Song Stories

       Maybe the reason guys like me – you know, late 60s - say things like, “today’s music doesn’t’ speak to me,” isn’t just because we are becoming geezers. Maybe it isn’t so much about the music or the lyrics or the beat, but because we don’t yet have any stories linked to those new songs.

       In his clever book, “Manhood for Amateurs,” Michael Chabon, lamented the format change at his favorite radio station. They flipped from the oldies of his youth to contemporary pop, and it hurt. Each of those old songs linked to a story from Chabon’s life, and whenever he heard a favorite, he also remembered the story. He called it, “the mysterious power of the chance interaction between radio and memory.”

       While reading Chabon I started thinking of the memories that I flash whenever I hear certain old songs, and I scribbled several in the margin of my book.

       If I hear Steely Day singing “Reelin’ in the Years,” for example, I’m transported back to the evening when fellow trombone player Jan Ramey gave me a ride home in her station wagon after evening band practice, and we heard that song for the very first time.

       If I hear “Never Ending Love For You” by Delaney and Bonnie I am instantly skiing with Cyndi, clicking my poles behind me for a rhythm track, singing to her.

       When I hear “Jesus is Just Alright With Me” by the Doobie Brothers, I remember sitting in my car on a rainy Sunday evening outside of Bellview Baptist Church in Hobbs waiting for the song to end before going inside. It was the coolest song I’d ever heard and the coolest song I could imagine ever hearing containing the name “Jesus.”

       Whenever I hear the opening beats of “Fallen” by Lauren Woods my head snaps around looking for Cyndi who will already be walking toward me with arms outstretched ready to dance. It’s part of our ongoing story. We’re forever linked by that song.

       When I hear “Hit the Road Jack,” by Ray Charles, I remember one weekend when Cyndi was away teaching an aerobics workshop. The kids and I worked up a surprise for her. I would say, “Well, it’s time to hit the road,” and Katie would say, “Jack,” and Byron would say “Don’t you come back no more no more.” They were both preschoolers. We practiced over and over all weekend, and when we picked Cyndi up at the airport and tried it on her, it worked perfectly. We all laughed and laughed we were so proud of ourselves. We repeated that little mantra many times through the years, and I still think of it every time I hear the song.

       I remember the first time I heard “Hey Jude,” I was riding in the backseat of my grandparents’ car on the way to a family reunion at Kirkland Docks on Lake Brownwood. I think of that scene every time I hear the song. I also think how strange it is to link my kind and gentle grandfather, a very conservative small-town Baptist preacher, with The Beatles and “Hey Jude.” He would’ve been shocked at the connection.

       Not all my song stories are ancient. Hearing “Life Less Ordinary” by Carbon Leaf takes me back to 2008, driving north from Ventura on Highway 101, enjoying the sunshine and relaxed freedom of the road, thinking once again of the extraordinary future I dream of with Cyndi. I can’t help but smile.

       I could go on and on to the point of boredom listing songs linked to stories of my life, and perhaps I already have. I’m not sure the ones I mentioned are even the most important ones; they are just the first few I thought of right away. And I wonder if I would even remember those stories at all if I never heard the songs again. I can learn to enjoy new songs, but I would hate to lose my stories.

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“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.”
Psalm 119:32