It’s the Music in Me….


I’ve put in a twelve-hour work day.  Numbers and their problems that have been plaguing me are dismissed.  I crank up the radio and put my foot to the pedal. I’m cruising on the highway at 110 km/per hour.  A  little over the speed limit.

Singing off-key, I try to keep the myriad of thoughts bombarding me at bay.

Pink Floyd comes on the radio…

“Black, black, black & blue, blue, blue….”

I am transported….

The song takes me to a time, a place, a space…did I want to be there?

Each note delivers a punch as memories that have been ignited play out with the swift re-occurrence of a replay of a goal scored in a hockey game.

Highlights of times long forgotten…their relevance more abstract now than at the time, I am certain.

What is it about a song?  When I hear “Best of Love ” by the Eagles I think of Jim.  Oddly, that was our song.  Did I really listen to the words when we declared this to be so?  I can’t speak for him, however, at 16 years of age the relationship burnt out after just 8 months.

No, it wasn’t love and a million other things were tearing me apart while I tried valiantly to keep it together.

How many times did I want to scream then I would hear a song…Billy Joel pounded out, “You may be right….I may be crazy….but you just may need a lunatic..”

At times I wonder…was it insanity or clarity that I was experiencing?

Youth has its innocence.  In all forms.

Liking sex is not a bad thing.  Appreciating the art of it and the gift of its blessing quite another.

Certain songs come on and take me back…way back…

Yvonne Elliman singing “I Don’t know How to Love Him” from the Jesus Christ Superstar sound track just shuts me down.

I have watched that movie more than 20 times.  I have seen it in the theatre. What I took from that movie and its songs runs very deep.

Then you have the legends.

John Lennon…

Well, what can I say?  He was falling apart when I was.  When I was in New York back in 2011, my first stop was the Dakota.  We landed early due to a jet stream…some odd wind that pushes the plane a little faster apparently.  Crying babies prevented the majority of us from sleeping  That was fine.

At 6:00 AM  we managed to at least get our bags to the hotel, though we couldn’t check in just yet.  Walking up toward Central Park, our necks turning in a million directions to marvel at the architecture that opened before us.

And I was there. This city that had captured my imagination so many times in my life stood before me welcoming and I drank it in.

At the mouth of Central Park my friend, Cathy and I purchased a coffee and biscotti.   It was now a little past 8:00 AM. I called my daughter to let her know I had made it safely.

In Vancouver it was just 5:00 AM.  “Hello?”  a sleepy voice answered.

“Hi…I’m at Central Park…in New York City…I am here, baby!”

“Oh good, you made it.”

The conversation was brief.  Just to let the girl know I’d made it safely.  Once the coffee and biscotti had been consumed we proceeded up the street.

As soon as I saw the Dakota’s entrance the memories began to flash through my mind’s eye. The bronze security booth….the gate…the…

An air  of sorrow still hangs around the place.

John was prolific in his songs….you felt his pain…lived it…knew it as your own.  He just gave it voice.   And he was fighting to take his life back, to find  his bliss, his happy.

We’ve lost so many in music to drugs.  Others we lost due to accidents such as Jim Croche, Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper.

Music is and always has been a balm. Words that just reach inside and tug the old heart strings.

The work will continue.  I’ll keep on hitting the highway and turning up the dial to a favorite song and sing along.

‘I’ve got a peaceful, easy feeling….’

 

 

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