Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite- Pt.1

Driven to choose between music or food, music or drink, music or recreational pursuits; one or the other, no compromises, no 50/50, no "sneaking of the non-chosen", I firmly believe that I would always choose music.

I am supremely grateful I need not make a stand in a solitary position on this.

I recently encountered an individual that was as foreign to me as soap is to the French. (Sorry, can't resist an international stereotype now and then.)  During our conversation I learned that this person really didn't like music. I'll just write that out again for you. This person really didn't like music. I asked if he meant the popular music of the times. I certainly could find common ground with him there.  "No," he said. "I just don't care for music in general."

Those of you who know me know that I am seldom at a loss for words. I...    just...    stared...
I couldn't fathom this position. Did he grow up in the town from Footloose? Had he grown up near an accordion factory? (apologies to Mr. Yankovick.) After what seemed like 5 minutes, I started with the usual suspects:

Beethoven? Elvis? Frank Sinatra? The Beatles?

No.No.No.No.

After a brief attempt at an explanation that still made zero sense to me, we changed the subject.  In most other areas we had common ground and continued talking for about half an hour.  He paid his tab (ok, I was in a pub) and left. I stayed, and even the inexplicable sublimity of a 1999 Thomas Hardy Ale couldn't shake the mental pall that this music revelation had painted on me.  I racked my brain for an artist, elusive to me during our talk, that might have at least brought forth a, "Well, I guess they're ok," but to no avail.

I sat and wondered why this was bothering me so, on an otherwise perfect afternoon.  He didn't need to appreciate music for me to...  Lots of folks have VERY different tastes in music than me, but that is merely an occasional annoyance.  Why then, did this ruin the rest of my day and part of the following?

When the reason came to me, I felt like a complete idiot.  As the simple G-C guitar intro to Big Star's 13 began playingin my car, I inwardly and outwardly smiled. What a gift it is, music.  If your thing is Robert Johnson, Robert Plant, or  even Robert Goulet.  It brings emotion. It brings memories. It brings fellowship.  As I brightened up, I had a twinge of regret, not only for my new acquaintance, but for myself as I thought of the thousands of songs I can never hear again for the first time.  It's an absolute blessing, music; but I feel the pinnacle of this blessing is the first time you hear a new song, a new band, a new sound.

My Dad introduced me to my first music I suppose, and I unknowingly absorbed it completely. It was many years later I realized the impact his love of music had on me.  My first memories of music were Buck Owens and the Buckaroos. Then George Jones. Then Johnny Cash. I can visualize the covers of those first 3 albums. I put them here for those who would like to...

Dad's sister, my Aunt Carol, next introduced me to different sounds. The 5 Stairsteps. Jim Croce. Paul Revere and the Raiders (first version of Satisfaction I ever heard.)  And then a few Capitol 45s with an orange and yellow swirl...A band called The Beatles. I was too young to have seen them on Ed Sullivan as so many of my musical peers had. They had been broken up for a year or two by the time I touched the needle to the groove on I Feel Fine and heard Paul's single bass note feeding back, as George kicked off the song with the most exciting riff I had heard to date. (Paul's feedback is credited as the first feedback on a record. Thankfully, it wouldn't be the last)  I sat there by the small turntable hardly able to contain myself. There were loud guitars! The drummer sounded like he had 4 arms! The harmonies sent a thrill through me!  I listened over and over, finding something new each time - a red line enthusiasm level!

After an hour or so of this song, I flipped the 45 over and read She's A Woman.  Hmmmm? Could this band possibly have 2 good songs? Probably not, but I'll give a listen anyway.  A loud guitar playing what I eventually learned were 7th chords, chopped away in rhythm for eight beats, then became offbeats as the drums and bass kicked in. My first experience with the timing turning around in a song. As a drummer now, my bandmates often accuse me of turning the time around...  McCartney's almost screamed lyrics were meant to emulate Little Richard. An artist I would learn about later. (This is another GREAT thing about music. No artist is an island and influences are just a roadmap for new and great music even when chronologically challenged.)

I couldn't believe my good fortune! I had access to ONE record with TWO great, exciting songs on it!  Did anyone else know about these songs?!?!  What were the odds of both sides being great?!?!?! I was soon to find out, with the Beatles, the odds are about 1 in 1.  Thus began my love affair with The Beatles.

As I think back on my friend devoid of musical pleasure I sometimes plot to somehow introduce this experience. But as I remember, and relive time and time again that great feeling, I realize that although musical experiences have similarities and in some ways can be shared, they are unique and owned by each individual listener.

I pray that somehow a song reaches my friend someday. So.....Being For the Benefit of Mr. Kite, share music.
And maybe Henry the Horse will dance the waltz...

She's in Love With Me and I Feel Fine,

Greg

Looking Through a Glass Onion, and Other Perspectives...

I am nothing, if not a master procrastinator. I was actually gonna type that last night, but...well, you know.


I recently entered the blogosphere only to become "blogged" down and quickly forgot about it, choosing instead to post short quips on various social media sites. Funny in small doses. Would Groucho blog? 

I think not. But having no delusions of possessing Julius Marx's wit, I reenter the realm.


When last I posted, my family was embarking on a yearlong sabbatical.  I remember the first time, 4 or 5 years ago, that Jenny mentioned this to me by name.


"We really need to save and plan for the sabbatical if we're gonna make it happen," she said.


I nodded and probably verbally agreed all the while wondering what the heck a 'sabbatical' was.  I was pretty sure it had something to do with church. I was off in my interpretation even if it is in the Bible.  Turns out, in a round about way, I was right.


Three months into our year, I have found much spiritual awakening. This is in no small part due to my introduction to our new minister at CFUMC, Jim McRae. He has been a great blessing to my family and our church. The other great experience that has eluded me until now is the full feeling of family that we have just started to realize. There's something to be said for less structured activities and more room for improvisation.

But enough from the Ned Flanders side of my personality.

  
I have always enjoyed traveling. That is, visiting new places and cultures. However, the actual "traveling" has always left a bad taste in my mouth. I hated driving. I hated flying, but less than driving because of the obvious less time spent. I even get antsy on the ferry from St. Thomas to St. John! C'mon, there's really something wrong here. 


This first three months started the same way. EVERY time I was in the car I had fingernail sensitivity and was ready to explode at the first, "Daddy, I can't find my book."  I would have that nanosecond out of body experience where I was Godzilla-size, shaking our car until the intangible book appeared on the ground.


"THERE'S YOUR BOOK! LOSE IT NO MORE CHILD!"


I'm not saying it's all sunshine, lollypops and rainbows in the car now, but at least instead of Godzilla, I'm Charlie Chan, carefully examining where the wayward tome might lie.  "Ah, Number One Son, where was the book when you last possessed it?"


The point I'm attempting to make, horribly, is that I'm learning what a gift every day is...What a wonder children are, even when they are on a different frequency than you.

It's not only the kids. Jenny and I are becoming more patient with each other as well. Jenny, of course is doing the Yeoman's job in this department. I'm not the easiest person to live with.



   
So I will commence again, and hopefully stay the course this time, to share my thoughts and feelings with anyone who might care to read them.  So far we have visited 20 states, 2 cities in Canada, logged well over 7000 driving miles, eaten in some 'once in a lifetime' restaurants and seen things that will be warmly etched in our memories forever.  I am so blessed to be in this place at this time in my life. Physically and mentally...

My Blog name is lifted from the Beatles' Glass Onion.  

When Lennon wrote the song, Cast Iron Shore referred to the foundry on the banks of the Mersey River near Liverpool.  I found it apropos to my current situation: living with the Atlantic outside my back deck and cooking as often as I can.

Now we enter the week of Thanksgiving, having so much for which to be thankful.
I wish everyone well!


I will be posting pics from our travels that Jenny may not have posted on her blog.
brookssabbatical.blogspot.com


Please feel free to comment or contact me with thoughts and ideas, or just to catch up.

May your crab pots always be full,


Greg