“It’s not a song till
it touches your heart
It’s not a song till
it tears you apart
After what’s left of
what’s right and what’s wrong
Till it gets through
to you
It’s not a song.”
(It’s Not A Song, Amy Grant 1985)
Music has
this way of creeping up on you. It can play like it is the soundtrack to your
life. We can travel with it if we care to pay attention. It seems we have no choice
but to let the music play. Almost every event in our lives is accompanied by
this song or that song. When we look back, those songs play in our head, over
and over again. We associate our lives with the euphony. There plays a
symphony, a melody, a parade of note after note. Some love you like a love
song, others scream like it’s a hard song. Some tell a story while some just
linger, both ever associated with one thing after another. We collect each tune
like comic books or silver spoons. Each song we encounter takes its place on
the list. When we close our eyes and focus, we can hear them. Sometimes they
flow in the background, a subtle reminder that, at times, the brain really is
little more than a cerebral version of YouTube.
Some are fierce, their volume is often more than you can handle. Just let that
music play. As life goes on and our collection grows and grows, so too does the
affiliation. I got into Radio Broadcasting for just that reason. Songs become
our friend, we rely on them in the end. I think music is as important to our
lives as the lessons that we learn. Everything has an underscore. Every note of
music is more like God humming along than anything else.
There’s no telling
where love may appear
Something in my heart
keeps saying
My someplace is here”
(Everybody Loves Somebody, Dean Martin 1964)
I remember
it like it was yesterday. The first time I actually recognized music for what
it is stands out as one of my strongest memories of my childhood. My father and
I were both working in the basement, it was just the two of us. I can see the
turntable, sitting on a small table just inside the rec room door. I can see my
father switch it on, reaching for an LP jacket and then he quickly removed the
black disc from within. I thought to myself that it would make a grand Frisbee
or a ninja weapon, whichever. He placed it on the playing pad, engaged a button
or lever, then walked away as the song began to play. I can still hear that singing
in my head. My father has always liked the older stuff. At the time, most of
his listening pleasure was new stuff. Charlie Pride, Waylon Jennings and even
Dean Martin all mixed in some cacophony, a blaze of scales and vocals and
performance anxiety. As “Everybody Loves
Somebody” played in the foreground, I first joined into the singing. This
memory is strong within me. I have to admit that the idea of a Dean Martin song
left me confused. No country backbeat, no mandolin or banjo reached out to
greet me. I believe it was the Tin Pan
Alley sound that most garnered my attention. It was an introduction to
music outside my listening pleasure. I’d heard the sounds before but this time
I noticed. My Mom only added to the mix. The Mamas and the Papas, John Denver
and Judy Collins danced with George Jones, Charlie Rich and Dolly Parton. These
variables well blended, leading me, I dare say, to appreciate much more than a
mere artist. It was the sound that attracted me the most, although the lyrics
always paced close behind in the running. When I stop to think about it, Dean
Martin and that silly song helped to begin my musical definition. The song has
become a touchstone of sorts, despite the fact that I just cannot stand it. It
did me well at the time. Any future orchestrations would consist of the same concoctions,
a potpourri of varying styles, and motifs and genre. My tastes are quite diverse,
just as experience has taught them to be. It can be heartwarming, almost
comforting, to see how it all began for me. It is better to just listen, to let
the soundtrack lead the way. The music has a way of telling the story for you.
“High on a hill was a
lonely goatherd
Lay odl lay odl lay
hee hoo
Loud was the voice of
the lonely goatherd
Lay odl lay odl loo
Folks in a town that
was quite remote heard
Lay odl lay odl lay
hee hoo
Lusty and clear from
the goatherd’s throat heard
Lay odl lay odl loo”
(The Lonely Goatherd, The Sound of Music Soundtrack 1965)
I have to
admit that as a homosexual, I find it awkward to like something that is
stereotypically gay. I don’t care if people know I am but sometimes I don’t
necessarily want to be associated with certain behaviours. I am a little embarrassed
to admit that my greatest musical influence came quickly after Deano. I
discovered the LP mixed in with my mother’s musical treasures. The soundtrack
to “The Sound of Music” remains one
of my favourite exposures. Most of the mid-70s found me dancing around the
living room thinking I was a “lonely goatherd.” I abducted it, took it to one
of my hiding places, then signed the front cover so everybody knew. My Mom just
let me have it. I still have it to this day, name and all. It hangs safely, on
a wall, deep in the basement. I have another copy of the same LP, for my
listening pleasure. The original is not in mint condition like the newer. Few
things rarely are when you use them like I did. The music still plays well but
the sleeves are withered and browned with age. The 1965 album has decayed right
along with me. We share the same birth year, yet have other things in
common. I am also worn and ragged. My
edges have softened and my spine has frayed and faltered. I look older and I
sound older. Unfortunately, I would assume for some, I still work as well. I do
not hang on the wall like my old friend does. I am not worth more now than I
have ever been. I am always affected. No
matter how much times passes. No matter the melodies that came before and
since, “my heart wants to sing every song it hears.”
“Do
you get
What
you’re hoping for
When
you look behind you
There’s
no open door
What
are you hoping for?
Do
you know?”
(Do You Know Where You’re Going To,
Mahogany Soundtrack 1975)
If I wasn’t
listening to Julie Andrews, I was listening to radio CFTR-AM out of Toronto , Canada
“You got your passion
You got your pride
But don’t you know
that
Only fools are
satisfied?
Dream on
But don’t imagine
they’ll all come true
When will you realize
(Vienna, Billy Joel 1977)
I assume
that most people under 30 years of age don’t know what an 8-track player is. I
will not get into the details other than to say they still exist in retro and the
albums are like giant cartridges you almost have to slam into a large dock. My
brother’s room was a bastion, a citadel of access. It was there that much of
the music I craved dwelt. It was an otherland of LPs and 45s and the much
exalted 8-track. It was a giant room of music to me, large and very forbidden.
It was full of those songs which I could not afford. I used to wait until my
brothers would leave then sneak through their collections, listening here and
there or almost anywhere. I discovered the new album where it had not been
before. I had no idea who the artist was or what they sounded like. I just
liked the title of the piece, The Stranger.
Although Billy Joel has become a staple in my musical universe, at the time I
was a virgin. I listened to that album so many times that I can still sing
every note, every word without pause. I bought a copy a few years later, on the
standard cartridge that was so vogue in the 1980s and 90s. When I finally
switched over to CDs in 1994, The
Stranger was the first purchase I made.
It remains one of the top 5 albums of my all time. I still play it often,
sometimes weekly, especially if I am heading off somewhere in the car. My
favourite track from the work is “Scenes
from an Italian Restaurant.” This
was not always the case. I used to play and favour “Only the Good Die Young” but I lived with my family back then and
my mother banished the song from being played in her home. I played it anyway,
cursed from above as she screamed down the stairs at me. It was written as if the
perfect accompaniment to my life, and still is to this day. There is something
to be said about being able to go to “Vienna
“No one compares
You stand alone
To every record I own
Music to my heart,
that’s what you are
A song that goes on
and on”
( Love You Like A Love Song, Selena Gomez & The Scene 2011)
My life has
been like my taste in music. It is diverse, eclectic and, at times, very
expensive. A mix of Tin Pan Alley, Country, Pop and Gospel, all rest with me
still, even if only for a moment or two. My tastes have changed over the years.
I no longer chase the meaning of a song, I just let it resonate with me. I have
to admit, if not for radio I would barely venture outside my current
tendencies. I find most forms of modern music nothing but noise with a catchy
beat. In 2011, Selena Gomez released “Love
You Like A Love Song.” I still love this ditty. It is the last contemporary hit that I even garnered with
attention. It played like a theme song for me. So I sit with my old songs and
some new songs and the songs I have carried with me. If I lined them all up,
they would be one huge soundtrack to go along with my days and nights and
everything in between. Along the way, my musical universe varied as I added new
talent, as I discovered new songs. Artists like Lionel Ritchie come, then go.
You try it, then you move past it and keep on running. Sometimes exposure
shifts things, and it is like being given a new song. Everything evolved when I
discovered Amy Grant.
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