My birthday isn't until tomorrow, but I'm choosing to celebrate it tonight.
When I was a kid, I considered the year 2000 and thought, wow, I'll be forty-five! Essentially on my death bed! The good news is, it's 2018 and I'm still kickin'. And I know now that forty-five is nothing. When I was forty-five, gravity was still averted. You know that picture you run across from 1945 in the ragged family photo album and you think, really? That's my mom? Turns out that, yes, we all were young and dewy-skinned once. I don't look like myself anymore, but I'm so used to my countenance in the morning mirror that I don't give it a second thought. It's only when I (accidentally) see a photograph of myself that I realize some grievous calamity has apparently occurred.
I've given up on regaining my lost figure. It just doesn't work anymore. I'm not going to become one of those delusional fitness fanatics. I've never exercised more than ten days in my life and I'm not about to start now. Plus, I deserve to eat.
The thing about turning 63 is that I spend more time looking back than forward. I mostly choose to remember the good things. It's not that I've forgotten the bad. I can conjure up those memories in a snap if I choose to, but when I do, I tend to view them philosophically, like a neutral bystander. Humans do the best they can do with what they have. I don't hold it against my parents for what they did. They didn't damage me on purpose.
Today I received some birthday wishes from my co-workers. My best work friend Barb brought me a single-serve DQ cake. It was awesome. The cake had a cobalt-blue plastic butterfly ring atop it and I slipped it on my finger and wore it throughout the day. Everyone I encountered chose to ignore the humongous butterfly encircling my finger; sure (no doubt) that I'd made an unfortunate fashion choice. That made me giggle. A boy (really) that I trained four years ago asked me about my birthday plans and we got to talking about retirement. I told him that 2020 is the year. He said, "It won't be any fun here without you." I didn't realize I was still "fun". I used to be fun back in 1997, when I commanded a department at Aetna (US Healthcare), but I essentially just feel tired now and don't have the energy to be engaging. How lame must everyone else be, that I am regarded as the "fun" one?
I blame (or credit) Sirius Radio with my current state of look-back. Every single song I click on evokes memories. I hover between classic country and sixties and seventies rock; and sometimes fifties rockabilly. Some of the songs make me cry, for reasons only known to me. My best friend died in 2000 (when she was only forty-five). The songs we shared together are bittersweet. I almost feel embarrassed to still love those songs, because Alice is gone and she and I can't share them.
When I hear John Lennon's voice, my heart breaks a little. John was my education in "real" music, beginning when I was nine years old or so.
I don't "sum up" when it comes to music. Songs are quicksilver. Songs are not dissectable, like some scientific experiment. Anyone who slices and dices music is not a music lover. I love a song by the Honeycombs and one by Tommy James, and one by Steve Wariner and "God Bless The USA" by Lee Greenwood just because. I like Boston and Gene Pitney and Bobby Bare and Dobie Gray. Nobody needs to know why.
It occurred to me tonight that throughout my life, the majority of my music-listening has been solitary. It's not that I'm anti-social (though sometimes I am), but sharing music is a gamble. I like what I like, and I don't need somebody telling me, "That song sucks." Maybe it does, but maybe there's a reason I like it that you wouldn't understand. Maybe it takes me back to a special time in my life that you can't relate to, because you weren't there. I was never one to say, "Hey, listen to this," because if I loved a song and the other person didn't get it, my feelings would be hurt. Thus, my musical "sharing" happened organically.
I can say essentially that there were three periods in my life when I shared music.
1. My big brother
Okay, technically, I didn't share music with my brother. He shared with me. Honestly, if it wasn't for my big brother, I think my musical life would have been paltry -- sort of like those old dudes driving big Cadillacs, puffing on big cigars, who slip a CD into the changer to show you how "hip" they are -- and the CD is by John Mayer.
Before I even knew what music was, my big brother pointed at the big radio in our kitchen and schooled me in good music and bad. I was little more than five years old.
The first song he taught me was "good" was by a group called the Tornados. I believe the year was 1962.
Technology, as people naively called it then, was the next big thing. I didn't know that Telstar was a satellite. I thought it was some kind of rocket ship. My big brother was a teenager, so phenomenons like John Glenn going 'round and 'round the earth was a revelation. I watched Glenn's blast-off (or whatever they called it) on a tiny black and white TV in my first-grade classroom and I didn't see what all the fuss was about. I guess one needed to be older and more mature, like my fifteen-year-old brother, to truly grasp the magnitude of the event.
My big brother introduced me to Bob Dylan, who he told me was really Robert Zimmerman, from Hibbing, Minnesota. I was confused why Robert Zimmerman wanted to change his name, but I was proud that he was from Minnesota, just like me. My brother chuckled over this song. I figured it was because it was so ragtime.
The thing my brother did that sent me flying toward the rest of my life was to clue me in to albums. I was a singles girl -- I rarely could gather enough spare change to purchase one measly '45 at Poplar's Music, and at that, my indecision was excruciating. It was a monumental choice; one that my whole life depended on. If I chose wrong, my existence would be ruined. My big brother, on the other hand, slipped albums 'neath his coat like he'd just popped a stick of Black Jack chewing gum between his gums.
My big brother showed me a brown and white LP called "The Beatles Second Album". I thought the Beatles were awesome and such good songwriters -- with songs like this:
Granted, it was 1964 and I had no knowledge of musical history. Thus, I naturally assumed the songs on the album were all originals.
Later, my brother would show me LP's like "Help!" and "Rubber Soul". By then I was gone -- besotted -- immersed.
If I have anyone to thank for my lot in life, and I surely do, it was MY BIG BROTHER.
2. My grade school best friend
The early sixties was a time that was innocent in its naivete. What did we know at age ten? We thought the whole wide world rained exquisite songs. And it did, then. Superb singles were as abundant as the lacy snowflakes we caught on our tongues.
We were so jaded then. "This song is great, but I can't wait for the next one." "Yea, the Beach Boys. They're so nineteen-sixty-three." My best friend, Cathy, and I, traversed the Louis Murray Bridge on sultry summer Saturdays to partake in the YWCA dances, which consisted of twenty-six gangly fifth-grade girls doing the Jerk to singles buzzed on a record player, like:
3. Alice
Alice and I dragged Main Street in 1973 in her mud-brown Chrysler. Alice was the best friend I didn't deserve to have. If she were still living, I'd think about asking her what she ever saw in me. I brought nothing of import to the table. Perhaps I had a good sense of humor and she appreciated that. Other than that, I got nothin'.
In 1973, we were about to turn eighteen -- the magic number. Life was a soon-to-be-devoured feast we'd yet to conjure. We shared the music blaring out of the tinny AM car radio, the wide-open windows tossing our hair in the breeze. The nights were starry and still. Country fanatics that we were, it's strange that we had the radio tuned to KFYR, the local rock station. I think maybe rock was more apropos for the timbre of the times, more befitting the nights.
There are songs from then, from 1973, that remind me of those nights. Here are the ones I remember most because they were played the most:
All that aside, there were two songs -- two songs -- that crystallized 1973 for Alice and me. Here is the first:
And here is our anthem.
We sang along with it, over and over and over. We were in love with it. The stars, the blade-sharp black sky. The hot, yet cool, arm-tingling promise of the night. If I close my eyes I can see Alice now, gliding the car down the double-strip street, her blue eyes sparkling with a giggle, her blonde bangs fluttering in her eyes . We sang bad harmony -- she was the singer; I was the pretender. We sang at the top of our lungs; sang at the sleepy denizens whose misfortune it was to dwell in second-story apartments above Conlin's Furniture Store, in apartments in the top stories of the old Patterson Hotel.
We sang along with:
Music alone is fine. I can conjure my own memories. The trouble with that is, nobody else knows. And sometimes I get weary of no one else knowing; of pretending that that one special person is in the room with me as the song unwinds, but they're not.
If you find that special song, life is superb if someone else knows it's special, too.
1973 was our senior year of high school, Alice's and mine. Ahhhh. What could be better?
Getting that hint of freedom at last. We'd drive around in Alice's car; I think it might have been a Chrysler or something. I never knew much about cars. I do remember, however, that it was sort of an ugly shade of brown, but it got us around! Dragging Main was the thing to do in our town. Pretty much the ONLY thing to do.
I had already picked up my nasty smoking habit, because I apparently thought it was cool. IT IS NOT COOL. Good luck trying to kill that demon after years of abusing one's body. But I don't want this post to be a downer....
However, Alice tolerated the constant smoking and the ashtray filled with cigarette butts. I think she must have been a saint.
So, we'd drive up and down main, and up and down again. And again. We'd meet up with people we knew, and people we didn't know. That's just what everybody did. We'd pull into the Big Boy parking lot; maybe buy a pizza burger, flying style. Sit in the lot for awhile; see who might be around.
We were both country music geeks. And I do mean geeks, because country music was something one did NOT admit to liking, as a teenager.
However, on those Friday nights, we'd tune the AM radio to the rock station.
There was a lot of good music in 1973. Wonder whatever happened to good music.
The songs I remember best are The Joker by the Steve Miller Band, Stuck In The Middle With You (Stealer's Wheel), but mostly this song:
Man, we'd roll those windows down and sing it at the top of our lungs. (Alice was a real singer; I was a singer wannabe).
And we'd get to that chorus at the end and clap along.
"Gimme the beat, boys, and free my soul. I wanna get lost in your rock and roll, and drift away...."
I can't hear that song today without being whisked back to those days of 1973.
It's kind of a bummer when those things that meant so much are just gone. And it's just you left with your memories, and nobody to share them with.
And now Dobie Gray is gone, too.
Dobie had a few hits during his career, and he was a songwriter, too.
But this one, this song; well, if you have one song like this; one that can make a young girl, or two young girls, I guess, happy, peaceful, and serene, then I would say you made one hell of a mark.
Rest in peace, Dobie Gray. I think I'll queue that song up tonight and pretend that I'm eighteen again.
Unlike most years that I pull out of thin air to write about, 1973 actually does have significance for me. That was the year I graduated from high school. Ahhh, 35 years ago. And yet, I'm so young! So, I thought I'd go back and take a look at the year 1973 in country music. And hope for the best.
Surprisingly, as I scan the list of top hits on my trusty Wikipedia site, I find that there are number one songs that I don't even recognize, and yet there are songs that were considered "major hits", but not number ones, that are clearly recognizable. Wonder why that is. And you don't need to tell me that people had bad taste back in 1973......I was there........I had the clothes to prove that.
So, I'm not just going to stick with number one songs, because frankly, there were a lot of better ones that didn't make that list.
Just for fun, I thought I would start out with a video from a 1973 performance by Barbara Mandrell, on the Wilburn Brothers Show.
I really like Barbara Mandrell. But is it just me, or does she seem unnaturally pale in this video? I mean, not only the platinum hair, but the white lipstick (yes, I used that shade as well, back then. It helped one achieve that "fashionable ghoul" look).
One common thread that seems to run through this review of the year 1973 is that all the female singers seem to be wedded to those "Little House On The Prairie" dresses. I don't know what the scoop is on that. I, for one, distinctly remember wearing dresses that were, if anything, too short, NOT too long.
Perhaps I was a bit behind the times, fashion-wise, but I swear, I NEVER wore a floor-length dress; well, except at my wedding.
BARBARA MANDRELL - MIDNIGHT OIL
In keeping with the prairie homesteader look, here's Nellie Olson -- I mean Tanya Tucker, again from 1973, performing on Hee Haw.
Remember Hee Haw? Trying to forget, you say? Back when there were only 3 channels to choose from, and this was the only place you could get any country music, except for those syndicated shows that ran on Saturday afternoons.
The thing about Hee Haw was, you had to sit through a bunch of stupid, unfunny "bits", mostly about how stupid country people were -- you know, chewing on a piece of straw, missing several teeth, illiterate -- you know, just your typical country person, before you could get to see some actual musical performances.
So, upon further deliberation, I guess Tanya's dress fits right in with the overall theme. Cuz, you know, when I lived in the country, I always put on my long go-to-meetin' dress (and my bonnet) on Saturday afternoons and jumped in that old horse-drawn carriage to drive on down to the general store.
TANYA TUCKER - WHAT'S YOUR MAMA'S NAME
JEANNE PRUETT - SATIN SHEETS
Here's Jeanne Pruett, performing on one of those syndicated shows I mentioned earlier, That Good Ole Nashville Music.
Jeanne, while still technically wearing a long dress, at least has "glammed" things up a bit. And she apparently is not missing any teeth.
I like this song. It was a HUGE hit. Jeanne does a great job on it.
MARIE OSMOND - PAPER ROSES
Not to quibble, but isn't the subject matter of this song a bit too sophisticated for a flower girl at a wedding to be singing?
And I can't NOT mention the hairstyle. I think everyone I knew back then had this EXACT hairdo. I think even I had it at one time. I hope we weren't copying Marie Osmond. No offense.
BARBARA FAIRCHILD - THE TEDDY BEAR SONG
I can't begin to tell you how much I HATED this song, back in 1973. Watching this performance, however, was enjoyable! How can you beat a drunken Waylon Jennings trying to remember the words to the Teddy Bear Song? And everyone around him pretending that he's not really drunk. Excellent!
I love these group performances anyway. You get to see a bunch of people that you haven't seen for awhile; for example, BOBBY BARE! (I'm still waiting, Country Music Hall of Fame!) Gene Watson is here, along with BJ Thomas, RAY STEVENS! Glen Campbell, Crystal Gayle, trying not to scream as the others accidentally sit on her hair. And, of course, leave it to RAY STEVENS to change the words to, "I wish I was Bobby Bare". So, fun!
DOTTIE WEST - COUNTRY SUNSHINE
Hey! Wasn't this a Coca-Cola commercial?
I bet if Coca-Cola uses your song in a commercial, you can start counting your money. All she needed to do was change one line. Easy enough.
Dottie West was a great writer. Probably my favorite song that Dottie wrote is, "Here Comes My Baby", which was a big hit for Ray Price.
Toward the end of her career, Dottie sort of meandered off into something else. I can't really put my finger on it, but it was, I guess, commercial, so who am I to judge? I just personally prefer her earlier stuff.
And sadly, all her Coca-Cola earnings didn't help Dottie towards the end. I remember she had to have a garage sale or something to raise money to pay her back taxes.
If I remember correctly, Dottie was killed in a car crash while on her way to perform at the Opry. A sad, premature end to a life of great talent.
Okay, yes, I started out my review of 1973 with all female performances. I hadn't intended to do that, but I became fascinated with all the long dresses, so I kept looking to see if I could find one female performer wearing a "regular" dress or pants.
It's a quirky thing, yes. But it's a footnote in the world of country music, circa 1973.
And then. I found one!
OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN - LET ME BE THERE
I always liked this song. Olivia got a lot of flack back then from the country music establishment. But I don't think she was trying to "horn in" on country music. I think she was just doing a song, and it caught on with the record-buying public; then all of a sudden, she was nominated for country music awards and stuff. And she was caught in this big backlash. Kind of unfair, really.
Fortunately, all was forgiven by 1978, when she co-starred with John Travolta in "Grease".
Yes. I always like to throw in a "Grease" reference whenever possible. This has nothing to do with 1973. I just like "Grease".
So, on to the men:
Now is the time to tell you that, unfortunately, there were a lot of GREAT hit songs by men in 1973, but I couldn't find videos of them.
The great songs include:
Ride Me Down Easy - Bobby Bare Why Me Lord - Kris Kristofferson Southern Lovin' - Jim Ed Brown Whiskey River - Johnny Bush Pass Me By - Johnny Rodriguez If We Make It Through December - Merle Haggard Everybody's Had The Blues - Merle Haggard Lovin' On Back Streets - Mel Street
Among others.
Luckily, I could find a video of one of the songs that I happened to place in my Top Twenty of the Greatest Country Songs Of All Time:
CHARLIE RICH - BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
So, in essence, 1973 wasn't that bad, overall, country music-wise. There were a few great songs (not that I could find videos of them, but take my word for it).
And while my high school prom theme was this (really):
I was listening to country radio, and from time to time, some rock, like this, that I think you will agree, is FAR SUPERIOR to Precious And Few.
DOBIE GRAY - DRIFT AWAY
While I may have been out of the mainstream back in 1973, I believe my taste in music has triumphed in the end.
