January 1973: CARLY SIMON - You're So Vain

Mom needed to find a place for me to go before and after school, so she got me hooked up with some of the other mother’s in the apartment complex. This was basically how I made my first new pals, and it wasn’t optimal conditions because it was borne of car pooling to school during bad weather and babysitting, rather than genuine friendship.

I genuinely loved the sound and feel of “You’re So Vain;” it had both a tense and languid tone and the chorus was undeniably great to sing along to... if you could carry a tune.

During the school day, it had begun to snow, getting heavier as the day went on. When school let out, the mother of an apartment kid was standing at the entrance to gather us all up and drive us back home, because the weather was too bad for all of us to be walking.

I saw all the kids piling into this little Chevy Vega, and decided I’d rather walk home in the snow, but the mother made me get in. So now, we’re all packed in tight, with the heater blasting and the windows fogging, while we sat forever in the parking lot, waiting for the buses to clear out so we could move.

And in this physically uncomfortable situation, “You’re So Vain” comes over the car radio, and the mother starts singing along during the chorus, because – really - how can you resist? Problem was, this lady gave “off key” a new meaning; I swear nearby dogs were howling.

After what seemed forever, the mother’s own kid finally yelled out, “Mommy, stop singing!” To which Mommy halts the yowling only long enough to say, “But I love this song!” and quickly jumps back in just in time to bray “Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you now!”

For the next year or so, just the sound of Carly Simon’s voice made me wince because it instantly conjured this horrific moment.

"You're So Vain" by Carly Simon.
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December 1972: NEIL DIAMOND - Moods

Even though my parents were now leading separate lives, they decided to band together one last time for the family Christmas gathering at my Uncle Art & Aunt Marie’s house in Whitney Chase, a subdivision close to our apartment complex. Maybe they were trying to keep up appearances in front of the family (like they didn’t know, or something?), or maybe trying to let me briefly revisit the sense of being a family again, but whatever the reason, it failed. Everyone was uncomfortable, and I didn’t have near as much fun as I normally did at these events because too many family members wound up stroking my hair and looking at me sadly. Pity and Santa just don’t mix.

The first Christmas morning with just me and Mom was much better. It was a relief that Santa was able to find me inside this apartment complex, and didn’t mix up my gifts with any of the other kids in the building (a valid worry for a 7 year old). I knew “he” got it right because I got a long, gold necklace with a large round medallion with a cursive “P” in the middle (I still have it to this day), a way to acknowledge my new name.

And from a co-worker, Mom got a copy of the latest Neil Diamond album, Moods. “Song Sung Blue” was a huge hit, and Mom sung along with it on the radio with a fervor I didn’t quite understand. But there was a song on the album that made us both really happy, “Gitchy Goomy.”

It was upbeat and relentlessly tuneful, causing both of us to play the song over and over, singing along and doing a little jitterbug in the living room. Plus, the guy on the album cover was really, really cute; we both agreed on this important point. So, Neil Diamond forever owns a warm spot in my heart for providing us moments of pure joy in an otherwise bleak holiday season.

"Gitchy Goomy" by Neil Diamond.
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December 1972: HELEN REDDY - I Am Woman

From the get go, this was a polarizing song. I only knew that I didn’t like the sound of the singer’s voice, like she had something stuck in her throat and she didn’t bother to clear it before singing. But in the context of what was happening to my Mom, Barb, it must have really annoyed her for other reasons.

Barb had always paid her own way until she got married at age 30. She’d had her own credit cards (her first one coming from the Libson’s in Mid-Town St. Louis in the late 1950s ) and checking account up until she got married, when everything changed over to joint accounts. But now that she was newly single, she had to start all over again, and while the checking account was easy, credit cards were not.

It seems that going from Miss to Mrs. had wiped her previous financial slate clean, and now that she was returning to Miss, Mastercard considered her a blank slate with no credit history and refused to issue her a card. Even though they could see the excellent credit record attached to her Social Security number, being a divorcee made her an untested, financial risk in their eyes and they shut her out.

Atop the pain of a busted marriage and the fear of a strange new future as a divorced, single mom, she had to fight for her financial independence against institutions that were, basically, punishing women for no longer being a Mrs.

This was not an “I Am Woman” Women’s Liberation situation, this was “yes, I’ve paid the price…” but not with a credit card? You bastards! She fought Mastercard, and she won, and thankfully, she was now able to feed and clothe us. “I am strong, I am invincible,” I am credit worthy once again.

Here's more about Barb being an Accidental Feminist.

"I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy.
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November 1972: GILBERT O'SULLIVAN - Clair

Mom and I were both a bit shell shocked and had trouble sleeping at night. One cold night, we were on the couch, with me lying over my Mother’s lap. The entire apartment was dark except for one lamp on the end table, and the glow from the Zenith stereo playing the radio.

As she scratched my back, “Oh Clair” came over the airwaves, and I keyed in on the singer trying to get the girl he was babysitting to go to sleep, while Mom was doing the same with me. But I didn’t get to learn the outcome of Gilbert’s story because I drifted away to sleep.

"Clair" by Gilbert O'Sullivan.
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November 1972: ARLO GUTHRIE - City of New Orleans

My parent’s legal separation was on the books, and it was time for me and Mom to move out of the house. I remember the Mayflower moving van in the driveway at the ranch, and then cut to being inside our 2-bedroom apartment in Black Jack, with my Dad hanging pictures on the one fake wood panel wall in the tiny living room, his way of helping out before he went back to wherever it was that he was now living.

We were to live in the Whisper Lake apartment complex for 13 years, but at this moment, it was strange. I’d always lived in houses with front and back yards (or in the case of the ranch, acres of yard!) and houses separated by driveways. The apartment complex was a series of courts and tall buildings surrounded by cars, and the neighbors were only a wall or floor away, and you could hear them, which meant I had to learn to be more quiet since they could hear us, as well.

This strange new environment meant I was going to a new grade school – J.E. Jury Elementary – which was a short walk away from the apartments. Mom brings me into the administration office to register me for class, and as she’s filling out the paperwork she explains to the ladies behind the desk that even though my name is officially Patricia, everyone calls me Toby, so please make note of that and call her by that name.

I abruptly interrupted this exchange to boldly state, in no uncertain terms, that I was to be called “Pat.” Mom’s outward shock certainly matched my inward shock: where did that come from? Even at the moment I said it, I didn’t like the name Pat, but I also didn’t want anyone in my new life calling me by a nickname my Dad had given me. Since he left, he could take his nickname with him!

In retrospect, that was the moment I had summoned forth the identity confusion that would plague me until I hit my early 30s. From then on, half the people in my life called my Toby, the other half called me Pat, which would get confusing for everyone when a new friend and my Mom were both calling for me at the same time by two different names!

With this exchange finished, a teacher’s aide walked me down the hall and down the stairs to my new classroom. I stared out the windows as we walked the long hallway with a song playing in my head: “Good morning, America, how are ya? Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son…”

"City of New Orleans" by Arlo Guthrie.
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September 1972: DANNY O'KEEFE - Good Time Charlie's Got the Blues

I hadn’t yet logged enough time to have any memories of first grade at Brown Elementary when, one day after school, Dad sat me down on the back porch for a talk.

He pointed to the horse pasture and told me that Sugar was gone, and that he was leaving, too. He said something about “divorce,” and started to cry. I didn’t understand the meaning of that word, but because he was crying, I started crying, as well.

After he left the house, I ran into my parents’ bedroom and saw that all the things atop his chest of drawers – a golf trophy, a tray for his watch, a little jar that held change and such – were gone. Only upon sight of the empty spaces did I finally understand the magnitude of his words. He was gone. He took his stuff and the pony, and he was gone.

Obviously, the folks had conducted all the heartbreak and details of dissolving a marriage as quietly as possible. Nothing was said before or during, and not much was said after, either. The oceans of silence may have been more traumatic than the crashing waves of discord that classically accompanies divorce.

The memories of the remainder of September and all of October are (blissfully?) unavailable to me, save for bidding a teary farewell to my dog Trouble, who was off to the pound. Maybe this mental rest stop was necessary to prepare for a new level of awareness coming my way.

Whereas things previously floated by on the whimsy of an idyllic childhood, my mind would too soon snap to attention, monitoring all the details around me and trying to fit pieces into a puzzle that made no sense. Though all the adults around me went out of their way to keep me from comprehending on an intellectual level, the emotional level could not be controlled by them, and that aspect was on the surface and all too active. I disappeared into the ether for a bit, and only the radio would be able to pull me back into a new reality.

"Good Time Charlie's Got The Blues" as done by Dwight Yoakam.
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September 1972: RICK NELSON - Garden Party

It’s time to start First Grade!

I was so happy to finally start real, official school. Even though by dint of birth date I could’t do kindergarten on schedule, I was already a voracious reader and had honed my writing skills with ballpoint pen all over my album jackets. Now it was time to fine-tune these skills and experience the pleasure of carrying a thermos of soup and Tupperware full of peaches in my very own lunch box.

The anticipated joys of 1st grade were quickly squelched by the cutest boy in the 2nd grade telling me I looked like the Jack-in-the-Box clown. At nursery school, we only insulted each other because we were friends, but I didn’t know this kid at all and he instantly hated me? This is what the big leagues are like?

But that was nothing compared to my teacher, Mrs. Brown, dressing me down in front of the entire class for turning in my writing assignment in cursive, rather than the wobbly, uncertain block print my classmates were struggling with. I was used to stern words for bad behavior, but this confused me because I didn’t understand what was bad about cursive and what I did wrong.

That night, in tears, I told Mom about this, and we struck a deal: I’d play along with what they wanted at school, but at home I was free to cursive all I wanted.

“You can’t please everyone so you got to please yourself.”

"Garden Party" by Rick Nelson.
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August 1972: BREAD - Guitar Man & THREE DOG NIGHT - Black & White

Even while distracted by The Electric Company and The Bugaloos, I could tell something was wrong. Dad wasn’t around the house much, and even though he was mowing the grass right on schedule, his long absences were odd.

And even though that meant Mom and I spent more solo time together, she seemed distracted. Then on one gray, misty early morning as she drove me to nursery school, I picked up on a deep sadness seeping out of her. She said nothing, so I said nothing while bleakly watching a rain-soaked soybean field out the passenger window as Bread sang, “Then the lights begin to flicker and the sound is getting dim…”

A bit later, I got to “go bumming” with my Dad on a Saturday morning. This used to be a normal routine for us, and I loved tagging along while he took care of business, but it just wasn’t happening as much as it once did.

As were heading back home, “Black & White” by Three Dog Night came over the AM radio, and me merrily singing along was interrupted by Dad giving me a pop quiz: “Do you know what this song is really about?”

I recalled seeing an animated version of the song on The Sonny & Cher Show, but no, that wasn’t it. He proceeded to give me a basic overview of the song’s symbolism being about racial equality (“black ink is black people, the white page is white people”), which threw me off because one thing I knew for sure is that Dad didn’t like colored people. So what was he getting at?

In light of what was coming around the bend, I realize in retrospect that my Dad was probably trying to diffuse massive guilt by taking a stab at imparting racial harmony, which was probably easier for him to swallow than the things that could have been said.

"Guitar Man" by Bread.
"Black & White" by Three Dog Night.
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August 1972: CHICAGO - Saturday in the Park & DANIEL BOONE - Beautiful Sunday

It was all about the weekends, because Dad bought a carriage (which he spray painted bright yellow) to hook up to my pony Sugar, and he’d drive me and the older kids on the block up and down our country street. “Saturday in the Park” and “Beautiful Sunday” exactly embodied how I felt during these moments.

Staying horse-related, “Popcorn” by Hot Butter always brings back a great memory of the sound of a blue-black, prize-winning pony stampeding down the street, dragging a cart behind him and barreling into our driveway.

Dad decided to breed Sugar with Billy Blue Blazes, who lived at Farmer Don’s place many miles further down Douglas Road. Seems bringing Sugar to Billy’s crib wasn’t producing the desired result, so when Sugar went back into heat, they’d bring Billy to Sugar.

Turns out Sugar was at the height of heat during the middle of a family gathering at our house, and relatives be damned, this was happening! Sugar was brought out to the driveway. Billy Blue Blazes was unhooked from the cart, and without any fanfare, he got right to humping. Naturally, this bit of equestrian procreation brought the entire family to the picture window to watch, and Billy gave them a bit of show by pooping while humping!

This attempt turned out to be the one that took, and good thing, because Great Aunt Lilly about fainted from the shock and indignation of watching animal sex. But if this was so absolutely upsetting, why didn’t she just look away?

"Saturday in the Park" by Chicago.
"Beautiful Sunday" by Daniel Boone.
"Popcorn" by Hot Butter.
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July 1972: THE SWEET - Little Willy

Oh yes, one’s first vinyl LP is a major milestone, but nothing is sweeter than being introduced to the immediate pop gratification of singles.

Once again, Kmart was the place where a vinyl addiction took seed. Mom let me pick out any song I wanted, and the selection of this 45 rpm actually had more to do with the familiar gray and black Bell Records label (hello, Partridge Family) showing through the round cut-out of the single jacket than it did with an urgent need to possess this song. But it was a great choice; I played the crap out of this raucous single, and it brought about my first experience with musical criticism.

The B-Side to “Little Willy” was “Man From Mecca.” Musically, I found it crude and boring, while lyrically, I couldn’t think of anything more stupid than lines such as, “Like a white mouse hiding in a house.” Note that the B-side was written by the band, while the A-side was by Chinn & Chapman, the latter of whom would be part of another musical explosion in my world, before the decade ended. Here's a bit more about The Sweet experience.

Listen to "Little Willy" by The Sweet.
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July 1972: LOOKING GLASS - Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)

This song has made a lot of people groan for a lot of decades, but from the point of view of a 6 year old, it was just perfect. It was a story song, ripe with imagery of unrequited love, lost love and sea-faring men drinking and admiring Brandy’s jewelry (you know, “a braided chain made from the finest silver from the North of Spain”…a place that Three Dog Night guy had never been to, so Spain was an intriguing place, yes?).

Many, many years later, when I first heard the voice of Nash Kato from Urge Overkill, he sounded so familiar to me… where had I heard that voice before? It was on a port in the western bay that served a hundred ships a day! I considered that another plus for UO.

Listen to "Brandy" by Looking Glass.
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June 1972: MOUTH & MacNEAL - How Do You Do?

It was a glorious summer. The smell of the grass after Dad cut it with the riding mower, playing in the sandbox as the sun set, the smell of Sugar’s feed inside the tiny barn, and David Cassidy in constant rotation on the stereo. Yes, it was a glorious summer.

The joyous stomp of the beat in “How Do You Do” matched my boundless girl energy, and I always loved songs that had men and women’s voices trading off lines (like Ocean’s “Put Your Hand in the Hand"), so it was a natural favorite. To this very day, the song always conjures the scent and feel of a completely naive and free summer.

Listen to "How Do You Do" by Mouth & MacNeal.
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April 1972: SAMMY DAVIS, JR. - The Candy Man

The timing couldn’t have been better with this song. It’s Easter time and the airwaves are full of an infectious tune about a man covering things in chocolate and making the world taste good. I still believed in the Easter Bunny, and figured if that cool, cool rabbit could sing, he’d sound much like Sammy.

Easter meant an egg hunt first thing out of bed, and then we left the ranch to go to the city to see both of my grandmas, who gave me lots of candy and a paddle ball. Nothing better than getting all hopped up on malted milk and chocolate eggs and thwacking a rubber ball against plywood until either the rubber band snapped or the folks did.

So, that was the anticipation, the hope based on former Easter’s, but it all went a bit odd on Easter Eve. My Mother rolled up two pin curls on either side of my face, held down with metal clamps that felt weird while awake, and made it nearly impossible to sleep. But I went along with it because she said it would make my hair look just as nice as my new Easter dress.

On Sunday morning, she undid the pin curls, combed out my hair and it felt weird. Then I checked the mirror and I looked horrible! There was no convincing me otherwise, and I could barely hear them say so over my constant wails as I ran around my bedroom. This hairdo was ruining everything.

To get me out of the house, Mother said I could wear my white fur hat which would probably flatten those curls a bit.

It did not. And because those concrete curls wouldn’t budge, neither did the hat from my head. I wore it for the car rides, through church, through paddle ball… which created a fair bit of bratty kid tension for the family. Mother dealt with it by taking a picture of me pouting in the back seat of our fire engine red station wagon.


The minute we got back home, I removed the hat, put on my play clothes and literally dive-bombed into Trouble’s dog house, hoping a good canine roll in the dirt would make that hairdo disappear so we could separate the sorrow and collect up all the cream.

Listen to "The Candy Man" by Sammy Davis, Jr.
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March 1972: AMERICA - A Horse With No Name

Aside from thinking this song was by the same guy who also did “Heart of Gold,” (which seems an honest mistake since America was blatantly trying to ape Neil Young, right?), it caused me a little concern.

The lyrics were confusing. The desert is hot and dry and his skin burns and he’s real thirsty but he’s happy about it? And what about the horse with no name… which you let go?!

I dearly loved my pony, Sugar, and the thought of being so whacked out that “after nine days I let the horse run free” was upsetting, and brought about a disturbing question: if I rode Sugar for 9 days in a row during the hottest part of the summer, would I possibly do the same heinous thing?

Yeah, well, there were “plants and birds and rocks and things” in the pasture where I rode, and it rained fairly often in the spring, so I was safe from accidental pony abandonment.

Listen to "A Horse With No Name" by America.
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February 1972 - THREE DOG NIGHT - Never Been To Spain

My family of Catholic Democrats were continually bringing up President Richard Nixon going to China. At this time, I became vaguely aware of “politics” as the White House and the President, and was catching on quick that “Tricky Dick” was a bad man, not to be trusted. Even without listening to the grownups fret, there was no getting around the sight, sound and feel of the man when he was on TV; Nixon reminded me of Snidely Whiplash.
Ew.

And China was another geographical location I could add to my arsenal of places learned from Three Dog Night’s “Never Been to Spain.” Because of this song I now knew of Spain, England, Las Vegas and Oklahoma (not Arizona). Plus, the singer’s voice started out real low and smooth, which was just as enticing to my ears as when all their voices rang out at full throttle.

Music history tends to completely overlook the dominance of Three Dog Night from 1969 to 1974, both on the charts and with radio listeners. Then again, maybe they don’t need a critical rethink or a re-mastered reprise, because everything you need to know is in the songs when you run across them. Even though I can barely withstand “Joy to the World” due to endless repetition, it’s still the best description of how people react to their old hits: joy.

Listen to "Never Been To Spain" by Three Dog Night.
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Janaury 1972: NEW SEEKERS – I’d Like To Teach the World to Sing

Television became a very big deal.

Previously, the parents had it on in the background - and aside from Batman - it couldn't compete with some of my better toys. But keeping up with new episodes of The Partridge Family and The Brady Bunch got me into the weekly routine, and soon, each day became a smorgasbord of viewing options. It was one of the few fun things to do that had full adult approval.

I finally mastered “telling time” because of TV shows. Early morning: when The Lone Ranger and Fury were over it was time for one of the parents to drive me to Conine’s so they could get to work. Start the morning with Sesame Street. Mid-morning snack with I Love Lucy or Electric Company, and then my choice of game shows until the afternoon blitz of Ultraman and Johnny Socko’s Robot. A parent would pick me up before Walter Cronkite could get too deep into whatever it was he was going on about. The TV was just as good as a clock.

TV ads hipped me to a wider world of stuff. The ads in 16 and Tiger Beat magazines were selling David Cassidy stuff, the ads on TV were selling different stuff. Some I recognized, but many were new mysteries, like pantyhose inside a plastic egg (is this an Easter thing?) and a dog chasing a horse-drawn wagon that disappears into a kitchen cabinet. Freaky stuff.

TV ads had special music - short, easy to remember ditties that went with the images. For instance, a rainbow assortment of people singing “I’d like to buy the world a Coke and keep it company… what the world wants today is the real thing, Coca-Cola.”

A bit later, I hear the same song, with slightly different lyrics, on the radio. What? And the words are slightly different…where’s the soda? Is “plop plop fizz fizz” gonna be on the radio, too?

Cross-promotional music was a mind-bending discovery at the time, and I haven’t really ever made solid peace with it, even though there’s been 4 decades to get used to it. And Coca-Cola continued to meld radio and TV, confusing me a year later with Dottie West’s “Country Sunshine,” and making me worry about what they might do to Donna Fargo's "Funny Face."

I was glad that ours was an RC Cola house.

See the TV commercial that is the song, sorta.
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December 1971: DON McLEAN - "American Pie"

The only disagreement I remember my folks having was over this song. A very heated exchange took place in the kitchen when it was discovered that Mom hated the song while Dad loved it. I was puzzled as to why a mere radio tune could call up such vitriol, and made a concerted effort to pay close attention the next time I heard it so I could wisely choose which side of the debate I was on.

In retrospect, the fuss over this song was actually about a marriage rapidly unraveling. They never argued or talked about any of their issues, they simply let the problems consume them. “American Pie” was the closest they came to an actual argument prior to their separation, and this song was the only outlet they had for venting their anger.

See and hear the song.
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October 1971: CHER - "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves"

Cher gave me this song for my birthday! And Sonny & Cher came to life on TV every week! I’d always known who Sonny & Cher were; I’d heard the songs on the radio, seen the pictures. But it wasn’t until they blazed on a TV screen before me that it all fell into place.

There were plenty of variety shows to choose from, but theirs was by far the most tailored to my tastes. They had animated cartoons of popular songs as interpreted by Cher (her version of “One Tin Soldier” kicks the ass of the original), fast and breezy rounds of sketches full of motion and funny costumes, great songs and then there was CHER!

To my eyes, she was glamorous without being threatening because she was funny, sarcastic, laughed a lot and enthusiastically wore the stupidest costumes. And when not dressed as Raggedy Ann or Minnie Mouse, she wore dresses that looked just like the clothes I put on my Barbie dolls. But Cher wasn’t a doll, she was a real live lady! And she would always break out in song. She was the human personification of my imaginary playmate, the perfect person, and the time I got to spend with her (and Sonny) once a week actually eclipsed The Partridge Family in television importance.

At this time, to keep me occupied during a shopping trip at J.C. Penney, Mom had me go to the record department and pick out something for myself. A casual cruise of the racks turned dead serious when the cover of Sonny & Cher Live came into view. My dramatic intake of breath could surely be heard all the way across the store.

This album (with a gatefold!) was a level above the Partridges because not only was there music, but they talked! They told jokes, bantered, griped and then sang. It was like having the variety show come to life at my command, and the sense of power was heady. Sure, it took me years to get most of the sexual content of the jokes, but when I did it cleared up a kiddie confusion.

I wanted to take my new favorite record to nursery school for Show & Tell. Now, since I played the thing repeatedly, Mom had obviously heard the entire thing, and obviously got all the jokes right off the bat. So, she knew that if I took this record to nursery school, the risqué humor would sail right over my class mates heads, but that all the teachers would have mini-heart attacks. That would lead to them questioning her decision to let me listen to this kind of stuff, and who wants to be confronted with that while picking up your kid after work?

So, she tried to convince me to bring my Alvin & The Chipmunks record instead. Yeah, I liked that album well enough, but any of my classmates could bring that. I wanted to share Cher, and threw a miniature fit over being kept from doing so.



See and hear the song.
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September 1971: The STAMPEDERS - "Sweet City Woman"

Down the road a stretch was a farming man who was also involved with pony cart racing. Through him, Dad bought a secondhand metal pony cart frame, which he spray painted a bright and cheery yellow. The plywood bench seat could hold 2 adults or one adult and two kids.

On a picture perfect fall afternoon, Dad attached Sugar before the cart, and entertained bunches of us kids with authentic pony cart rides up and down Douglas Lane. “Sweet City Woman” was just the absolutely perfect song for this moment, with its old-fashioned, laid-back country banjo strumming, and a beat that perfectly matched Sugar’s happy trot on the blacktop. Every time I hear the song, I’m completely back in that moment, and always amazed at how brilliantly one song could summarize an exact season, day, locality and activity.

Hear the song.
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September 1971: The PARTRIDGE FAMILY - Sound Magazine

Another Partridge Family album!!!! Sound Magazine thrilled me even more than the previous 2 albums because the songs were better and the David Cassidy pictures were cuter. The longer he grew is hair, the better he looked!

And since they were upping their game, I had to up mine. Mom and I went to see the Walt Disney Ice Capades at the Arena, and afterwards, I got to pick out a souvenir. When I saw a red-rimmed tambourine with Jimminy Cricket’s face on the front, I knew that was a useful addition to my musical arsenal (so far consisting only of a green waffle ball bat bass), as it was an actual musical instrument. The minute we got home, I raced into my bedroom, slapped Sound Magazine on the Zenith, and banged along. It took only a couple of tracks to realize that I was far better at this percussive instrument than Tracy Partridge. Far better.

The best song on the album is “Summer Days.” Mom and I adored it at the time; she didn’t mind me playing it over and over and over again. To this day, every time I play it, I get all weepy and nostalgic for the two of us at that specific moment in time. And to this day, I wish that Frank Sinatra had taken a crack at this song. Slow the tempo down to give it some air, his voice hugging those words, that melody, and it would have been magic.

The Partridge Family - Summer Days.
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August 1971: ALICE COOPER, Cereal Killer

Looking back, it’s shocking to realize how much of my early record collection came off the backs of cereal boxes. How wondrous it was to have vinyl (albeit low grade) stamped onto cardboard, waiting the hasty draining of the contents in order to spin. The ceremony of using “the big scissors” to oh-so-carefully cut the 45 out of the back of the box, and then watch it flop on the turntable like a landed fish was just as important as discovering that the Scooby Doo boys & girls sang! And they sounded a lot like Josie & the Pussycats! How strange.

Along with the toy surprise inside, cereal box tops were the kiddie equivalent of Green Stamps. Super Sugar Crisp promised that they would send me an 11x17 black & white poster of David Cassidy if I sent them 4 box tops. I did, and they were good for their word. A short time later, a large manila envelope addressed to me arrived in the mail, and I ripped it open with a frenzy that only the promise of a David poster could conjure.

Sure enough, there he was; simply gorgeous. Oh, and there’s more posters. Honey bear sure gave bang for the box top buck. There were a total of 5 posters: David, Jackson 5, the Osmonds, Bobby Sherman and… what in the world is this?!?!?!?!

It was a picture of an ugly crew of long-haired dirty creeps surrounding a skinny, beak-nosed monster with warped raccoon eyes. It was so ugly that I had to look away and just sneak peaks at it. It freaked me out, bad. I was able to look at it long enough to see the poster was labeled “The Alice Cooper Band.”

I was perplexed as to how something this gross could have invaded my David Cassidy world. Then it hit me in a flash: My Parents Can Not See This! Or rather, they can’t see that I have this! I ripped the poster to shreds, and threw it in the trash can. But then I doubled-back and actually lifted up a layer of garbage to bury the shreds deep within. I had to spare us all from the horror.

5 year old me would have run in horror, but adult me knows this is fierce:
The Alice Cooper Band - "Is It My Body
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June 1971: BEE GEES - "How Can You Mend a Broken Heart"

My Grandma, Hester Pauge, had been mugged while delivering Avon. She lived on Hebert Street in North St. Louis City, and while all her white neighbors had been fleeing the area in record numbers, she stayed. Her actions matched her words; she didn’t really care about the color of someone’s skin. Everyone was good to her. Except the muggers. And then it turns out this was not the first time she’d been jumped. It was actually the third time.

With that revelation, strings were pulled so Grandma could move into the Little Sisters of the Poor. Her new place of residence was certainly fun… ceramics, and snack machines and elevators, but I’d look out the window of her 7th-story room, and survey the dying neighborhoods below me, and try to spot her old house. Since I couldn’t see it from up on high, Mom drove me by her former house one last time, as the Bee Gees played on the radio.

See and hear the song.
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June 1971: FORTUNES - "Here Comes That Rainy Day Feeling Again"

Even a 5-year old mistook this for Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons! But imitation is a sincere form of flattery and this was a great tune. What makes it so is the simple device of a sad scenario told against upbeat, major chords. If you don’t listen to the words, it sounds like a sunny day, and when oldies radio DJs give it a spin on a rainy day, it just doesn’t work. But again, that’s the hook: smiling through the tears. That, and it sounds just like what the Four Season’s would have been doing if they’d still been around.

The Fortune's version of the song.

And Sonny & Cher give it a try!

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May 1971: The RAIDERS - "Indian Reservation"

This song accompanied my Native American Musings while riding bareback on my pony. It was also in mind while playing Cowboys & Indians with colorful plastic figurines from Kreseges. But know that I misconstrued this song as being from the cowboy’s perspective, for both my child mind – and society as a whole – had yet to become Politically Correct, even though Mark Lindsey had.

(Overlook the mustache but) see and hear the song.

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April 1971: BREAD - "If"

Because this song moved slower than frozen molasses, it gave me plenty of time to really listen to the words. For the first time, I noticed that song lyrics could be poetry, or what I thought of as poetry at a young age. 31 years later, Dolly Parton would give this song a lively bluegrass arrangement, and turn it into the heartbreaking lovely song it so tried to be in the first place. She even kept the wah-wah guitar!

Dolly's cover of "If."
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February 1971: BOBBY SHERMAN - "Cried Like A Baby"

Much like the Dave Clark 5 oh-so-briefly usurping The Beatles in popularity, Bobby Sherman had one quick moment where he almost took my attention away from David Cassidy. Yes, Mr. Sherman had Top 40 hits 2 years before David Cassidy blossomed, but it wasn’t until “My Awakening” that I noticed him. And then, I noticed him only because he re-tooled his image into a Poor Man’s David. Whereas David wore pookah shells around his tawny neck, Bobby wore velvet chokers. David’s luxurious shag blew free in the Southern California sun while Bobby’s new David-esque do was highly lacquered into place. But Bobby had racked up enough ultra-catchy pop hits to garner a Greatest Hits album (optimistically subtitled “Volume 1”) by the end of 1971, and when Mom purchased said album for me at the local IGA grocery store, I was beside myself with happiness at the expansion of my record collection.

Ultra-charming Bobby Sherman in satin fringe doing "Easy Come Easy Go."

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January 1971: THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY - Up To Date

The Partridge Family released another album! Today, as I look at my battered copy of Up To Date, I realize I must have crossed over into a new level of musical maturity. The only writing on the album cover is “Toby W.” written in the top right-hand corner by Mom, which is what had to be done to make sure you didn’t lose your records when taking them back and forth to listening parties. I did not scribble mercilessly all over it with magic markers. I treated it with proper respect.

This album was so much better than the debut. My 5-year old ears immediately noticed that the songs were much more solid and mature, and I liked all of them (whereas I had to skip over half the songs on the debut LP simply because David wasn’t singing). I have never stopped loving this album, and I actually get pissed when David Cassidy slams the Partridge music as useless crap. The songs written by Tony Romeo and Wes Farrell are as valid as the Top 40 Big Pop Extravaganzas that filled popular radio at the time. Wes Farrell’s “Wall Of Sound”-lite was made legitimate by a heaping handful of Phil Spector’s session players (hello, Hal Blaine!).

If, say, B.J. Thomas had recorded “You Are Always On My Mind,” or if Tom Jones had taken a crack at “I’m Here, You’re Here,” there’d be much less lingering prejudice against these songs. All songs can easily be divorced from their context and analyzed by its components, which is why there are so many cover tunes in the world. And I’d love to hear current-day Bob Dylan cover the Partridge’s “That’ll Be The Day.”

The Partridge Family - I'm Here, You're Here
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December 1970: LYNN ANDERSON - "Rose Garden"

I suppose this was my first country song, though I thought the record’s lush, string-laden sound was really no different than a Petula Clark song. But since it was country ‘n western, it was the perfect soundtrack to the coolest gift I got that Christmas.

My parents’ friends – Art & Ann Klein – gave me a cowgirl outfit! A matching vest and skirt of red “leather” with white fringe was accompanied by a white cowboy hat adorned with the Ford Mustang logo. When I wore this outfit with my black go-go boots, I looked sharp and felt great. Never once did I wear this ensemble to ride my pony, Sugar. Oh no, this cowgirl outfit was too precious to risk ruining it on an actual horse. Plus, the vest was very versatile, because with a little twist of imagination it transformed into a Partridge Family velvet vest which was worn while diligently practicing my green wiffle ball bat bass playing.

See and hear the song.
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December 1970: PERRY COMO - "It's Impossible"

Dad had a workshop in the basement, and now that we had a dog, he had to build a doghouse. If I could contain myself, he’d let me sit off to the side and watch him work. Since this was housing for my very first dog, I sat on my hands and clamped my mouth shut so as not to miss a moment. Of course he had the radio on as he worked; both parents always had a radio going. I vividly remember “It’s Impossible” playing as Dad drove in wood screws, and getting a little teary about it. I don’t know why. This may have been the exact moment my sentimental streak kicked in, which has always been accompanied by being nostalgic for a moment even as it’s happening. To this day, the song is my Dad building a doghouse and it makes me blubber like a baby.

Hear the song.

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November 1970: 5th DIMENSION - "One Less Bell To Answer"

Now here was a “grown up” song that I could get with. I was intrigued by the sound and the mood of the song, and it made me realize just how much I enjoyed the 5th Dimension. Their songs always sounded so warm and energetic coming over the airwaves, and seeing them on variety shows only reinforced this view. To later realize that this particular song came from Burt Bacharach & Hal David just sweetened the deal.

I was also intrigued that they were black, but no one seemed to have a problem with that. Because Black was a problem in my house; Dad didn’t like Blacks (or Jews), and was eager to share the many reasons why he didn’t like them. So, I was now aware of racial differences, but didn’t quite understand how having a different skin color than my own was an automatic detriment. And I was stumbling over Dad’s racial inconsistencies. If Black was bad, then the 5th Dimension should cause him a problem, but he didn’t have any opinion about them, which must have meant he was OK with them? Or at least he didn’t hate them, and seriously, how could anyone hate the 5th Dimension?

I just loved Marilyn McCoo’s voice. I still do; she’s one of the most underrated pop singers ever. And she was just so damn pretty and stylish. A few years later was the debut of The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and during that first season, I immediately noticed that MTM had totally stolen Marilyn McCoo’s look, from the flip hairdo to the mini-dresses to the boots. Hey, if you’re going to steal, steal from the best.

See and hear the song.
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