A magical collaboration of notes, melody, rhythm, and poetry, we have created millions of songs for ourselves out of just seven notes.
I can still remember my indoctrination to music growing up in our household. We had one of those immense consoles in the living room, which was more furniture than music maker. It was nothing more than an over grown record storage cabinet with a turntable, accented in a lovely authentically recreated antiqued Spanish revival alder wood motif. The only other access to music we had was my older sister's portable turntable in a case and the am radio in our car.
My parents had purchased all of the music we had, and they were mostly Christmas albums by Bing Crosby, Andy Williams, Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass, or a collection of soundtracks like The Music Man, Marry Poppins, and My Fair Lady. That's what I used to play when I came home from school, while my friends were raving about this new group called the Beatles. Hind sight is so 20/20. If my parents could have only read the cues.
I still remember when I was a young teenager, and my father, returning from a trip to New York, brought me my very own portable transistor radio. At the time, that radio meant every thing to me. No more than a cheap plastic throw away toy, I thought it was the most wonderful, thoughtful gift in the world. I imagined him walking the streets of New York, going from shop to shop to find the perfect gift for me. I never considered for a moment that he probably picked it up at an airport kiosk while he waited for his luggage.
It didn't matter. I loved that radio, and I loved my father for giving it to me. I plugged the little single ear piece (it wasn't stereo) into my ear every night as I lay in my bed to the sweet sounds of the only station it picked up. I can't remember the station, but I remember they played the song Hair from the Broadway musical every night around my bedtime. The only other songs I can recall are Maggie May from Rod Steward and Signs Signs from the Five Man Electrical Band. I would turn that volume up as loud as it would go and rock out! "Signs, signs, everywhere a sign, breaking up the scenery, losing my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you readddd the signnnnnn?" Such a social commentary on how people are judged by their looks and wealth.
We have certainly come a long way from then and the world has made it far easier to purchase, organize, access, and play our favorite tunes whenever we want. Since my early teen years, I witnessed the progression from 45 singles to full blown LPs, 8 tracks, cassettes, am radio, stereo, digital mp3, CD, DVD, ipod, itunes, and now I play my favorites from my iphone.
I find it fascinating that music can either compliment or establish my mood. Whether I am melancholy or in the mood to rock out, I can accentuate those feelings by accessing certain favorites that reflect those genres. Or, better yet, I can create certain feelings that I want to experience by doing the same. I can put myself in a "mellow" mood, by playing my mellow music.
Finally, I can bring back certain memories simply by playing key songs from my past. I am not certain how these songs became so pivotal in my life, but by playing them now, I can actually dive back into specific times, places, events, thoughts, feelings, and emotions that I had at critical points in my life. That's what the song Signs Signs does for me for example. As I listened to it again, a flood of teenage boy memories, both good and bad, rush back into my conscience.
I have specific songs that can bring back memories of several specific periods in my teen years, college years, Baskin-Robbins work days, Church group days . . . well you get the point. Every now and then, when I am feeling nostalgic, that is exactly what I'll do.
In fact, all the music I have stored in itunes, my ipod and my iphone are organized by "mood setting" genres. I can select Broadway show tunes if I want, for Sunday morning coffee. I have divided my soundtrack scores into "regular" and "haunting". I really love what I term "haunting" music, like the soundtracks of Meet Joe Black by Thomas Newman or Edward Scissorhands by Danny Elfman.
Then there are the times, I just want to feel pumped up by the simple oldies tunes of the late 50s and early 60s or just rock out to the Eagles, Savage Garden, or Queen.
I look forward to walking my dog every day. She is in her own world, happily trotting and sniffing everything in sight, while I am in mine. With my iphone in my pocket, ear plugs in place, and play button pushed, I am off in my own special world. If you ever see me walking, you may be able to guess what genre I am listening too by just watching me walk. I'll have to keep that in mind.
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