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.)
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.
And maybe Henry the Horse will dance the waltz...
She's in Love With Me and I Feel Fine,
Greg
