theme song -- the first unearthly notes from the guitar of Jimi Hendrix playing "Are You Experienced?" The program was hosted by a female in a soft, sultry voice, introducing the songs and groups, often mentioning the album. It was there that I first heard haunting rock songs such as Jefferson Airplane's "3/5's of a Mile in 10 Seconds, Buffalo Springfields's "Mr. Soul" and the Doors' "Break On Through (to the Other Side)."

Dance to the Music (excerpt from Chapter 5)

No, I never memorized dance steps or could even master a decent "Twist." I could bend awkwardly to a "Limbo Rock" under a party pole and made brief attempts with "The Macarena." I even tried country line dancing and, admittedly, survived one uncomfortable class in ballroom dancing. But in my high school years, dancing was not cool among my colleagues. I attended a sock dance or two mostly to hear live rock n' roll, hang out with buddies and gawk at usually unattainable girls. When I did occasionally dance to the music with those girls, it was that wild free form thing. It worked for me, just feeling the beat of the music and being careful not to trip on my feet or anyone else's.

The most surprising dance occasion that I experienced was highlighted by a top 40 act called the Outsiders, who rode on a 1966 national hit called "Time Won't Let Me." It was big news when the Outsiders were scheduled to play at a dance in my high school gym, but the result was disappointing. The band showed up very late, played a song or two along with the hit single, then packed up and left. The whole school was deflated from a too short glimpse of real rock stars, who didn't even hang around to sign autographs.

The other memorable sock hop, one that I missed, was in a local elementary school gym. it featured a black, "soul" band called the Jackson Five from nearby Gary, Indiana. I had already graduated from high school when I heard about the dance and the family-friendly pop group, who had a number-one hit with "I Want You Back." Their leader, Michael, was just a little kid and I had no interest in going to this teenybopper fest. Who knew at the time all that would follow in the wildly eccentric, media-hyped career of future superstar Michael Jackson?

Spinning Discs (excerpt from chapter 4)

Neal Price's Firestone was a neat store, especially at Christmastime, stocked with lots of sporting goods, toys and games. In reality, it compared to a couple of aisles of any of today's big box stores. But in January of 1965, two teenage boys strolled past everything to the small music section in the back. My friend, finding the new Beatles single, immediately grabbed "I Feel Fine" and a new song, "This Diamond Ring" by Gary Lewis & the Playboys. We headed over to one of two tiny record booths and spun the records on the turntable as loud as the player could be set. It sounded so good! It was a given with anything the Beatles did, but I couldn't believe that one of my childhood heroes, comedian Jerry Lewis, now had a son playing drums and singing on a great pop original.

Like the Fab Four, I was feeling fine until two cute teenage girls crammed into the booth next to us. Today, that same awkward moment may occur with someone scanning a CD label and sampling through headsets in the music section. Music could be the bridge to the opposite sex, but in this trying moment I was attempting to be nonchalant and cool. It wasn't working. My booth buddy had his eyes closed, feet tapping and mouth synching the words to the Playboys' tune. When we finished, I was ready to head for the front door, maybe lingering awhile to try on a catcher's mitt. But as my friend made his purchase of two records, I quickled scanned the shelves and spotted one I really liked, Del Shannon's "Keep Searchin." It would just edge out Herman's Hermits "I'm Into Something Good" as my first 45 record purchase.

The girls in the booth weren't watching as the blue-haired lady behind the counter checked the very breakable black disc for scratches, and then returned it to its sleeve. No thief-proof, shrink-wrapped packaging here. She placed it into a bag along with the week's WLS "Silver Dollar Survey" and I was on my way to being a true music collector.

Yankee Doodlin' (excerpt from Chapter 3)

I entered high school at about the time the "British Invasion" was entering America. Every pop radio station regularly played singles from the Beatles, Rolling Stones, Herman's Hermits, Gerry and the Pacemakers and dozens of other groups who raced for top spots on weekly surveys. As girls swooned over the "mop-topped" stars, boys competed for attention by learning an instrument and starting a band. Somehow, I had no problem joing the ranks of so many other juveniles who fell into the fantasy.

It is a good thing if your parents, or you as a parent, know the value of learning an instrument. Although my older brother and sister both took piano lessons, I never showed any interest and my parents never pushed it. I think a lot of it had to do with parochial school. Young girls, with their blue-checkered school uniforms, learned the piano in after-school sessions from the nuns. The selections, usually, were hymns they would aspire to play on the church organ at High Mass. The girls who rose to the highest level became the leaders of the choir because, ultimately, everyone knew who was behind the organ when the first notes of "Holy, Holy, Holy" rang out at the daily Mass.

It would be okay playing keyboards to rock music -- heck, it sounded good when the Animals or Zombies played it. Drums were even cooler. When Dave Clark or Gary Lewis led their bands by pounding the beat to their hits, suddenly the drums were no longer in the background. But did I really want to lug an organ or drum set to practices or concerts? Maybe someday my roadie would do that, I imagined. The guitar was easily winning my logic. So, I approached my parents about getting my own guitar.

Hi-Fi Before Wi-Fi (excerpt from chapter 2)

It's possible that the first music in your life was subliminal, in the background emanating from the kitchen radio, a church organ, maybe even the proverbial elevator. I instantly picture the late '50s and riding with my mother on a Goldblatts departtment store elevator, music contained in the moving box as the attendant announced each floor and its merchandise. It wasn't until later in my adult life that I pondered these things after reading a book called Elevator Music. Written by Joseph Lanza in 1994, it made me more aware of lightweight music with many names: Muzak, easy-listening, contemporary instrumental, and so forth. Yet, this is music that doesn't really sleep in our lives. It's there inside, like it or not! Elevator Music, which includes a few photos of antique album covers, took me back to growing up in the late 1950s and early 1960s.

My parents owned some of the record albums by Mantovani, 101 Strings, Mystic Moods Orchestra, Percy Faith and probably others in this strange genre. The music makes me envision Sunday afternoon naps, office buildings and shopping centers, ballparks and car radios, subways and airports, restaurants and waiting rooms and, of course, elevators. The sounds drone through our lives, endless copycats of music we may or may not want to remember. The background music comes to the foreground at times when we are involved in something else.

A good example of a Muzak contributor, in its "Dance" category, is Lawrence Welk. My parents, and their friends, loved his 1950s long-running television program, The Lawrence Welk Show. It was extremely popular in setting an atmosphere of champagne and toasts, waltzes and romantic dinner music. Welk, a strong Catholic with a humorous German accent, was a hit with his theme of family and middle-of-the-road values. "Champagne Music," as the term became known, was undoubtedly part of my parents' music inside. It's just "Wunnerful, Wunnerful," as Welk was fond of saying.

All in the Family (excerpt from chapter 1)

In your own house, the music in the air catches you at an early age. Although rock and roll originated in the late 1940s and early 1950s, it didn't gain radio play until Bill Haley and the Comets' "Rock Around the Clock" in 1954. On radios in my house, I recall hearing non-rock songs throughout that decade: Eddie Fisher's "Oh, My Papa," Perry Como's "Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes," Patti Pages' "Doggie in the Window." Elvis, the Everly Brothers, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard and all the other rock pioneers didn't interest my young ears. I only enjoyed the silly songs such as "Purple People Eater," "Witch Doctor" and "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini."

If someone asks if I came from a musical family, I always say yes. Our family members enjoyed listening, singing, dancing and some even played instruments. But we didn't breed famous musicians or singers. We were a typical working class family. It's interesting, though, because the music really emanates from my mother's side of the family, much more than my fathers'. The difference became obvious at the annual family picnics. With my Dad's family, picnics centered on the place, usually the Franciscan Brothers Seven Dolors Shrine in Valparaiso, Indiana..a nice place to picnic, but a really spiritual environment. I recall food, beverages and card games, not music unless it was from a background transistor radio or the hourly church chimes.

My mother's side of the family loaded up on picnic food at their public park of choice. Then the uncles and aunts would break out their musical instruments and gather in a circle. Two instruments were usually featured -- ukeleles and harmonicas. The music was traditional Slovak songs ermerging from their youth -- the 1920s, 1930s and all those wartime favorites such as "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree." Today at picnics, car surround-sound systems or mini-stereo systems blast out the songs of Gwen Stefani, Coldplay, Tim McGraw, Kanye West -- the music of another generation. But the song remains the same -- family or friends gather with music as a uniting factor, whether you like it or not.

The Music Inside, Intro

If you wonder why that familiar song

Plays inside your head all day long

Maybe it's the blues or the radio

Awakening a memory from so long ago



Someone finds a rhythm that you can't ignore

Takes you to a place where you've been before

Recalling the words from the singer's voices

The soundtrack of your life and so many choices



Tunes that are so hard to define

Point the way as your travel guide

Attaching like a shadow to your mind

.....It's the Music Inside



THE MUSIC INSIDE is about the joy of the music in us that won't go away. It most likely will not be a complex jazz or classical piece but rather something with a contagious hook -- whether we like it or not. Dancers groove to it but in my world dance is more frequently a foot tap to a beat. Some are players (I'm one) -- learning an instrument in hopes of emulating our heroes, playing as an outlet to relax or even creating our own music. Or we may be more attuned to lyrics, messages, symbols and perspectives from artists. The rhyming words become stories about people and emotions, often providing insight to the world around us.



I have been inspired by a personal legacy found in the lyrics and style of John Lennon, Jimmy Buffett, Steve Goodman, Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, John Prine and, more recently, John Mayer, Norah Jones and others. They have given me a strong sense of who they are and how they view this planet. I am in awe of the guitar genius of Eric Clapton or Carlos Santana, the melodies and harmonies of America and the Beach Boys, the powerful rhythms of African or Cuban music, the intricacies of Mozart or Wynton Marsalis, the speed and skill of a bluegrass mandolin player. You no doubt have your own list of musicians, singers and songs that have excited or inspired you. It's your ever-changing playlist residing in your head. Listen to it.

The Music Inside

This is the start of a new blog called THE MUSIC INSIDE, which is the title of an unpublished nonfiction book that I have recently completed. My intent is to share excerpts from the book and to get your feedback on this idea.

If this interests you, the premise of THE MUSIC INSIDE is to increase awareness of the soundtracks of our lives -- all of those melodies and lyrics that stay in our heads and help define who we are. Written mostly from my own true adventures around music, THE MUSIC INSIDE emerges from my rock n' roll/baby boomer perspective but includes surprising finds in jazz, bluegrass and world music. I share experiences with local musicians, attending concerts, discovering music through travels, movies, collecting and songwriting. Various musical quotes and facts, plus some of my own song lyrics are interjected throughout the book.

As we all reach into the past, connecting with new friends and others from different phases of our lives, THE MUSIC INSIDE is an ingredient not to be overlooked, Above all, I hope you'll find that this is a fun and unique read and -- like a personal photo album, it helps you to connect with people and places in recalling your own musical experiences.

More to come!