Wild About Harry
Musings on the Soundtrack of My Life
I am forever grateful to have grown up in a home filled with music. My father, a supervisor with the railroad as his day job, loved to tinker and repair electronic devices, specifically radios, and TVs. When we lived in a small town in northern Canada, he had a repair and supply business in the basement of our home. I remember the latest TV sets, reel-to-reel tape recording machines, and radios in various stages of repair. He loved music and loved to dance. He introduced me to Big Band music like Glenn Miller, Louis Armstrong, and jazz, and the amazing music of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.
One of my favorite Christmas gifts from my parents was a little transistor radio. Despite its tiny size, in the late hours of that far northern town, a clear signal across the Great Lake Superior connected me with radio station WLS in Chicago. That was my doorway to the music of my generation. It was there I first heard The Rolling Stones, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix, Jethro Tull, The Supremes, The Beatles, Joni Mitchell….the list is endless. But, in hindsight, the greater gift was the connection to the big wide world. Music is a bridge, a moment frozen in time. I can always remember where I was when I heard “that” song. Music is a time machine and an anchor.
We all have our “song,” those few moments of inspiration or love or courage or just plain excitement at hearing it on the radio. Bruce Springsteen’s Lonesome Day got me through eight months of cancer treatment. The Last Resort by the Eagles, Jackson Browne’s Before the Deluge, Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, Joan Armitrading’s Love and Affection, Joni Mitchell’s River, Springsteen’s Darkness on the Edge of Town. They all have a time and place I am transported to when I hear them play. I am grateful for their healing power, their energy that makes me dance and sing at the top of my lungs or maybe sit silently in memory. Spiritual music, protest music, healing music, rock, and roll.
In my last years working at the college, I finally fulfilled a lifelong dream to take piano lessons. It was challenging, but I actually learned to play a pretty decent version of The House of the Rising Sun. Still, I am a much better listener than the player. I know all of the lyrics to my favorite songs and can sing along fairly well, although my voice is getting scratchy with age. Words are my talismans, and I love the poetry and rhyme of words wrapped in musical notes. I have been known to continue driving past my house for a few blocks if a favorite song is playing on the car radio.
During this pandemic and specifically during the quarantine of 2020, musicians around the globe played music from balconies and virtually collaborated with others around the world. Their music uplifted us and reminded us we were not alone. We have a good friend who walked his neighborhood every evening at 7 pm playing his saxophone, stopping at their cul de sac where neighbors gathered as if to the Pied Piper, craving solace and community. Music could comfort people as words could not.
I am glad my children have grown up in a house of music. It is the bridge of generations and the common language. We may not like each other’s music; my dad always told me he thought The Beatles’ Let It Be was morbid, but we can connect in ways we could not anticipate. My children have introduced me to many great artists and songs. Our best times together have been at concerts; Radiohead, Taylor Swift, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen. My son is a musician, able to speak the language of music in a way I never could. I know my father would be very proud that his grandson could play trumpet as Herb Alpert did. I am sad he will never rock out to my son’s live concerts or hear any of his music.
A couple of weeks ago, my daughter and her old college friends went to see British star Harry Styles in concert. Through photos on their social media, I could see how they dressed up and celebrated before heading to the concert, much like my friends and I had in Los Angeles many years ago to see The Police featuring Sting, another British boy weaving his magic onstage. The next generation is making their memories and moments in time that will stop them in their tracks when “that” song comes on the radio.
Of all the blessings I have to count this week of Thanksgiving, music is high on the list. It is the universal language, perhaps the only one we have in the world right now. It is the bridge between generations, cultures, the entire global village. Every single culture throughout the human experience has created music, and for that, I am thankful. Below is my favorite video of world musicians collaborating for peace. May we all have it.
