SONG LINE

November 1973: HELEN REDDY - Leave Me Alone (Ruby Red Dress)

2010-02-06T21:31:00.005-06:00

I had the biggest crush on a blonde hair, blue eyed boy in my 2nd grade class, Scott Van Seiver. Proximity is what made these feelings so urgent: he sat next to me alphabetically in class and lived down the street from the lady who babysat me, so I saw him on the walks to and from school. Sometimes he’d join us, and all this togetherness was exhilarating.

One day in class, I was quietly singing the chorus to “Ruby Red Dress,” and Scott said, “I love Helen Reddy.” I felt an odd pang of jealousy; if he loved her, could he possibly like me?

“Leave me alone, won’t you leave me alone…” After constantly refusing to join, I finally said “yes” to becoming a Brownie. Hell, the meetings were at the babysitter’s house, and since I was already there, it was getting hard to avoid it. I liked the snacks and the crafts (jewelry boxes made of popsicle sticks and Elmer’s glue – what’s not to love?), but was most enthralled when we gathered in a circle and sang songs. I especially loved that each meeting ended with the singing of the same song, much like Sonny & Cher always ending their show with “I Got You Babe.” I appreciated this adherence to showbiz tradition.

What I did not appreciate was the Brownie uniform. If it had been the cotton, shirtwaist dress model with the crisp, elf collar and bow tie with matching belt and hat, I’d have been ultra happy. Snacks and that uniform were the reason I gave in and joined. But 1973 was the year the Girl Scouts of America decided to update its image.

The uniform they sold to us at Goldie’s department store in the Village Square shopping center was a shapeless polyester jumper (you had to supply your own shirt to wear underneath!) the color of cheap chocolate milk. The hat had become a dark brown polyester/wool beanie that didn’t match the jumper, and the formerly natty bow tie was now a strip of burnt orange polyester shaped like a bowlegged man’s tie.

The new uniform made our troop look like walking baked potatoes, and even the troop leaders must have felt negatively toward the new look because they only made us wear them when out in public doing official Brownie business. And after suffering through one public Brownie event in that ridiculous costume, I made sure to somehow forget/skip out/be sick for every event after that.

See Helen Reddy perform "Leave Me Alone" on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.
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October 1973: CHARLIE RICH - The Most Beautiful Girl in the World

2010-02-06T20:27:00.003-06:00

My Father was gaga in love with his new wife, Joy, while I was falling deeper into dislike with her one visitation weekend at a time. He thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, and I thought she was bad news.

The walls of their tiny apartment were paper thin, so I had to endure hearing them make sex noises, which was gross and maddening. But even more damaging was Joy constantly trying to win me over with things that I had no interest in.

For example, for my birthday, she gave me the Donny Osmond album My Best To You. A new teen idol had yet to take the place of my beloved David Cassidy, and Donny certainly wasn’t even in the running. But Joy was thinking that since Donny was so hot at the time, surely I liked him, thus the album was presented to me with great fanfare.

She obviously did not remember how important teen idols were, and that a deep love for them happens spontaneously and organically. It cannot be foisted upon you like an arranged marriage, and I wanted nothing to do with that album.

But Joy insisted upon us playing it repeatedly, with her bopping and singing excitedly in an attempt to engage me in some giddy girlie bonding. I did like the song “I Knew You When,” and maybe I would have liked the rest of the songs if she hadn’t been so desperate to make me like them.

Then it turns out Donny covered a song that Wayne Newton had also covered, and turns out Joy absolutely adored her some Wayne Newton. So she pulled out that album so I could hear his version. You’d think that since the moment traumatized me so much, I’d remember clearly what the song was, especially since she was exuberantly singing along with it while Dad smiled wildly. But the mind tries to be kind by blocking out ugly things, and this was one of those things.

See Charlie Rich perform "The Most Beautiful Girl in the World."
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September 1973: CHER - Half-Breed

2010-02-06T19:39:00.003-06:00

With one song, Cher made me switch sides from wanting to be a cowgirl to wishing I was an Indian maiden with the floor-length headdress like the one she wore while singing the song on The Sonny & Cher Show. I still want that headdress, and I’ve come close to it a couple of times: the Cher half breed doll and being invited to portray an Indian in a music video.

Cher performed the song on horseback, and I, too, could sing it on horseback…well, technically, on the back of my Shetland pony. But since she was short, there might be a problem with the feathers dragging on the ground. And there was one other technical glitch with executing this idea: Sugar had recently given birth, so was busy nursing a little one.

Yes, that public moment of copulation with Billy Blue Blazes did result in an exquisite little colt my Father named Star. Yes, Sugar gestated for about 370 days, which is not all that unusual.

During the separation, my Dad had shipped the pregnant Sugar from our paddock on Douglas Road to the ranch of Art and Ann Klein in Brighton, Illinois. Art and Ann were the couple who gave me the red cowgirl outfit, so this (and about 10 acres of fenced pasture) made them the perfect adoptive parents for Sugar.

I was enchanted by the little colt, and thrilled to see Sugar every now and then, but because it was every now and then, it felt more like visiting a petting zoo than spending time with my pony and colt. Sometime later when Dad sold the pair to a co-worker living in Troy, MO, it registered nowhere near the sadness he expected upon telling me the news. I had to pretend to be sad just to match his expectations. There was no way for him to understand, or me to explain, that I had a callused heart from having lost Sugar – among many other things – in September of 1972, and that I was just happy that some big, happy family would now love and play with my pony.

Here's an iconic Cher moment: "Half-Breed."
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September 1973: PAUL SIMON - Loves Me Like a Rock

2010-02-06T18:51:00.004-06:00

My Mother begins dating a man named Dale, who has a modified version of Charlie Rich's hair, drinks too much, drives too fast and smells of Old Spice (with a Cutty Sark top note). He also has a skinny blonde son named Jeff, who is the same age as me.

Jeff was a deeply morose little guy because his mother had died the previous year. I was angry because I’d “lost” my father around the same time. When we had to hang out together, it always felt like we should have had a connection but something key was missing. Now I realize that if we’d been adults, we’d have spent our time together moaning about how life sucks over way too many cocktails and bonding for life. But as it stood, I was full of piss and vinegar while he was mopey and lethargic, and that was an uncomfortable combination.

See Paul Simon perform "Loves Me Like A Rock."
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August 1973: PAUL McCARTNEY & WINGS - Live and Let Die

2010-01-10T18:38:00.007-06:00

Considering my age, I knew more about the solo Paul McCartney work than his legacy as a Beatle. In essence, I was unencumbered by the weight of his history, so I just took his solo work at face value, and was very happy with it. And his song “Live and Let Die” allowed me to work off a lot of steam.

In this month, I got two disturbing pieces of news.

#1: My Mother had to break the news that my Father had married Joy. This meant that when I went for a weekend visitation to their one-bedroom apartment in Ferguson, I had to be nice to wife #3.

Oh, she tried to win me over, plying me with macaroni and cheese and popsicles, but she felt more like an obstruction between me and my Dad. And it was especially confusing when he started talking about how I could come live with them – wouldn’t that be fun? But since I had to sleep on a fold-out cot in their living room, I didn’t think doing this full-time would be all that fun. And I noted that Joy never joined in these “come live with us” monologues, since they always happened when she wasn’t around.

#2: My Mother had procured me a babysitter, a place I could stay before and after school, as I was about to start 2nd grade.

Previously, I’d been staying with a lady named Linda, who was in the same apartment building as ours, so it was familiar surroundings. And even though Linda had me drinking powdered milk (ewwwww!), she also introduced me to making Charlie Brown Christmas ornaments out of dough that was baked solid in the oven, so she was cool.

But now I’d be staying with a lady – Shirley - who lived in Seven Hills, a subdivision about a quarter mile away from the apartments. This meant I’d be walking in the opposite direction after school, and would be in a new setting with her 3 kids, Kim, Lisa and Brian. I noted that Shirley had a little dog, which was a bonus, but not enough of a bonus to keep me from reacting badly to this change of plans.

Which is where Paul McCartney came in handy. He made me feel better when he sang, “But if this ever changing world in which we live in makes you give in and cry/Say live and let die.” Never underestimate the therapeutic qualities of good melodrama.

See Paul McCartney & Wings do "Live & Let Die."
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July 1973: MAUREEN McGOVERN - The Morning After

2010-01-10T18:06:00.004-06:00

This was the theme song to The Poseidon Adventure, and this movie marked my first visit to a drive-in theater (the 270 Drive-In, Florissant, MO).

Mindy was an older girl in the apartment complex, and I piled into her family’s station wagon for this maiden movie voyage. Now, my Mother had a serious, life-long movie-going jones, so I’d been to a lot of movie theaters, but this outdoor experience was really something special.

The sound of pebbles crunching under the tires was exciting, and then the car parked, the father rolled down the windows and attached a tiny radio to the window and that’s how we heard the movie! Then others in the car brought us popcorn – this was getting better by the minute!

But about 20 minutes into the flick, the problems with this concept became clear: Kids jumping around and screaming in the station wagon made it impossible to see or hear the damn movie! I had to wait many a year to finally see the entire movie and glory to Shelly Winters Shamu-swim through the water. But I did learn a valuable lesson: drive-in movies were about everything BUT watching the movie.

And the next time Mindy asked if I wanted to go with them to the 270 Drive-In, I simply said, “no.” She tried to bribe me into going by giving me a plastic Tyrannosaurs Rex. I took the dinosaur, but still refused to go.

Hear "The Morning After" with scenes from the movie.
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June 1973: EDGAR WINTER GROUP - Frankenstein

2010-01-10T17:22:00.002-06:00

My Mother’s best friend, Blanche, was marrying a quintessential Irish cop, and Mom was in the wedding party. On the night of the wedding, I stayed at the house of the woman who made the pink and white polyester bridesmaid dresses, and was left in the care of her 15-year old daughter.

The daughter was tall and skinny with long, frizzy hair (when I saw Lorraine Newman on Saturday Night Live a few years later, she reminded me of the daughter) and a dark brown suede vest with beaded fringe, which I thought was pretty cool because it constantly made a quiet clinking noise.

I thought it was even cooler when she me took upstairs to her attic bedroom and started sharing her stuff with me. She put on a record by a group called Deep Purple (turns out it was Machine Head) and explained what “Smoke on the Water” was all about. I nodded my head as if I understood, and then said that one of the guys (Ian Gillan) was really cute, which set her off into a spasm of excitement.

She yanked out her high school yearbook to show me that the guy she had the biggest crush on looked “just like” Ian Gillan. It was confusing, because the cute guy in the tiny black and white photo had long blonde hair, but she was a high school girl, so obviously she knew better than me, right?

After turning her back to me for a few minutes, she got all animated. I asked what that smell was.
“What smell?”
“It smells like burnt Pop Tarts.”
She giggled wildly, interspersing it with the phrase, “Pot Tarts!”
There was that word again: pot. Just what in the hell is pot?

Somehow, I became her Mother Confessor, as she told a fast string of stories about pot, and booze and boys that made no sense, but because I was listening intently, she kept rambling on while slapping a rotation of vinyl onto the stereo. I was perfectly content absorbing all this new data (I really dug the beads hanging in the doorways), and was really liking the circular keyboard squawking of a song she told me was called “Frankenstein.” But then she handed me the album to look at, and on the cover was a really creepy looking white guy – really, really white – with makeup and ladies’ jewelry. And even though there were some cute guys in other photos on the album cover, the creepy white freak was in all of them, too!

All of a sudden, “Frankenstein” started sounding as creepy as that freak looked, and the daughter’s non-stop yammering became grating, and I’d hit my limit. I tossed the record on the bed and bolted out of the room and down the stairs. The daughter came running after me, asking what was wrong. I now stood in the kitchen, and simply said, “I want a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

She made me the sandwich, and asked if I wanted to bring it upstairs to eat. I simply took the sandwich into the living room, sat on the couch and stared at the TV. Daughter finally got the hint and left me alone.
Whew!

See "the freak" doing "Frankenstein."

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May 1973: ALBERT HAMMOND - It Never Rains in California

2010-01-10T16:22:00.004-06:00

My parent’s divorce became final, and the only reaction from my Mother that I registered was her trading in her 1967 Plymouth Fury for a 1971 Mercury Cougar. It was bright blue and the perfect car for a divorcee, but it also turned out to be a piece of crap nicknamed “The Blue Bomb” by every mechanic who worked on it.

My Father’s reaction to the divorce was introducing me to his girlfriend, Joy. She was way younger than my Dad, which was confusing, and I didn’t like all the Aqua Net blonde hair piled atop her head and the thick black eyeliner. When she offered me a stick of Juicy Fruit in that high, sweet tone women use when talking to other women they dislike, I knew it was a bribe, and my distrust of her was immediate and enduring.

Incapable of making sense of all these changes, I focused – as usual - on the radio and my new favorite song, “It Never Rains in California.” I was hooked by what I considered the second chorus of the song – the repeating flute refrain, and I considered it a companion piece to “Do You Know the Way To San Jose”: this is what became of our heroine after show biz chewed her up and spit her out.

After learning the truth about the weather in California, I lumped it in with “A Horse With No Name,” wherein songs pass off inaccurate information as facts. After telling my Mother about the “lies” of “in the desert you can’t remember your name” and “it never rains California,” she explained the concept of poetic license. After mulling this over, I determined that America’s poetic license was just plain silly, while Albert’s was touching. In retrospect, I probably let up on Albert because he wrote a perfect, melancholy pop tune while America was just plain crap.

Here's Albert doing "It Never Rains in California."

April 1973: ELTON JOHN - Daniel

2010-01-09T19:17:00.003-06:00

A pale and tiny blonde girl named Danielle lived across the court from me, and she decided this was her song, since it was so close to her name. I took issue with this because, #1: it was about a boy, and #2: she was so weepy and whiney that she didn’t deserve an Elton John song.

Shortly after this moment, I was cursed by two embarrassing moments at school:

#1: I wet my pants while sitting in the school chair during a reading lesson. I’d raised my hand to ask Miss Kelly if I could go to the bathroom, and she said no, since we were going for a bathroom break in just a bit. But I couldn’t hold it, and out it came. After my bladder was empty, Miss Kelly takes me to the bathroom, and then baffled me by asking why I did that. Adults are very confusing!

#2: I got chewed out by the art teacher over my painting. I was trying to depict a nature scene with tempra paint: a blue slash at the top of the paper, and a green slash at the bottom. The teacher – Mr. Kurd – took me to the window to point out that there was no white space between the earth and the sky – they meet, so my painting should reflect this. But back at my seat, I decided I wanted that white space between the earth and sky so I could paint some people in. Mr. Kurd swung back by, saw that I’d ignored his lesson, and said my painting would not get a passing grade.

Both of these incidents left me just as weepy and whiney as Danielle, and it taught me a lesson: if someone says it’s “my song,” leave it to them.

See Elton doing "Daniel."
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March 1973: VICKI LAWRENCE - The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia

2010-01-09T18:50:00.005-06:00

Alongside the radio, variety show television was how we heard new songs, and the power of a TV star singing a song (hello, Cher!) could not be ignored.

The Carol Burnett Show was like a religious service in our home, so when one of its stars – Vicki Lawrence – put out the single “The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia,” it was mandatory that I own it. Plus, the single was on the Bell label, so this was a no-brainer.

Luckily, I loved the song, playing it over and over again, trying to figure out the story line. No matter how hard I concentrated, I’d get confused by the plot: murder, multiple infidelities, and corrupt judges… hard for a 7-year old to keep it straight. But all this confusion and misunderstanding just added to the allure, and that chorus was undeniable!

Things got even more intriguing when two teenagers in the apartment complex overheard me singing the song while out riding my bike. Jackie and Janel stopped me to ask if I knew “what that song means.” I was too thrilled to have junior high kids purposely talking to me to give an intelligible response, but it didn’t matter, because they started talking animatedly between themselves about plot points, and “pot” and getting in trouble for sneaking off with boys.

I asked a question about this last point, and they came back to the reality of talking in front of a dumb grade schooler and went silent, staring at me. Finally, Janel said, “This song has real deep meaning for me, and I can’t tell you why. It’s a secret. And you wouldn’t even understand if I told you.”

With that, Jackie and Janel looked at each other and began laughing uproariously as they walked away from me. This sent me back home for a few more listens to the song, trying to unlock Janel’s secret… did she kill someone? From then on, I stayed far away from those two, but watched Janel with a cautious eye because, well, what if she was a murderer?

Hear the song.
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February 1973: THE O'JAYS - Love Train

2010-01-09T18:06:00.004-06:00

Bell bottoms. Flares. Elephant flares. All the older kids in the apartment complex wore them, as did so many of the dancers on American Bandstand and Soul Train. I wanted a pair, real bad, and I finally got a pair!

They were elephant flares, of a dark blue, light weight denim. They made the most satisfying thwap thwap sound when I walked, and they swayed magnificently when (figuratively) joining hands with the kids on Soul Train to form a “Love Train.”

I loved those “dancing pants,” they made me feel as cool as those kids on TV. I started asking for platforms and an afro. I was told no, and “don’t let your father hear you say that.”

I understood what my Mother meant – my Dad didn’t like blacks, and he wouldn’t dig my burgeoning Black Pride. But everything he’d say about them didn’t seem to apply to the black kids I knew from school. This marked the first time I knew my Dad was wrong about something, and my elephant flare dancing pants became a symbol for “Father Does Not Know Best.”

Watch a Soul Train line dance to "Love Train."
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January 1973: CARLY SIMON - You're So Vain

2009-06-15T20:01:00.004-05:00

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

2009-06-15T19:31:00.005-05:00

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

2009-06-15T18:56:00.004-05:00

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

2009-06-15T18:26:00.004-05:00

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

2009-06-15T18:18:00.003-05:00

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

2009-06-09T21:12:00.001-05:00

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

2009-06-09T20:42:00.001-05:00

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

2009-06-09T20:10:00.001-05:00

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

2009-06-09T19:31:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-09T18:56:00.000-05:00

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)

2009-06-09T18:37:00.000-05:00

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?

2009-06-09T18:15:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-08T20:52:00.000-05:00

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

2009-06-08T20:23:00.001-05:00

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

2009-06-08T19:52:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-01T19:38:00.001-06:00

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"

2006-11-25T19:33:00.000-06:00

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"

2006-11-25T19:09:00.000-06:00

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"

2006-11-25T17:39:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-25T17:22:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-13T21:05:00.000-06:00

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"

2006-11-05T19:03:00.000-06:00

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"

2006-11-05T18:44:00.000-06:00

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!

May 1971: The RAIDERS - "Indian Reservation"

2006-11-05T18:24:00.000-06:00

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.

April 1971: BREAD - "If"

2006-11-05T17:50:00.000-06:00

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"

2006-10-26T19:39:00.000-05:00

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."

January 1971: THE PARTRIDGE FAMILY - Up To Date

2006-10-26T15:30:00.000-05:00

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"

2006-10-25T17:05:00.000-05:00

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"

2006-10-23T21:17:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2006-10-23T21:00:00.000-05:00

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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October 1970: PARTRIDGE FAMILY - "I Think I Love You"

2006-10-17T18:24:00.000-05:00

We moved into a ranch house out where North County literally ends at the Missouri River. We might as well have been living in a little house on the prairie, as far as my thoroughly-citified Mom was concerned. Dad was blissfully happy to be closer to his farmer dreams. I was ecstatic, for I got a strawberry roan Shetland pony named Sugar (“ride a painted pony, let the spinning wheel spin”) and a dog named Trouble.

Also, the largest room in the house became my bedroom. It was once 2 small rooms, but with the wall knocked out I had a bedroom chamber as well as a recreation room. Since the other areas of the house were so small, they put the stereo in my room. I was now left alone with a Zenith “Circle of Sound” stereo system and all my parents’ albums. I quickly plowed through all of Barb’s musical soundtrack albums and Dad’s “make-out” music. I especially loved the stack of 45s and 78s, and then there was one record that had to be played at 16 RPM, featuring Barb singing “Lonely Wine.” I was memorized at hearing her husky singing voice coming from the speakers; my Mom was a music star!

Having taken command of the stereophonic world, new vistas opened before me, but Dorothy’s black & white shack was just about to land in Technicolor Oz.

My Pop Life officially began with the Partridge Family . The musical milestone started when Barb bought me the Partridge’s debut album at K-Mart. This was the first piece of vinyl that was exclusively mine, and was the welcome mat before the door of a new world…the world of pop and rock & roll, of fandom, of posters on the wall and a green wiffle ball bat turning into a guitar. The sound the world’s doorbell made when this fledgling music junkie pressed it was “Ba ba ba ba/ba ba ba ba baaah…Hey, I think I love you.” So let it be said that David Cassidy was the goal post of my cultural kick-off.

The Partridge Family Album was better than a teddy bear, and I abused it as if it were one. Ballpoint pen and Magic Marker decorated the covers, and interstate systems were etched into the vinyl from overzealous phonograph needle manipulation. I loved the music, certainly, but there was an added religious fervor due to this being my first multimedia experience. I need not spend a single moment without the Partridge Family! David Cassidy could be with me always….and he was. The faux-wood panel walls surrounding my bed were plastered with his gorgeous face. He watched over me as I furiously read every detail of his existence in such highly-factual periodicals as 16 and Tiger Beat. I spent every Friday night watching David and his “family” create scenarios that allowed them to play songs. When the episode was over, I could run to my room and play the featured song repeatedly, pretending to be “Keith’s” bassist brother “Danny,” and work myself into a tornadic lather until I collapsed into bed.

But it got even better! The rest of the world soon understood how monumental David Cassidy was when he (and OK, the Partridge’s, too) could soon be heard coming over the radio! Yes, the radio…what was once something that my parent’s had on in the background was now a direct connection to the outside Partridge world. The radio never played enough David, but luckily I had the album and could get as much as I wanted. I was now acutely aware of the importance of radio, the variety of radio stations available, and only the stations that played David, and similar pop tunes, mattered.

The Partridge Family - I Can Feel Your Heartbeat
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September 1970: EDISON LIGHTHOUSE - "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)"

2006-10-17T17:55:00.000-05:00

I figured this song was simply called “Rosemary”, and I also thought it very clever when singing it to the neighborhood babysitter Rosemarie. Now, several months previous to this there was a song by Flying Machine called “Smile A Little Smile For Me,” whose love object was named Rosemarie, but ‘cmon, I was 4 years old! My radar wasn’t yet that keen. Anyway, shortly thereafter, we moved from the inner-ring suburbs of Ferguson to the positively rural far reaches of North County, where I could no longer bother this poor girl.

See and hear the song.

May 1970: R. DEAN TAYLOR - "Indiana Wants Me"

2006-10-17T17:44:00.000-05:00

After singing the chorus of this song at the top of my lungs for most of the day, Mom asked me to perform it for my Dad, Rich, when he came home from work. I clammed up and did the shy, shuffling feet business rather than taking the opportunity to sing him a song about a fugitive running from the law.

Hear the song.

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April 10, 1970: THE BEATLES - "Let It Be"

2006-10-16T20:40:00.000-05:00

One afternoon while sitting on the couch intently watching Johnny Socko’s Robot on television, the front door slams open, and Melba roars into the room. She slams the door behind her, and leans back against it as if punched in the gut. Her Northland Cinema usherette uniform heaves with her every deep breath. She finally notices me starring at her quizzically and cries: “THE BEATLES BROKE UP!”

She screamed, stamped her feet and ran from the room in a hurricane of tears. I remained on the couch, staring intently out the window, deep in thought:
What exactly does “breaking up” mean?
What does that have to do with The Beatles?
I hear The Beatles every single day, and just ‘cos they “broke up,” it’s not like they’ll yank them from the radio.
Santa Claus is seen only once a year, but he exists all year long.
Santa will always exist, so will The Beatles.
They won't just disappear into nothing, right?

Looking back, April 10th, 1970 was also the date of my very first Existential Musical Thought.

Pertinent bits from the film Let It Be.
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April 1970: RAY STEVENS - "Everything Is Beautiful"

2006-10-16T08:21:00.000-05:00

With 2 working parents, every day I either had to go to Conine’s or to nursery school. Whatever the option, we always had to drive by the last remaining horse farm in North St. Louis County. It stood at a busy intersection, and the traffic roaring by never bothered the languid grazing of the horses.

One morning while stuck in traffic at this intersection, I noticed a man sitting at the bus stop reading his newspaper. Directly behind him - like a dapple gray frame with a swinging tail - was a horse’s ass. Over the car radio, Mr. Steven’s provided editorial comment: “It's time to realize that beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder/Everything is beautiful in its own way.”

See and hear the song.
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February 1970: JACKSON 5 - "ABC"

2006-10-15T20:04:00.000-05:00

Due to the cockamamie birth deadlines of public schools, I wouldn’t be able to start half-day playtimes (aka kindergarten) in the coming fall. With the public school system already having disappointed her, Barb began teaching me to do some serious reading right around this time. She gave me a head start on a real education; and added another entertainment option into my daily schedule: bigger books!

She got good backup on the education front from this new public television show called Sesame Street. Puppets made learning an adventure, but as I plowed through one Rand McNally after another, I got a bigger kick out of the Jackson 5 reading along with me over the radio.

See and hear the song.
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December 1969: Avon & "Shadrack"

2006-10-15T19:44:00.000-05:00

Grandma Hester, aside from becoming a freshly minted widow, was a veteran Avon lady, so we had all of the Avon Christmas compilations. Sure, I liked a lot of the songs, but I mainly dug the record covers, which were modern, late 60s graphics that made me think more about The Jetsons than Santa Claus or the little Baby Jesus.

Even though it wasn’t exactly holiday music, I found the Peter King Orchestra’s version of “Shadrack” emotionally appropriate for Christmas. There was something so dark brown and crimson red about it, the male and female choir creating this pleasant tension. It was so dramatic that I was compelled to act out all the parts of the song, which could get exhausting during the rowdier passages. I’d discovered the concept of organic musical theater without any outside prompting, which is why suspension of disbelief for Hollywood musicals comes so easily to me.

See and hear a version of the song by The Larks.
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November 1969: PETER PAUL & MARY - "Leaving on a Jet Plane"

2006-10-14T15:43:00.000-05:00

My Mother’s father died. Grandpa Walter was my first corpse in a casket, and rather than being creeped out by the waxen sight, I was overcome with the sensation of missing someone who wouldn’t be coming back.

“I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again,” was my explanation of where Grandpa went, and for days after the wake, I roamed about the house, singing this song while looking for him. I walked in on Mom ironing and told her to hurry up because we had bags to pack and a plane to catch, but she wasn’t buying my theory that Grandpa would be at the airport waiting for us.

See and hear the song.
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November 1969: The MONKEES - "This Just Doesn't Seem to Be My Day"

2006-10-11T15:29:00.000-05:00

By now, the albums I once loved sprang to life because the Monkee’s TV show was being re-run as part of Saturday morning kids’ programming. And my parents gave Conine a bit of a break by enrolling me in Northland Day Care, a nursery school in Ferguson, MO run by Miss Ruth and her daughters.

A stormy morning kept us inside, and I got stuck playing with a set of pink plastic ballerina figures. Ballet meant classical music, and to my mind, the bridge of “This Just Doesn’t Seem to Be My Day” was classical music. I sang that part of the song aloud while spinning the figurines across the table until some snot-nosed girl snatched them away from me. I watched as she violently spun them around, and then she looked perplexed.

“Where’s the sound?” she asked, jabbing a pink plastic pirouette in my face.
I pointed to myself and said, “Right here.” Then I walked away and left her with her silent toys.

See and hear the song.
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Summer 1969: BLOOD SWEAT & TEARS - "Spinning Wheel" & "And When I Die"

2006-10-10T15:17:00.000-05:00

I was deep into a Cowboys & Indians phase, complete with dime store plastic figurines and a hand-me-down Paladin leather holster and gun set. What with “ride a painted pony” and the jauntiness of “swear there ain’t no heaven but I pray there ain’t no hell,” Blood, Sweat & Tears became the house band of my imaginary Wild West saloon. I thought the definition of “swagger” was David Clayton Thomas’ voice, making him seem so much more macho than those John Wayne westerns Dad watched on Sunday afternoons.

See and hear the song.
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May 1969: THREE DOG NIGHT - "One"

2006-10-09T15:05:00.000-05:00

For a family vacation, we drove the bright red station wagon down to the Lake of the Ozarks. This song played on the radio as we tooled down a sunny, country lane. Dad turned down the volume to talk to Mom, and I was afraid the song would die if we couldn’t hear it. So I repeatedly sang the chorus to keep it alive until they turned it back up.

See and hear the song.

January 1969: DUSTY SPRINGFIELD - "Son of a Preacher Man"

2006-10-07T14:56:00.000-05:00

I vividly remember hearing this song come over the radio, because it felt like the singer was in the room with me. Her voice was so warm and alive, and I swore she was standing behind me, breathing in my ear. I could hear each intake of breath, I could feel her sly smile.

The lyrics also made an impression because we’d just finished the Christmas season, and the concept of people going to church for Jesus’ birthday had finally clicked in. Hearing this pretty lady (and with a voice like that, surely she was pretty) sing about a Preacher Man allowed me to connect the dots: When religion took place in a church, it was the voice of God. When religion took place outside of church, it was Dusty’s voice.

See and hear the song.
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1968: PETULA CLARK & The YOUNG RASCALS

2006-10-03T14:18:00.000-05:00

The Batman Theme song sent me on a flying frenzy through the house, with a cape (actually, a pink and white striped bath towel) around my shoulders. This uncontrollable behavior culminated in spilling grape juice on the (we just took off the price tag) new couch, leaving a permanent dark purple stain on the olive green and harvest gold floral upholstery.

Petula Clark songs always made me very happy. She always looked so graceful and friendly on TV variety shows, but what exactly about those songs snagged my attention?

Her hits were full-bodied, lush arrangements with big, gooey choruses, it’s true, but for a 3 year old, it’s all about the tambourines! Check into any of Petula’s big hits and note that it hits lift off the very moment the tambourine enters the mix.

I also remember twirling madly about the room to the bridge and final chorus of The Young Rascal's “How Can I Be Sure.” I’m fascinated by how this song - along with Petula Clark and Bacharach/David - enchanted me as a cherub and then went on to remain my most enduring favorites. I instinctively loved intricate, orchestral pop then, and marvel at it now. This doesn’t prove that, with potty training out of the way, I was able to develop good musical taste. It only proves that great art communicates on such a primal level that even a 3-year old gets it.

Intro to Batman TV show.

Petula Clark - I Couldn't Live Without Your Love

Hear Young Rascal's How Can I Be Sure
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1967: BURT BACHARACH & The MONKEES

2006-10-01T13:57:00.000-05:00

The radio was always on in our house or cars, and what spoke loudest to my toddler soul were the songs
of Burt Bacharach & Hal David.

I was not yet aware of California’s existence, but when Dionne Warwick asked “Do You Know the Way To San Jose?” I answered yes, because I was sure I could find such a magical place just by wishing it so. Anything that came from The House Of Bacharach enchanted me then, does so now, and will till the day I die.

Conine’s teenage daughter, Melba, had a strange little box of a record player. I was intrigued at how the vinyl records hung over the edge of the box, and that a penny was taped to the moving arm that made noise when it hit the vinyl.

Melba had many albums but the ones that caught my toddler eye and ear were The Monkees. On the album covers, they were always smiling and jumping about. Pick any song, and during the first listen, I could sing along by the halfway mark. There were so many repetitions of “Papa Gene’s Blues” that Conine would demand I move onto another song.

It would be another 3 years before I caught their TV show as Saturday morning re-runs, but everything I needed to know about them was right there in the records: these guys were cute and their music was fun. Later in life, I’d demand so much more of the bands I liked, but I’m enchanted with the basics established as a toddler: Cute & Fun & Catchy Songs. There’s majesty in that simplicity.

See Burt & Dionne working together in the studio, 1970.

The Monkees do "Sweet Young Thing."
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1966: GENE AUTRY - "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer"

2006-09-25T13:14:00.000-05:00

Obviously, I don’t remember this, but I’ve been told many times that this was the first song I learned to sing all the way through, and did so quite often.

Mildred Conine entered my life this year. She and her husband, Ray, came from deep Arkansas, and I’ve yet to taste cooking as heartwarming as hers. I could never pronounce her first name, so I simply called her Conine. When Mom returned to work from maternity leave, Conine took care of me Monday through Friday. She’s the one who saw me take my first steps, and she gets credit for my lifelong propensity for singing aloud.

Conine was always singing folksy songs about a fat woman named “Mabel” or banjos on the knees of suitors of “Oh Susannah.” But she also taught me the words to 1920s flapper tunes like “You Belong To Me” (“Be careful crossing streets/eat your meat/don’t eat sweets/ or you’ll get an ache and ruin your tum-tum.”) or “Side By Side.”

Conine had a fascinating jewelry box, vaguely Chinese in appearance that always smelled of Wrigley’s Juicey Fruit. It also played “This Old Man” when opened. Oh, I was obsessed with that song! I quickly learned all the numbers and verses, but it wasn’t enough. I soon improvised higher numbers and new objects for the Old Man to play upon: “This Old Man, he played 23, he played knick knack in the pear trees”… Conine was a very patient lady.

Hear the song.
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October 1965: THE BEATLES - "Yesterday"

2006-09-23T11:09:00.000-05:00

This was the #1 song in America the day I was born. I came out ass-first, which literally ripped my mother open, from stem to stern… “Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away…”

As if the physical pain wasn’t enough, when Barb emerged from an anesthetic haze, the nurse introduced her to her brand new baby girl.
BARB: What? I have a girl?
NURSE: Yes you do.
BARB: Does my husband know?
NURSE: Yes he does.
BARB: How’d he take it?
I was supposed to be David Allen.
“Suddenly, I’m not half the man I used to be…”

See and hear the song.