Me And Music 2

  Back in August 2011, I touched on the subject of me and music. As I said then, it's a mighty big subject.
  That particular post was all about a boy. It was a boy that brought music to the forefront of my preteen brain. What continues here is also a story about a boy...but this boy happened to be my big brother, David.

  It must have been in 1971 or so, I guess... I had gotten my first record player a few years before for Christmas...the one that I could close up and carry with me, if I wanted. All I needed were a few batteries, and I could take it into the hills, detach the speakers, and have myself a little outdoor party with tunes. It didn't have the greatest sound, and dust would scratch up the vinyl, but I still have fond memories of that first "stereo".

  Big brother David had a real stereo. He was even more passionate about music than I was, and I could hear his records playing through the bedroom walls. Led Zepplin's "Whole Lotta Love" scared me, with it's creepy noises in that long bridge part, but I liked Chicago. Good hooks and some tasty horns, too.
  David leaned more towards jazz, or the FM bands of the day that featured horns or interesting arrangements. He was in the high school jazz band and marching band, so I think that was an influence. That, and the awesome jazz my Dad turned us all onto, when we would just take a minute to listen. Dave Brubeck, Chet Baker, Stan Getz, Gerry Mulligan...good roots, certainly.
  I loved listening to music on David's stereo, especially with those gigantor headphones (which have really made a comeback, btw). He shared a bedroom with our brother Richie, so there were twin beds. David and I would lie back and just chill out to the stereo sounds, taking turns listening through the headphones. Summer days gone by. I guess Richie was out playing with the younger kids, not into music yet and no way interested in hanging out with us. We did tend to torture the poor kid, so I don't much blame him. His own musical adventures were on the not-so-far horizon...

  As soon as David was old enough to drive, it's a whole new world. He and his buddies get into the routine of driving down to Berkeley, where there is an awesome used record store, just off Telegraph. Leopolds, if I remember correctly. They let me tag along, thankfully. I could take my $6.00 that I earned each month from my paper route and buy not one, but two LPs. Sweet. We would spend hours in front of those boxes stacked front to back with albums, flipping through the alphabet. Plus, being Berkeley, the people watching was the best. Magic for me, all of 12 or 13 at the time. I was entranced, to be sure.
  This was all good, and of course there was junk food involved...the drive-thru kind, most times, which was just another huge treat. I got along fine with David's pals, had crushes on one or two of them, and he had a crush or two on my pals, no doubt.. we all had a blast together. It really was good, clean fun, and I feel like those kinds of days are gone now, or maybe I just don't get out enough....anyway. Here I go, getting all teary eyed.

  As the months went by, it became increasingly apparent that I was in dire need of a "real stereo".  My LP collection was becoming larger and something to be proud of, and I felt that David was tired of me bogart-ing his stereo every time he left his room. Let's be honest. I didn't have a stereo. I had a record player.
  It was time time to step it up. I began saving every dollar I made, found, or received from relatives. When I had collected enough cold hard cash, and was beside myself with anticipation, David and his friend Tommy took me down to the used stereo place on Shattuck Ave. in Berkeley. They were crucial in helping me pick out each component: turntable, receiver, and the ever important set of big speakers. These were the days when your stereo was stacked up. Big. The speakers were furniture, you know?

  I need to admit something here and now.
  I still have one of these stereo set-ups. Really. I haven't gotten around to the iPod thingy yet. With the little "dock" and all. I know, it's almost 2013. Geez. I'm secretly waiting for those stereo systems to become the rage again. Right.....

  I had the most awesome stereo of any 13 year old ever. At least that's how it felt. And I loved it. It was used, but that's what made it so damn cool...that was how you bought your stereo back then. Really nice, top quality equipment that a normal person could afford.  Thank god for the used record and stereo stores.
  I finally had my own headphones, too. Hours spent lying on top of the bed, listening to every bloody note of every song on every album. Over and over and over. The way the music would zoom back and forth in the headphones sometimes. I could hear Neil Young's fingers moving on the guitar strings, or the breaths that James Taylor would take between lines in a song. And Keith Moon's drums. LOUD, thank you. That one-note guitar solo in "Cinnamon Girl" still slays me every time.
  Music is a magic world, and when you are at that age...that scary, amazing, overwhelming, hormone crazed age. Well. You know what I'm going on about. Music is not only a magic world...it is the world.
It becomes your best escape, for sure. It defines who you are, and you don't have to say a word. Really.        I remember having a crush on this much older kid in the neighborhood, and I would just crank up my music and hang around outside, playing basketball or whatever. Bedroom windows wide open, speakers facing out... just on the slight chance he might hear the music and, you know, think I was the ultimate in cool and then fall in love with me. This never happened, but still...it was the best and only way I knew how to express myself. My acned, chubby, braces on the teeth, tomboy, little fragile 13 year old self.
  Tough and together on the outside, a complete fucking mess on the inside. Still. To this day.

  Having music in common with big brother David was a glue that bound us together for years. Even though I had my own stereo, and my own tastes in music, we would still listen to stuff together, and turn each other on to something new. He remained true to his jazz, while I found myself firmly ensconced in the 70's folk/jangle rock scene, with an occasional dip into the "art rock" pool of the day.... Jethro Tull, Yes, Bowie... all so good through headphones, and even better after I started smoking pot, often with David.
  Oh, those wacky 70's. Sigh. Only to be out done by those most frightening 80's, but that is another story...

  My big brother was my best of friends back then. It was because of that music connection. My first ever live concert was James Taylor at Berkeley Community Theatre. David drove us. "Fire and Rain".  Another very special memory was our evening featuring dress up clothes (David in suit & tie, me in a long Lanz dress from my recent 8th grade graduation), dinner at Trader Vic's, and a Boz Scaggs concert at the Paramount in Oakland. Boz was touring "Moments", a favorite album of mine at the time, and this show featured a full orchestra in black tie.  It was a real big deal. There were other concerts with David through the years, but that one will always be my favorite. My big brother and I. On a "date". Pretty righteous.

  When we were a few years older, and David had gone away to college, he was introduced to The Grateful Dead. This would become a lifestyle for at least a decade for both myself and my two brothers.  But... what I hold close in my memory bank is the first time I heard them.
  David was home from school for the summer, and house sitting this amazing property down the coast. I hitch-hiked a ride down to spend an afternoon listening to music and smoking dope. It was a stunner day, and he had all the french doors open to the ocean side. The stereo was pleasantly blasting the Dead's "Jack Straw" from the album Europe '72. Was it the pot? The jaw dropping location? The perfect summer day? Whatever it was, I was a goner. Hook, line, and sinker. It was the start of a new chapter, and one that I am glad to have in this book of life, for sure.
  In just a year or two, Richie, my younger brother would become my music partner in crime, and I can't wait to delve into those memories...next time.

  I wish I had pictures to share some of these memories. In the early 70's, we didn't have our cameras at hand 24/7,  like we do now.
  So, what I picture is this:
  A brother and sister learning about life and it's myriad relationships, via their mutual love of music, and each other. It's a picture I'll be content to have close at hand to revisit on occasion, forever.


 






   

Me And Music 1 (it's a mighty big subject)

  Sitting here at my desk, I have my iTunes mix going on most of the time. Usually I have one of the mellow "Gallery Appropriate" mixes playing. But on a day like today, with all the fancy cars in town for the annual Really Fancy & Expensive Car Show, when nobody ventures into the gallery, well..... I figure I can play what I want to hear.
  So I put on one of my random favorites mixes. It's all good, perfect for paying bills and doing bookwork...la la la....

  Then.

  I am instantly transported to my 12 year old self, as the first notes of Neil Young's "Only Love Can Break Your Heart" starts playing. When did I add this? My tastes these days run more to the 90's "shoe-gazing" and grunge bands, or 80's indie, jangle-pop stuff... Where did this golden nugget of my youth come from? Well, well, well.
  What I once again realize is that music has been a huge part of my life, something I've wanted to write about, but it's so big...so filled with emotion... and a subject I have been hesitant to even try to approach here.

  I think I just need to take baby steps with this particular subject.

  The memory that was so massively sparked today, with Neil's help, is a memory of such longing, so bittersweet and so 12 year old intense.
  6th Grade. Small school. Small town. Every new kid that appears is fascinating, since most of us have grown up together, and a large percentage of our parents did, too. I have teachers that my mother and father had, when they were young. I have teachers that my mother and father grew up with. It's a very small town.

  Enter New Cute Boy (even now, in my beyond middle age, I'm embarrassed to mention his name). Let's call him NCB. His mom is a single mom, which is just sooo different. He is from the "wrong" part of town. His brown hair is a little too long, and his clothes are a little rough. He smokes. His eyes are clear blue, with long, long lashes. I can see him, right now. I especially liked this soft yellow button down shirt he would wear, sleeves rolled up (no local boys do this), tucked into baggy blue jeans. He wore well worn work boots, way before it was cool. He was 12.

 I was dangerously smitten.

  We all noticed him, of course. All the popular cute girls, too, I'm sure. But they were more interested in the older sporty boys. What the problem was, well, my very best girlfriend had a big crush on NCB.
She would talk for hours about him. She would hand me notes about him. We would stalk him at recess together. We would stalk him after school together. We would spend more hours at night on the phone talking about him. But it was me listening and her talking...

  I was hiding my crush like a disease.

  Since we were only little kids, our discussions about NCB were pretty tame. The biggest fantasies involved actually being able to meet him, or talk to him... maybe, if dreams came true, a chance to  dance with him at an upcoming school "Dance" which were always just around the corner. Pretty tame. I mean, we were just kids. This is way before MTV and all that has followed. We didn't have the sexual imagery so prevalent these days...there were the"bad" girls, sure, and then there were the rest of us. Clueless, for the most part.

  So all the chatter between my best pal and I about NCB were about her and NCB getting together in the dream world. I just kept my secret to myself...and my fake red leather diary. Lock and key included.
  Since I was a classic tom-boy with two brothers and zero sisters, I got along great with most of the boys. But NCB brought me to my knees. It was a first crush, and the hardest, for sure. Up to this point, I just dreamt about vampires and zombies, an occasional Japanese giant reptile, horses....boys just were not on my radar yet.
  This was life changing. Really. I suppose all of us go through it some point...that awareness of yourself in a whole new way. Sweet and so brutal.

  So of course, as these stories always seem to go, NCB does notice my best pal, and they are soon holding hands, etc, etc, etc. And of course I have to hear about every little detail, over and over and over, like little sharp razor strikes to my heart and soul. So sad and pathetic, that I hang on each and every little detail. I am a good pal. I say nothing but encouraging, 12 year old type things.
  I am astounded to find out from my best pal that NCB and I have the same birthday, that he smokes pot as well as the cigarettes, that he is often home alone all night while his mom is at work. He feeds himself, washes his own clothes and doesn't have TV because they can't afford one. He loves Neil Young and The Who. These details that he is sharing with her, day after day after day, right into summer.

  I am dying.

  Here is where music comes into my life. Since I can't "be" with NCB, I will try to be like him, do things he likes to do. The cigarettes are a total bust. I just couldn't do it, still don't. Not that I didn't get busted trying (neighbor caught me and his son sneaking cigs). Pot came a little later. What I did do right was this. I asked for a record player for Christmas and got one. I asked for Neil's "After The Gold Rush", and got that, too.
   I then get myself a little after school job (collecting 50 cents a month for the local paper home delivery service), which earned me $6.00 a month. I bought albums. First one was The Who's "Quadrophenia". Second was Neil Young w/ Crazy Horse "Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere". Soon to follow are all the Crosby, Stills Nash & Young albums, James Taylor, all the Neil Young albums, more Who, Joni Mitchell, Fleetwood Mac, The Byrds, even Elton John.

  I do this because I want to impress NCB with my coolness. Neil Young becomes my soundtrack for awhile. I actually become friends with NCB, we talk about music. We talk about books. We talk about life. My plan sort of works. Sort of.
  He calls me at home to talk about my pal. She calls me at home to talk about NCB. I am a good pal. I say nothing but encouraging, 12 year old type things. It sucks. But. But. But...........
  Now I have my music. I can shut my door, put on an album, put on headphones and let the music play long and loud. It helps the hurt. It makes things endurable. It becomes my drug of choice. My crush on NCB actually lasts a couple of years, way after my best pal has moved on to older and more dangerous boys. NCB and I become friends, but from afar. We are from different worlds, and as we get older, this becomes so apparent.
  I move away.

  Life goes on, with new crushes (lots of them, still to this day), new music, new friends, new towns to live in. NCB was killed in a freak boating accident, I discover many years after the fact. My best pal and I keep in touch for years, though not the last few.

I never divulge my 12 year old self's secret to her.

  Until this morning, when Neil Young broke into my iTunes mix, I have not thought of NCB in years. Why would I?
 Why? Because that is what music will do to your memory banks. Like some giant hammer coming right down onto your soft skull, whether you like the memories or not. For all the anguish at the time, I like this memory. I like that it is so huge in creating the person I am today, and I like myself a lot.

  I think I want to give the NCB of my youth a big old shout out of "THANKS" for being there at just the right time to truly rock my world.