Shawn Inmon's Blog, page 9

"Get some sleep and dream of rock 'n roll."

     If you read the title of this installment of the blog and immediately thought of Sammy John's Chevy Van , then you probably listen to too much 70's music, just like I do.  Dawn and I were doing housework this morning and listening to her iPod when this song came on and got me to thinking. Mostly, I was thinking I would rather not be doing housework, but I was also thinking about the song.
     Here's the facts: Sammy Johns is a singer-songwriter from North Carolina who wrote a number of hit songs for country artists like Waylon Jennings and Conway Twitty. If he's remembered at all today, though, it's for his signature 1975 hit Chevy Van.
     It's easy for me to understand why the song became so popular, making it all the way to #5 on Billboard Magazine's Hot 100. It touched a cultural nerve with the way it dealt with the easy sexuality of the day. Let's look at some of the lyrics:
     First, there's the set-up:
     I gave a girl a ride in my wagon
     She crawled in and took control
     She was tired 'cause her mind was a-draggin'
     I said, get some sleep and dream of rock and roll      Pretty basic stuff, although I find the line about "she took control" to be interesting. One, it reflects the new-found freedom and sexual aggressiveness that women were enjoying in the 70s.  On the other hand, I think that line distances the driver/narrator for taking responsibility for anything.     Then, just in case we are thinking she might be a woofer, there's this:     Her young face was like that of an angel
     Her long legs were tanned and brown
     Better keep your eyes on the road, son
     Better slow this vehicle down      I was fifteen years old when this song came out, and that stanza would stay with me for a long time after the song was over, which was probably the intent. Chevy Van: Driving barely pubescent boys crazy since 1975.     The Chorus:'     Cause like a princess she was layin' there
     Moonlight dancin' off her hair
     She woke up and took me by the hand
     We made love in my Chevy van
     And that's all right with me 
     Like so many things in life, to me the promise and the build-up in the song was better than the payoff. Whereas the previous verse was sung in a heavenly falsetto, the chorus is simple melody and distinctly lacking in subtlety.     Then there's the denouement:      I put her out in a town that was so small
     You could throw a rock from end to end
     A dirt-road main street, she walked off in bare feet
     It's a shame I won't be passin' through again 
     Let's see if I can summarize: Boy meets girl. Boy and girl make whoopee. Boy drops barefoot girl off in the next little town he passes through. Immediately regrets the fact that he will never see her again.       Just to show that he is already self-mythologizing the events, he sings the chorus two more times to cement them in his own mind.      As a time capsule of what male fantasies were like in the mid-70s, I think it's interesting. As a blueprint for being anything other than a lonely old man still driving around in a '72 Chevy Van... not so much.      Or, maybe I would just rather spend a few minutes reflecting on music than doing the dishes. I leave that to you to decide.


     

Guilty as charged

     In last night's blog, I mentioned a few artists that might come under the heading of "Guilty Pleasures." Before we can continue, we've got to define the term. A guilty pleasure is something (in this case a band or a song) that you would be severely mocked for loving by all your cooler, hipster friends. 
     For instance, if you're in a group of your friends (and that group is made up mostly of people 45+) and you say something like "They just don't make bands like The Clash anymore. No one makes music that matters like they did," everyone is likely to nod sagely and agree with you. On the other hand, if you say "You know who I miss? The Carpenters, that's who I miss," you're likely to be met with snickers and raised eyebrows, as though you might have lost your mind.
     So, let's get this out of the way: I like a lot of bands and songs that other people make fun of. Let's take The Carpenter's for instance. They were one of the largest selling bands of the 70s and believe it or not, there was a time when teenagers bought their music. A lot of their music. One of my favorite piece of trivia is this: In one of Playboy magazine's famous Music Polls, Karen Carpenter outpolled Led Zeppelin's John Bonham. As a drummer. While you're letting that sink in, here's what The Carpenter's really had: Karen's voice. If you have any doubt about that, check out this clip of Karen singing Leon Russell's Superstar live on The BBC. No autotuner there, just perfect pitch. The dress and the hairstyle were pretty indefensible, but it was the 70s.
     Before we go any further, let me drop this bomb on you: I like Barry Manilow. If you're not a dyed-in-the-wool Fanilow (yeah, that's a thing) you probably snickered at that. It's easy to mock his over the top theatrical style and the fact that many of his biggest hits have... a certain similarity to each other. I get that. To me, though, there's poignancy in so many of his songs. Looks Like We Made It for one. Could It Be Magic for another. And Weekend in New England for the trifecta. If you can listen to those three songs and not feel a stirring of emotion, well, you're a harder-hearted person than I am.
     Next, consider this threesome: James Taylor, Jim Croce and John Denver. All three were guitar-playing singer/songwriters that had great careers in the 70s, although Croce's was cut tragically short when he died in a plane crash in 1973. Somehow, Sweet Baby James and Croce managed to retain a certain cachet despite their commercial success. Not so, John Denver, but man, I love his songs. Maybe not Thank God I'm a Country Boy, or even Take me Home, Country Roads. But how about Annie's Song or the moving I'm Sorry or Goodbye Again. I've never figured why he's put down so often. Maybe it's because of the sunny sincerity he radiated so naturally. That's not an attribute that's cool or hip. What a voice, though, and what a songwriter.
     The truth is, if I wrote about all my Guilty Pleasures, this would be The Blog That Doesn't End  (go ahead, click that link, I dare ya.) The truth is, nobody seems to respect Billy Joel much these days, but I still love him, especially Songs From an Italian Restaurant and Until the Night. Don't even get me started on The Bee Gees. Even with two of them gone off this planet, they still get no respect. To Love Somebody, indeed. 
     I can think of whole genres that no one else will admit to listening to, but I love, like 60s bubblegum music from Crazy Elephant, The Archies or The Ohio Express. Just because music was originally aimed at eight year olds doesn't mean it's bad does it? OK, maybe it does.
     What about you?  Who do you unabashedly love no matter what anyone else thinks?

Music from Feels Like the First Time, Part Deux

    I suppose that if you haven't read Feels Like the First Time, this post won't make too much sense to you. So go buy it! (I kid, I kid.) Suffice it to say that it is a book about falling in love in the 70's, and there is a lot of 70's music written about in the book.      I wrote earlier this week about the songs I used as Chapter Titles in Feels Like the First Time, but about halfway through I realized I was creating the blog equivalent of War and Peace. If you missed that post, you can find it: here.  Now, here are the rest of the songs, along with the "why...".
Chapter Fifteen - Every Time I Think of You by The Babys. This chapter dealt with starting college at the University of Washington, and this song was everywhere in the fall of 1978. I initially used it for the quote "People say our love affair will surely pass, but I know a love like ours will last and last." That was in doubt for a long time, but not anymore.
Chapter Sixteen - How Deep is Your Love? by The Bee Gees. I know it became passe to like or even acknowledge the Bee Gees a long time ago, but I don't care. I believe they were just victims of their own incredible success. For this chapter, I wasn't asking the title question of Dawn - I already knew how she felt. I was asking myself: Did I really care enough about her to let her go?
Chapter Seventeen - Feels So Good by Chuck Mangione. If you've never heard the first 1:30 of the long version of this song, please click the link and give a listen. I think that is 90 seconds of musical perfection. And, as it turned out, it was a pretty good soundtrack for what happened in this chapter. 
Chapter Eighteen - More Than a Feeling by Boston. Often denigrated as "corporate rock," I couldn't have cared less, then or now. When I was 16 years old, my car had an 8 Track player. The problem was, I only had three eight tracks: KISS's Dressed to Kill, The Bay City Rollers' Greatest Hits (Thanks for the Christmas present, Grams) and Boston's debut album. I listened to a lot of Boston. I desperately wanted to use the lyric "I closed my eyes and she slipped away" because it was so perfect. 
Chapter Nineteen - Lost Without Your Love by Bread. I guess I might as well get all my Guilty Pleasures out of the way right up front (I love Barry Manilow and The Carpenters as much as I do Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin) and that includes Bread. I didn't need a lyric here, the title said it all for me. 
Chapter Twenty - Please Don't Let me be Misunderstood - Yusuf Islam. I know this song has been recorded many times, notably by Eric Burdon and The Animals, Nina Simone and a disco version (!) by Santo Esmerelda. Ultimately, it was the slow, soulful version from the former Cat Stevens that I had in mind as I was writing this chapter. 
Chapter Twenty One - Against The Wind by Bob Seger. As the story moved closer to present day, I originally intended to use all newer songs, just to show that I didn't stop listening to new music in 1979. It was more like 1995, I think. (Just kidding, I still like new music.) When I started looking for song titles that fit the mood of what was going on in the chapters, I found my attention kept wandering back to my favorite artists, which absolutely includes Bob Seger.
Chapter Twenty Two - Time Passages by Al Stewart. There are so many appropriate lyrics from this song I wouldn't know where to start. And how can you not love Al Stewart's voice?
Chapter Twenty Two - Reminiscing by The Little River Band. "I want to make you understand, I'm talking about a lifetime plan."
Chapter Twenty Three - And You, My Love by Chris Rea. I think Chris Rea is a genius. His albums Auberge and The Road to Hell are two of my 100 Favorite Albums of All Time. You had to know I had a list, right? To me, this is his most haunting song, and I listened to it on constant repeat as the events of this chapter unfolded.
Chapter Twenty Four - My Angel Baby by Toby Beau. An overlooked gem of the 70's. Could have easily been featured on K-BILLY's Super Sounds of the Seventies weekend on Reservoir Dogs. Here's a little trivia for you: Toby Beau is the name of the band, not a person. And, they are still together and playing today, which leads me to wonder, can vocalist Rennetta Dennet still hit that spleen-busting final note?
Chapter Twenty Five - And I Love You So by Don Mclean. Perry Como and Elvis Presley recorded well known versions of this song, but it was always Don Mclean's voice that haunted me. "But life began again, the day you took my hand."
Chapter Twenty Six - Breathe (In the Air) by Pink Floyd. Lying on the floor in the Seattle Center Laserium listening to this song with Dawn was one of the most emotional experiences of my life. I did my best to capture that moment in the book, but I know I fell short there.
Chapter Twenty Seven - God of Thunder by KISS. Is it possible to reunite a lip-syncing KISS Tribute band more than thirty years after their last performance? You would think not. Thus the saying "The difference between fiction and reality is that fiction has to make sense."
Chapter Twenty Eight - At Last by Etta James. What else could our final chapter be?
Afterword - Get It Right The Next Time by Gerry Rafferty. I guess this song by one of my most-beloved artists has turned out to be my theme song. I keep getting things wrong, but there's no shame in that. There's only shame in giving up. I was devastated the day Gerry Rafferty died because I knew there would never be any more songs like this one. 

You Had to Be There

     I read You Had to Be There by Sharon Cathcart a few months ago and still find myself going back and re-reading little sections of it over and over. It is her autobiographical look back at the Portland Oregon music scene in the very early '80s. Since that coincided perfectly with the time I was hanging out listening to live bands in Seattle, I can attest that she got the fine details right. More important, she got the feel of that moment just right. 
     We were young, self-involved, and pretty sure we were witnessing the changing of the guard in the musical world. My own memories of that time include long-gone venues like Astor Park, Hibble and Hydes, Mr. Bills and Baby O's.Hible and Hydes was a dive in Pioneer Square but was popular because they stayed open until 5 AM. Somehow, when I was 21 or 22 years old it seemed like a great idea to stay out until five and then go get breakfast at The Dog House, sleep all day and start it over again that night.  Every time we went out, we were convinced we were seeing the Next Big Thing. Even the bands were in on the joke. 
     The Heaters (eventually the Heats) were billed semi-tongue in cheek as "Seattle's Soon to be Famous" band. When The Heats didn't make it big, our hopes fell on The Allies, which was my favorite local band. When they made the finals of MTV's Basement Tapes with Emma Peel we thought they were off and running, but they broke up soon after that. In the end, the Seattle Music Scene did change the world, but it wasn't until a decade later when the flannel shirts took over.
     The names are different in You Had to be There but the vibe is the same. Everything felt so damn important then. There's other good stuff in the book. It's not a dry recitation of the bands and venues. It includes the author's personal growth and gives a sometimes funny, sometimes very sad recounting of her romantic struggles. This book did a great job of putting me in a time machine and taking me back to a happy, if not necessarily innocent, time. It's available from Amazon for $1.99 for the Kindle or $7.99 in paperback.
     One other happy memory from the time - here's a link  to a song from what I think was the most creative Seattle band of the '80s - Mondo Vita, and Technical Difficulties. 
     What about you?  What are your favorite local bands from when you were young and thought the music you listened to was the only music in the world?

Dog is my co-pilot

     I was reading The Tacoma News Tribune today (yes, I still read thin slices of dead trees with ink on them) when I saw a story about a man in Orting who was sentenced to six months in jail for a horrific attack on his neighbor's Golden Labrador Retriever. I won't go into the details of what he did, but I will say I don't understand how any human being can think it's OK to treat a dog or any other animal the way he did. Six months in jail seems too brief by far, but I'm sure the judge was limited by the sentencing guidelines. 
     As I read that story, I couldn't help but think about the dogs that have been in my life. Dawn and I have our two Chocolate Labs, Hershey and Sadie. They are littermates, but are very different, even though they both have the loving, eager-to-please Labrador personalities. Hershey is the get up and go dog. If she gets even a whiff of a thrown ball or Frisbee, she is whining and salivating like Pavlov's dogs. Sadie's best friend, meanwhile, is the softest spot on the floor she can find, which is usually immediately under my feet. It took me awhile to get used to the idea that I couldn't take my feet off the couch without checking for Sadie first. They're both young dogs, only four years old, but their premature graying under the muzzle makes me worry for them. Are they aging more quickly than normal?  Are they going to be with us for a good long time?
     I've had half a dozen other dogs in my life, and they've all left indelible impressions on my heart, but there are two in particular that I would be anxious to see at The Rainbow Bridge. If you know me, you might be surprised that I would write about The Rainbow Bridge. I am by nature a cynic, and I question everything. Still, the idea of seeing my German Shepard Sheba and my mixalot mutt Jenny is so comforting to me that I can't manage my normal level of disbelief. 
     Do you know when you're ten years old, and having a dog seems like the most important thing in the world to you? For me, that dog was Sheba. She was a white German Shepard, and she was small for her breed. She had the kindest eyes and heart of any dog I've ever known. Like my Sadie still does today, she didn't just wag her tail when I came home, she wagged the whole lower half of her body. I took care of her from fifth grade on, always sneaking milk and eggs to pour over her dog food, and summoning her from distant corners of the neighborhood with an ear-splitting Tarzan yell. Yes, I was an odd child. When I left for college, Sheba stayed behind, and I didn't know she was gone until after the fact when Mom called to tell me. 
     I met Jenny much later in life, in 1999. I went to the Humane Society in Tacoma, looking for a dog for Desi, Samy and Brina. I saw a litter of little brown dogs that had such fat bellies that they looked like root beer barrels with little legs attached. There was six or seven of the little rascals, and it was hard to tell one from the other. After several minutes of watching them, I saw one of the puppies move away from the rest of the litter, turn its back like it was slightly embarrassed, and relieve itself. Somehow, I knew that was the dog for me, and that was Jenny, my half-Chow, half Retriever mix.
     Shortly after that, my first wife and I separated and divorced, and Jenny became my constant companion. When I went to the real estate office or showed houses, she went with me. Her favorite thing was to hike up and down Mt. Peak with me. She liked to leave the trail and run down through the woods. Because of her size and color, people often thought they were seeing a wild fox. 
     Jenny and I went for walks every morning and night. Although she stayed close to me when we were inside, she loved to run ahead on our walks through our neighborhood. One night in September 2009, I made it about a block when I realized I didn't hear Jenny's nails clicking on the pavement. I turned around and saw her standing on the front porch, looking at me, unable to go. My heart sank. There had been no warning of ill health before that night, but she went so fast. I couldn't stand her pain, so I held her close, petted her and told her what a good girl she was and how I loved her while the vet slipped the needle into her vein. 
     I was distraught when all my pets left me, but for some reason, losing Jenny was the hardest of all. Is it just harder as we get older? How about you? Do you think our pets will be waiting for us somewhere on the other side?
     Here's a link to Shannon by Henry Gross, which was written when Beach Boy Carl Wilson's Irish Setter passed away.

Music from "Feels Like the First Time"

     On December 5th 2006,  I sat down to write the first chapters of what would eventually become Feels Like the First Time. Before I wrote the first word,  I made a playlist for my iPod. I put the songs on it that reminded me of that innocent time in my life. For the next five years, I never sat down to write without having those songs playing.
     I started every chapter with a quote from one of the songs of the era. So many of my memories of those times were indelibly linked to the music of the day. Some people have a photographic memory. I seem to have a "phonographic" memory. To me, the music of the 1970s seemed like another character in the book.
     Eventually, I learned that those chapter lead-ins were in violation of Copyright law, and so I had to replace them. Although lyrics are protected by Copyright, song titles are not. So, I replaced the quoted lyrics with the titles of songs I was listening to during each phase of the story. I didn't make any mention of it in the book, because I didn't want to distract from the story, but I wonder if everyone realized that every chapter title is also a song title.  
     Just in case you missed any of them, I thought I would list the chapter titles, along with the artist that performed the song.

Chapter One - Where True Love Goes by Yusuf Islam, otherwise known as Cat Stevens. I named this first chapter after this song because it's what I was listening to when I pulled up to Bill & Bea's and saw Dawn for the first time in 27 years.


Chapter Two - A Long Time Ago by Jim Croce. I originally used this song for a lyric from it: "I am young, but I am so alone." Once I abandoned the lyrics, I kept this title because I love Jim Croce and because this is the chapter that re-set the story back to the 70s.


Chapter Three - Great Expectations by KISS. Another song where I originally had used a lyric instead of the title: "Do you want to play the role?" was such an appropriate line, because, yes, I did.


Chapter Four - Younger Girl by The Lovin' Spoonful. Dawn and I loved The Spoonful and listened to them a lot. This song perfectly captured what I was feeling when John Sebastian sang "Should I hang around, actin' like her brother? In a few more years, they'd call us right for each other."


Chapter Five - Just a Song Before I Go by Crosby Stills & Nash. Another lyrics place-holder. I wanted to use the line "And when we opened up the door, I had to be alone." Since I spent much of this chapter unconscious, it felt appropriate.


Chapter Six - Feels Like the First Time by Foreigner. Our first date, first kiss, perfect song.


Chapter Seven - Dazed and Confused by Led Zeppelin. I love Zep, but mostly I was looking for a song title that represented what I felt watching my Mom go through her most difficult times.


Chapter Eight - Magnet and Steel by Walter Egan. I feel this so strongly, then and now, and I love Walter Egan, who is mostly forgotten today.


Chapter Nine - Always and Forever by Heatwave. This was an easy one. This is what Dawn and I always thought of as "our song."


Chapter Ten - Lose Your Heart by Bob Welch. The truth is, I had to find a Bob Welch song to include, and the title of this one fit this chapter so perfectly. I knew I had lost my heart, but had she?


Chapter Eleven - Hot Summer Nights by Walter Egan. Losing this lyric hurt the most of all of them. Walter's words "We shared our hopes, our dreams and our goals/and the fundamental roll." I love it so much, I'm looking for an excuse to call another book or story "Fundamental Roll."


Chapter Twelve - Love is Like Oxygen by Sweet. Sweet is another 70's favorite. I love their combo of pop sweetness and muscular rock n roll. I wish anyone was making music like this today.  If they are, feel free to drop me a line and let me know!


Chapter Thirteen - Slip Sliding Away by Paul Simon. Until this chapter, everything in my life had been getting better and better. This is where it started to slip away.


Chapter Fourteen - Breakdown by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. And, this is where it really fell apart.


And... that's enough for one blog post. I'll do the last half of the chapter titles another day. 

Transcendent Moments

     There are big moments that are supposed to change your life - the day you graduate, or propose, or have your first child. Those generally are moments that you see coming over the horizon.
     What I'm thinking about today, though, are those moments when everything fall sinto place quite unexpectedly. I chose the picture above because it represents one of those moments. I took it on a hike Dawn and I went on last year.
     Today was another. We did the Puyallup today. Admit it, if you're from Western Washington, you just heard the song in your head, didn't you? It was a perfect  blue-sky and sunshine Indian Summer sort of day, so we put off the housework and home repairs that were on the agenda for another day and played hooky. 
     We walked through the pavilions, seeing the All-Time Record Setting Pumpkin (twelve hundred and some pounds) that was grown right here in Enumclaw. We also listened to a bunch of the hucksters deliver their spiels. That's one of my favorite parts of the fair because they're so up front about being hucksters.  A hundred years ago, they would have been selling hair tonic, but in 2012, they're selling magic mops and waterless cookware.
     After three or four hours of walking around, we walked by one of the entertainment stages and it suddenly occurred to me that I didn't care what act was up next, I wanted to see them. OK, I really just wanted to sit down.
     That next act turned out to be the Doo-Wah Riders. Based on their name, I thought they might be an odd combination of 50s doo-wop and classic country. As it turned out, they were a tight, high-energy group that focused on country music of the 80s (Alabama, Eddie Rabbitt) albeit with a Cajun twist. Any band that features a stand up bass, a fiddle player and a slide guitar is off to a good start with me.
     And... that's where one of those Transcendent Moments dropped gently into my lap. I was sitting there, resting my feet, listening to good music with my arm around the love of my life and I felt a peaceful tranquility settle over me. It was one of those moments that nothing could improve. I've always thought of that as  an Air That I Breathe moment. You know, "If I could make a wish, I think I'd pass."  
     Like all moments must, it passed, and we were once again wandering through the fair, wondering if it was worth it to stand in line to get some Scones to bring home. (We ultimately went with "no" on the Scones question.) But, for a few wonderful minutes on this day, I can say that I was completely happy. And isn't that more than enough for any one day?




     

The Pleasure of My Company

     I suppose I would be a more successful blogger if I could pick a subject and stick with it.  The conventional wisdom is that then whatever group of people in the world are interested in that subject may eventually find you, squat on your blog and engage in endless debates over whether Hans Solo fired first or if Batman and Robin is the worst movie based on a comic book ever made. (Yes and yes are my votes.)
     My problem is that my interests are ten miles wide and two inches deep. There are things I love beyond all reason, like The Beatles, but there will always be bigger Beatles fans than me. (Hello, Ian MacDonald!) I always thought I was one of the bigger Lindsey Buckingham fans in the world, but the last time I saw him, I saw people who were so fanatical they scared me, and I wasn't even the object of their fervent attention. So, I've come to grips with the idea that no matter who I love, or how passionately I love them, there will always be someone out there who loves them just a little bit more. And that's fine. 
     Today, I'd like to focus on Steve Martin. Like many in my generation, I became aware of Steve Martin through Saturday Night Live. His performance of King Tut still stands as one of the highlights of that show for me. It's not his Wild and Crazy Guy persona that interests me, though, it's his writing, which is just one of his diverse interests.
     Steve Martin got his start in "show business" at a young age, working an entry level gig in Disneyland into a magic demonstration act. In his autobiography Born Standing Up, he said that was where he began perfecting his timing and chops. 
     I can't think of another performer that has had as much success in as many fields as Steve Martin. At one point or another, he was the biggest stand up comedian in the world, plus he's been an actor, writer, playwright and musician. I'm just a little surprised he hasn't decided to become a painter or sculptor on the side, just for fun.
     Mostly, though, I want to ask, have you read any of his books?  Specifically, I'm wondering about Shopgirl, which he turned into a movie starring *ahem* Steve Martin, or The Pleasure of My Company. That book is not just my favorite Steve Martin story, but one of my favorite books of all time. 
     I started The Pleasure of My Company with fairly low expectations. I had really liked Shopgirl, but this one seemed so... slight, so inconsequential. It's told in first person perspective, through the eyes of a man who may be a genius, or may be "slow," it's a little hard to tell. That character, Daniel, is a gentle soul who suffers from a number of maladies of the mind. He can't imagine stepping off an 8" curb, so his many trips to the local Rite Aid have to follow a convoluted route that doesn't require this leap of faith. He also requires that his apartment always has a consistent number of watts of power burning from his lights. So, if he turns off a light in his closet, he immediately needs to turn on the same wattage in his bathroom. Not surprisingly, Daniel lives alone, and mostly between his own two ears.
     For a book with a main character that is mostly house-bound, a lot happens in The Pleasure of My Company. It's not a laugh-out-loud type of book, but it has a sure sweetness to it that goes down easy. It never seems like the author is trying too hard. Everything is natural and unaffected. 
     At one point, a young boy comes into the story. It seems like a recipe for disaster to have a normal, active child and a hopelessly neurotic OCD-sufferer throw their lot in together. In the hands of a less-sure writer, there would have been predictable scenes of chaos and regret. Not here. Instead, a most unlikely friendship springs up that leads to love and kindness.  I greatly admire the fact that the main character never expresses in words how he feels about the boy, but you know clear to the heart of the matter.
     The Pleasure of My Company isn't just my favorite Steve Martin story.  It's one of my Top Ten Books of the Last Ten Years. I think it's that good.

The Night Chicago Died

     Those four fine looking boys are Paper Lace, a band from Nottingham England. OK, I've cleaned my glasses. They're not fine looking boys, but they are Paper Lace. They look like a scruffy, disreputable version of The Bay City Rollers.
     If Paper Lace is remembered at all today, it is for the song The Night Chicago Died, a song that went all the way to #1 on Casey Kasem's American Top 40 in the summer of 1974. In America at least, Paper Lace is a One Hit Wonder, but they were almost that much rarer breed: the Two Hit Wonder.
     Before they hit it big with The Night Chicago Died, Paper Lace had a Top Five song in England called Billy, Don't be a Hero. Like every good British band, what they really wanted was to make it big in America, so they were planning on releasing it as a single here in the states. Before they could get their American version pressed and released, though, an interloper emerged - the immortal Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. BDatH, as I like to call them, rushed into the studio and put out a cover version of Billy Don't be a Hero. As these things often work (just ask the black artists of the '50s who saw white-bread cover versions of their songs covered by Pat Boone and his ilk) it was the cover version that was the biggest hit, making it all the way to #1. Paper Lace's original version stalled at #96.
     Paper Lace wasn't going to take any chances with their follow-up. They hurriedly pressed a single of The Night Chicago Died, and if you listened to AM radio the rest of that year, it was unavoidable. Mitch Murray and Peter Callender, who wrote the song, admitted that they got their "story" for the song from watching old gangster movies.
     My primary memory of the song is laying on the bedroom floor of my nephew Tommy's house in Maple Valley and calling the poor DJ on KJR endlessly, trying to convince them to tell us exactly when they were going to play the song. We were making a mix tape the old fashioned way, by recording the songs we wanted straight off the radio and onto our little cassette tape recorder. The DJ finally acquiesced, but I think that was just a testament to our ability to be a royal pain in the ass. I had that cassette tape for many years, with badly recorded versions of Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks and The Streak by Ray Stevens. I say "badly recorded" because making a mix tape off the radio is an inexact science at best. The DJ would often talk over the beginning (how annoying!) or you would catch the last few seconds of the song before the one you wanted. I think I had the last few bars of Anne Murray's Snowbird  leading into The Night Chicago Died.
     It's been 38 years since I laid on the green shag rug in Tommy's room and played Strat-o-Matic Football and harassed innocent DJ's, but I remember that more clearly than what I had for lunch today. I might be getting old. I have to wonder... did you ever make a homemade mix tape off the radio?

More, but not better

     I decided to include the Wild Cherry album cover for a couple of reasons. One, it was a pretty sexy, eye-catching cover in its day, and two, it represents something to me. I was sixteen years old when this album came out, and I wanted it. I really wanted it. Since the year was 1976, I did what kids did back then - odd jobs, like mowing a neighbor's yard, or washing their car until I had the $5.99 I needed to run out to Yard Birds and (finally!) grab the album.
     I don't mean to say that life was hard in the 70s, because it wasn't. Contrary to the myth, we didn't walk five miles to school barefoot in the snow. I rode with Mrs. Anderson and Bus #9, unless I smarted off too much, in which case I might have had to walk for a few days.
     No, I mention this because it speaks directly to how inaccessible music was at that time. I didn't know for sure if I wanted the whole album. I mostly just wanted Play That Funky Music. But, if I wanted to hear that song when I wanted to hear it, not when the radio wanted to play it, I had one choice: go out and buy the album. 
     Today, if a sixteen year old kid wants to hear whatever the 2012 version of Play That Funky Music is (I hesitate to think what song that might be) they have a lot of options. I suppose they could still buy the CD, but I doubt they would. Instead, they would go to YouTube and listen to it as many times as they want. Then, if they still liked it, they could download it from iTunes or the equivalent for .99. If they had a little larceny in their heart, they could steal it from one of the peer to peer networks like Bearshare or Limewire. Ultimately, they'd probably load it onto an iPod that already has three or four thousand songs on it competing for their attention. 
     And... that's the key difference to me, because even though I fanatically loved music at that same age, when I finally bought that Wild Cherry album, it brought the number of albums I owned up to about eight. Because I had access to far fewer songs, I think it's likely that each one of those albums meant more to me. I can still recall every musical nuance from every one of those albums: The Beatles Abbey Road, Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, even The Carpenter's Close to You. 
     Don't laugh. I love The Carpenters.
     I cant help but wonder whether that 2012 16 year old loves their music with the same intensity. This is not a direct comment on the quality of today's music (a topic for another day) but on the sheer volume of the music available today. If I'd had access to 5,000 songs on my iPod as a teenager, I don't know if those albums that I love so much would resonate with me after all these years. It feels a little like trying to take a shower by standing under Niagara Falls. It's overkill.
     So, what do you think? Does the volume and accessibility of music today detract from the passion for music?