As I prepared to graduate high school in 1972, the recent months had been kind, musically speaking. Eric Clapton as Derek & The Dominos had just clocked in with “Layla”. Graham Nash and David Crosby posted “Immigration Man”. The armed service brats who formed America had popped out two hits, “I Need You” and “A Horse With No Name”. (Name the damn horse! He’s taking you across a desert for crying out loud!) Paul Simon had a “Mother and Child Reunion” while “Sylvia’s Mother” was being pestered by Dr. Hook and his Medicine Show. Some newish guys–Elton John, David Bowie, Kenny Loggins, and Todd Rundgren–were starting to establish themselves.
Some songs make my playlist for personal history reasons, not so much because I really, really like them, but because I liked them enough that they were the background music to my life at that time: “Conquistador” by Procol Harem; “How Do You Do?” by Mouth & MacNeal; “I’m Movin’ On” by John Kay and Steppenwolf; “Sugaree” by Jerry Garcia; “Family Affair” by Sly & The Family Stone. Others I don’t remember having heard back then, but they sum up that time quite well: “Hallelujah” by Sweathog; “Baby Won’t You Let Me Rock n’ Roll You” by Ten Years After; “Move ‘Em Out” by Delaney & Bonnie; “In A Broken Dream” by Python Lee Jackson, an Australian group with Rod Stewart sitting in on the vocals; and Roberta Flack’s version of “Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow” (hauntingly slow and soft).
I’d like to go on and on, but it’s just some old guy talking about why he likes certain pieces of music. I remember the uncle of my ex-wife who had tables of old records in his barn. Every garage sale and estate sale he went to he would scoop up all the records. We’re talking stuff from the 1920’s through 1940’s mostly. He and I would “shoot the shit” for hours as he talked about “Minnie the Mooch” and all the other great music from back then. It’s fun to appreciate music through someone else’s love of it. Should anyone think there’s something worthwhile like that here, let me know. I don’t want to bore ya.
Meanwhile, here’s a mirror image of what I looked like when I was listening to those tunes, and the other 80 I didn’t mention:
Selfies were more difficult back then… Taken with my newly purchased Honeywell Pentax SP 500 SLR. Boy, I wish I could hold a camera that steady these days. May 1972.
From YouTube track for The Spiders. Note the composers’ names. Vince Furnier anyone?
Not long ago I waxed on about the songs of 1966 when I left 6th grade and pre-pubescence at the same time. In high school and college I listened to Alice Cooper, never knowing I could’ve been listening to proto-A.C. when I was MUCH younger! (Link to YouTube pictured above.) Extra special weirdness: every band member on this recording (except maybe the drummer) didn’t just come from the same high school, they were all on the cross country team as seniors! I know from peripheral experience that long distance runners are a wacky, different breed, but…really?
After moving to Los Angeles, renaming themselves Nazz and then because Todd Rundgren already had taken that name, to Alice Cooper, they were still capable of emptying a paying establishment in ten minutes. That’s when a middleman more or less said to himself, “boy, Frank Zappa would love these guys,” and routed them to Zappa. He turned them into the Alice Cooper we know and love. Of course, they had to move to Pontiac, Michigan, to gain acceptance. “L.A. just didn’t get it,” Cooper said at the time. “They were on the wrong drug for us. They were on acid and we were basically drinking beer.” [info and quotes courtesy of Wikipedia]
I attempted to explain that turning 90 degrees would align his body with the patch of sunlight, but Benny was having none of it. Either he’s indifferent or simply doesn’t understand geometry. I’m going with indifferent. July 2024.
6th grade was better…
About a month ago I posted about how 1966 proved seminal in my life for appreciating music, a year when I ‘woke up’ musically. Virtually every song in the Top Ten made me smile and say, “yeah…” and almost every one of them wound up on a 1966 playlist. Today I thought, “let’s see what 1972 held for me as I approached graduation from high school.” Holy. Crap. No wonder I felt adrift for much of the year–and I had thought it could be chalked up to teenaged ennui. In the Top Ten for the first week of January I encountered artists I still don’t like more than 50 years later: the really young Michael Jackson; David Cassidy; Donny Osmond. One song I had never heard before today: “Scorpio” by Dennis Coffey and the Detroit Guitar Band. I did get to add the top four songs to my new list: “Brand New Key” by Melanie; “American Pie (Parts 1 and 2) by Don McLean; “Family Affair” by Sly and the Family Stone; and “An Old Fashioned Love Song” by Three Dog Night.
By the second week of January the Top 40 contained two versions of “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing (In Perfect Harmony)” now known forevermore as The Coke Song. A last gasp Sonny and Cher song, “All I Ever Need Is You” didn’t make the cut. Likewise anything by The Stylistics, Al Green, and who the heck is Betty Wright? Thankfully other artists were riding high or coming into their own: Van Morrison, Rod Stewart, Rare Earth, Three Dog Night, Bread, Grand Funk, The Who, T. Rex, and Elton John. Oh, yeah, and this group called Led Zeppelin put out its fourth album. “Black Dog” hit the January 8th chart.
It will be interesting to continue through the year. I distinctly remember Alice Cooper put out “I’m Eighteen” when I turned 18 myself. Just after graduation I picked up a free copy of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars wondering who the heck this David Bowie guy was. At least there’s that to look forward too. Oh, and Neil Young…and Humble Pie…hmmm…maybe this won’t be so sad after all.
The annual lily surprise
Every year this lily pops out in the middle of a row of azaleas, bringing a surprised smile. July 2024.
We attended a wedding over the weekend in our old haunts around Philly. Our first ‘historic’ inn left a lot to be desired, but this one really delivered. Added plus: stupendous restaurant just to the right of this photo.
Your Tax Dollars At Work (and a 15-minute delay on the highway)
“And this was the artist’s Black Period, noted more for its playful use of browns and other earth tones than for the use of black which of course prevailed throughout his career.”
Lava still looks hot–don’t touch!
I think I saw Spock do a mind-meld with that thing.
Huh! Next time I won’t pre-heat the cast iron on the BBQ before I put in the cornbread batter.
A simple tale...with apologies for contributing to the millions and billions of cat photos on the Internet.
Once there were two kittens: Bayou…
Bayou. Christmas Day 2015.
…and his brother Chingu…
Chingu. Christmas Day 2015.
Bayou and Chingu were brothers. They were born in June 2015. They did (almost) everything together.
Bayou (left) and Chingu. December 2015.
One day in August, not long after they quit drinking milk from their mother, Bayou and Chingu were put up for adoption. This meant they now lived together in a small cage at a local animal shelter until someone would adopt them. They lived there almost four months. Finally they were adopted by a couple who spoke Korean. They named the pink-nosed one Friend (Chingu). They named the black-nosed one after the ancient kingdom Buyeo where the ancestors of all Koreans lived.
Or maybe the people who adopted them weren’t Korean. Maybe a nice person at the shelter spoke Korean and thought, “These cats need special names because they’re really special.” But if so, they didn’t know how to spell Buyeo. Or maybe the first story is true and the shelter just didn’t hear it right. Whatever the reason, the black-nosed cat became Bayou.
Bayou visited the animal shelter in 2014 when he got sick, but in May 2015 he and his brother were given back to the shelter and put up for adoption again. Their human “mother” had developed allergies to cats. They soon found another home with a man who already had two cats. He tried to like them, and maybe his other cats did too, but when it came to cats, Bayou and Chingu only liked each other.
December 2015.
They beat up the man’s cats. Worse, they ganged up on them. In August 2015, just a couple months later, they were back at the shelter again. They started beating up all the other cats in the common room. “What should we do?” worried the volunteers. Their supervisor said, “We must put them in foster care. It will only be until we can find new parents for them.” But four months went by, and no one wanted the two brothers who liked each other but no one else.
The calendar turned through those months: September. October. November. And halfway through December, I spotted their photograph. “They look spunky. They look like fun. They look like they need a home because who wants three-and-a-half-year-old-cats as a package deal?” My wife agreed. We went to the shelter just before Christmas and asked to see them.
“Oh, they don’t live here,” said the person at the desk. “They weren’t very well behaved so we put them in foster care. We will have to get them for you. Come back tomorrow.” We went home both happy that we still might get them and sad because we hadn’t seen any other cats we would want to be friends with. What if they didn’t like us? Or what if we didn’t like them?
On December 20th we came back with a great big carrier. We met Bayou and Chingu. They were friendly but in different ways. They didn’t indicate if they wanted to go with us, because they were just happy to be out of the large cage where they had been living for four months. We took them home and showed them the room with the dirt, which is very important for cats. They had different reactions. Bayou wanted out of that room immediately. “Okay, fine, I’ve seen the dirt. Now let me explore,” he said.
Bayou meets the neighborhood. December 2015.
Chingu said, “I see dirt but right now I need a very dark place.” He chose the linen closet. A little later he discovered a bed.
Chingu eyes his situation. December 2015.
Today I only know two Korean words: Buyeo and Chingu. Eight years ago I didn’t know any. I said, “We have to change their names.” My wife nodded. “I know!” I said, “this black-nosed one is so open and friendly, he’s got to be a Benny!” “Yes!” she agreed and asked, “but what about the pink-nosed one who likes me?” I thought about how he raced around the house, especially when he seemed scared. “Well…we could call him The Jet.” My wife frowned. “You know, Benny and The Jet?” I grinned. To my surprise she agreed to try it. We didn’t like it, and neither did Chingu. “His name should start with a C-H anyway,” I admitted. “Let’s call him Charlie. He seems a bit neurotic, kind of like Charlie Brown.”
We got them a big condo to play on, but Charlie indicated he mostly would be sleeping there…a lot.
Charlie at rest. March 2016.
They had spent their previous year in cages for much of the time. They seemed to delight in finding new places to sleep:
Benny the audiophile, appreciating a fine stereo amp. March 2016.Charlie demonstrates his lifelong passion for freshly-dried laundry. January 2016.
Benny likes bags and baskets:
Benny prefers baskets. Charlie (L) doesn’t totally get it. April 2016.Square or round, makes no difference to Benny. January 2016.
Mostly, Charlie likes sleeping on Benny:
Benny (L) and Charlie. April 2016. [previously published]
In their first eight months with us, Benny and Charlie spent two vacations at the vet (in tiny cages again), and then they endured a move to a new house. Benny, of course, enjoyed it and helped out:
Benny supervised the move and checked boxes for food. September 2016.
Charlie got very stressed. First he hid under the kitchen sink. Then he climbed on top of the cupboards and stared at us and panted.
Charlie hides out. September 2016.
It had three floors. They liked to race around in it and slide on the throw rugs covering the hardwood floors. We didn’t tell them this house was temporary. Eight months later we moved again. Now they have fewer windows to look out of, but they have…..a screened-in deck!
Charlie (L) and Benny thank their human servants for buying them a deck. June 2017.
The boys have settled in over the past seven years. Charlie can’t believe he now gets to eat almost every time he wants to (which is often). He has gained five pounds. Benny still weighs the same. Benny licked off his fur in patches, spent years on medications, and finally decided to stop. It might have been allergies. It might have been a psychological problem. Charlie started licking off his fur in patches last year, so there’s that. They’ve settled down now that they’re 12 years old.
They hope Dad keeps taking their photos and making them famous, so long as it pays for the super-expensive cat food they’ve insisted is the ONLY BEST kind. Their story isn’t over, but this tale is. Benny and Charlie would send you their best, but they only like each other–and now, Mom and Dad.
all the voices in my head 