The Crab Chronicles

Goodbye Aretha

Not long ago I heard a quote that I really loved, and I am going to paraphrase it badly but it went something like "Music is what emotion sounds like." I thought of that the other day after Aretha Franklin died, because I felt like I had lost a family member. 

"Soul" music was an early influence of mine. Don't laugh. Yes, I grew up as a white middle-class kid in the suburbs, but I was aware of the wide world of music from an early age, despite my parents' love of Broadway musicals and Frank Sinatra. We had black maids who introduced me to soul music (via the radio) and what a blessing.

Music was like magic to me, everyday accessible magic. I heard it all. My mother played Bach, Beethoven, Chopin. My dad loved Herb Alpert and Willie Nelson. Even as a small child I heard rock and roll music blasting from car radios and transistor radios. My parents would turn on the radio and we would have impromptu "dance parties" when I was small.

My mother played the piano and sang, and sang in the church choir when I was small. My father sang around the house. My grandmother played the piano and sang. My uncles sang. I went to church and was expected to sing. My parents sang me to sleep at night.

My mother used to put a stack of LP's on the turntable and I would sit and listen for hours. 

My adolescent and teenage years were tough. I was short and chubby, and I realized very quickly that I was never going to be a cheerleader or one of the popular kids. I wasn't going to be an athlete. I was smart and I made good grades, but I wasn't really a whiz kid. 

Even though I exited the fog of childhood during the 1970's, not a high point in musical history, music was a refuge. I loved the radio. Long before I ever had a boombox or Walkman, I listened to the car radio. I listened to Kasey Kasem's Top 40 countdown every Saturday. I also filched my brother's records and listened to them. Like me, he had eclectic taste. We liked The Beatles, Supertramp, Bachman Turner Overdrive, and Diana Ross and the Supremes -- just to name a few. 

At a time when teenage hormones and angst were tearing me up, just like my peers, I learned to listen to music, sing along, and let it transport me to somewhere else, somewhere where I was beautiful, and happy, and nobody called me fat or ugly. Music was then, and still is now, a haven. 

I'm not exactly sure when I discovered Aretha, but it was probably when The Blues Brothers introduced her to a new generation of fans, in 1981. I'm sure I had heard her music now and then before that, but that version of "Think" is incredible. I had already had some romantic disappointment in my life by then and I could relate. 

I bought tapes, and then CDs of her music, and I would listen in the car on the long drives back and forth to Augusta to see my parents. I would play a song like "Dr. Feelgood" over and over until I could match her note for note, in my amateur way of course.

For lighter times, I would groove along to "Until You Come Back to Me."

Over the years I was always delighted to find Aretha popping up in movies or even, memorably, in a Murphy Brown episode where Murphy sang (hysterically badly) "You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman." I think that song was also in the movie The Big Chill.

When Aretha's song "Chain of Fools" popped up in the wonderful movie Michael , it made me want to jump out of my seat and dance in the movie theater. (I didn't. You can watch the scene here, though.)

Even the regrettable movie My Best Friend's Wedding (not a favorite of mine) contained "I Say A Little Prayer," classic Aretha, one of my favorite songs of all time. Of course, I much prefer Aretha's version to anyone else's.

I dated a lot when I was in my late 20's and into my 30's. No relationship lasted very long. A few times I was left feeling horribly depressed and defeated. I would pour a glass of wine, pull out the Aretha albums, and play "I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)." Aretha expressed the despair, the self-loathing ("you got your hooks in me") and the emotions I couldn't express otherwise. 

When I was singing with Aretha I felt less alone. I felt like less of a loser. I felt like I had an older sister who totally understood me, and comforted me. Her music wasn't black or white or old or young. She sang about topics that are universal, and timeless. Heartbreak is heartbreak, no matter who you are or when you're going through it.

The day she died I went to pick up my son from a friend's house. I flipped on the radio and they were running a story about Aretha on NPR. I heard her voice and just broke down crying. When Michael got in the car he said "MOM! What's the matter?!" and I said "Aretha died. She's gone." I pointed to the radio. He just frowned and looked at me like are you nuts?! "Mom, you didn't know her. Why are you so upset?"

I couldn't explain it. I tried. I said "I feel like I do because she was there during so many important moments of my life." 

How to explain to a 22 year old what it feels like to have a friend die, a friend you've never met in person, but who was there with you when you were lonely, and in despair, and who made it okay? How to explain to someone so young how it feels to be running out of time to get married and have a baby? How to explain to any male the bond of sisterhood that I felt with Aretha? Words fail me. 

Music, though, like love, doesn't fail. 

The eternal legacy of Aretha is that she had a voice that could express a multitude of emotions -- anger, heartbreak, defiance, and joy -- sometimes all in one song. Her voice captured raw pain that was almost embarrassing, at times, but she did it without the unmusical caterwauling of a Janis Joplin, for example. She expressed things in her music that we all feel. She sang us out of darkness and showed us light. She was never cheap or corny either. Aretha was always a lady. Always a consummate musician. Always a class act. Always holding a hand out in the darkness, as though saying Sister, I'll get your through it.

I'm very sad that she is gone, but oh what a light she shone on the world. 

There will never be another one like her.

Singing Around the House

I was grown before I realized that not all grown men burst into song at random moments while at home. My father and his brothers did, all the time. I never thought about it. I assumed, also, that when doing an a cappella version of any song that if you don't know the words it's perfectly acceptable to just make up your own words. 

My earliest memory is Dad singing "Go to sleepy little baby" which I assumed he had made up. When the movie O Brother Where Art Thou? came out I was startled to hear the sirens sing that song at the creek, in a very seductive way -- and there were MORE LYRICS than just "go to sleepy little baby"! Who knew? I was totally startled. The fact that the other lyrics are, well, a bit sinister may explain why dad didn't go there. For example "everybody's gone in the cotton and the corn didn't leave nobody but the baby." If you want to hear the song go here.

Some of my earliest memories are of Dad singing: Another Saturday Night (Sam Cooke), Kaw-liga (Hank Williams Sr.), Jambalaya  (Hank Williams Sr.) On a Saturday when Dad was working around the house Herb Alpert was often on the turntable.

I asked Dad once if he liked Elvis and he looked disgusted. "NO," was his disgusted response. I later talked to Mom about it and she said Dad liked Frank Sinatra's style of music, not rock & roll.

My mother liked to play the piano and sing and we would often gather around the piano and sing with her. Dad had a fine, lovely baritone although completely untrained. He could carry a tune, though, very well. He loved show tunes like Edelweiss (Sound of Music) and It Takes A Woman (Hello Dolly).

When we moved to Knoxville, Dad embraced country music. The bank where he worked usually got tickets to the country music performers who performed at the civic coliseum. My brother and I didn't care much for country music and usually fussed about being taken to those shows, although we saw some great acts -- Loretta Lynn and The Statler Brothers, for example. We were too young and ignorant to appreciate those concerts, I hate to say. 

In the 1970's Dad was proud to be An Okie From Muscogee. He also liked to drink beer and walk around at the lake singing "Jose Cuervo you are a friend of mine." When Dad died some of the neighbors sent us a card saying "Some of our happiest memories are hearing Tony sing Jose Cuervo at the lake." Dad made up his own lyrics to that one.

When I was in college I spent a weekend with my aunt Diddy and uncle Bobby [Thompson] at their home, which was always enjoyable. Bobby sang Were You There, the entire weekend. Such a sad song, but he wasn't in a bad mood.

I never heard Dad's other brother sing [Lewis] anything that I can recall, but I know he loved music and sang. I imagine with Dad around he didn't have the opportunity to do much singing because he and Dad were always talking and visiting when together.

I realized last night when I was fixing supper that I do it too -- randomly sing around the house. It happens more around Christmas time, but I sing at other times, too. Mom sings too -- sometimes to Lola. Sometimes we sing together. Memaw could play the piano and Papa loved music and when he was young he could play a country fiddle.

Papa's mother's people, the MacMillans, played and sang well. Mom said on Sunday afternoons they would get together and harmonize, for fun, and were well-known in the community for being singers.

 

I watched a documentary about Elvis the other night on HBO and it was like watching home movies of a relative I'd not seen in ages. My memaw used to listen to Elvis singing gospel music all the time, and he had a lovely voice. (Elvis and Nat King Cole ruled Memaw's stereo.) I also watched the 4:00 movie every afternoon as a kid and saw all the Elvis movies. Not until I was a teenager did I chance to hear his classics like "Heartbreak Hotel" and "Hound Dog." 

I am blessed to have been surrounded all my life by music. I saw a quote once that said something like "music is what feelings sound like." So true.

Christmas Music

OK, it's starting to feel like Christmas. Not just because the tree is up. Not just because there are presents under it, and we've sent out and received Christmas cards.  What makes Christmas, for me, is MUSIC.

I have been practicing playing Christmas carols on our piano. SO glad we got it tuned last summer. It's a small piano but it has a rich, beautiful tone.

What else makes Christmas special? Food, for one thing. Michael and I tried a recipe today for Sugared Pecans - kind of a pain to stir them every 15 minutes but wow. They are seriously addicting. They should be called Crack Pecans.

Next week is Pumpkin Bread week. The neighbors and some friends will be getting pumpkin bread.

I wish I were better about practicing the piano. I play maybe once a month? I took lessons for five years as a kid, and at one time I could play fairly decently but it's not something I've had time to do lately. After a little practice, I was able to rock Jingle Bells and Away in a Manger. Progress..

The weather here has just been freaky weird. Warm enough to wear short sleeves outside and be perfectly comfortable. I have begonias and geraniums I planted six months ago that are still blooming. Even for Hot-Lanta, that's unusual. I took some photos but they are awful so I'm not posting them. They are lovely but they make me somewhat uncomfortable. I am wondering if we will have a wickedly weird, cold winter..

As I said though, I am in a musical mood.

This is not usually thought of as a Christmas song but it's the perfect song. I've sung Handel's Messiah many times, and it's my favorite song from the entire thing because it's so joyful:

 

If you prefer something a little lighter, something that's easy to sing along with, another favorite is the wonderful James Taylor, with Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas:

 

 

Meditating With Lola

I am beginning to think we are getting a recap of last summer's soggy weirdness. Last summer it rained all summer. This summer started out well, but in the last few days we've gotten a LOT of rain.

I've not had to worry about watering the pot plants or gardens. That's a good thing.

I walk outside and I can hardly breathe because the humidity is so high. Yuck. It's like one degree off from being actual rain materializing in the air.

I met my temp job boss for a late lunch yesterday, at my favorite Greek place, Grecian Gyro in Tucker. I had Greek potatoes and Spanakopita. YUM. (I had already had an Aidell's chicken sausage with Mother earlier, because I needed some protein.) Work is slow right now, which is why I am home, but there's a possibility of more temp work in the near future. Yay.

I am trying to meditate a little bit every day. I have to be lying down when I try it because I usually fall asleep. Obviously, I would not make a good Buddhist.

So late yesterday afternoon I am lying down, and Lola keeps playing a game called: Prevent Dee from Meditating/resting. She barks hysterically for a minute, then comes and jumps on my bed like COME ON!

I didn't follow her wishes. She had just been outside.

Finally, she jumped on the bed and barreled over to me, stared into my eyes and licked my face. I told her if she would lie down and quit acting crazy I'd give her a tummy rubbing.

She complied, and I was able to rest a bit, and meditate. Oddly enough, rubbing a dog's tummy is relaxing and helps one to meditate - if it's a female dog. I guess it's sort of like counting beads for Catholics.

Mike is good about tummy rubs

How to Sing the Blues

Some years ago my cousin sent me an email called How to Sing the Blues, and I remember laughing hysterically and then saving it. Then losing it. Which made me want to sing the blues, except I can't. I'm Episcopalian, I own a computer, and I drive an SUV, therefore I cannot sing the blues, according to the rules.

Before you read the following, I suggest you listen to a little bit of Big Mama Thornton's version of "Hound Dog" - which makes the Elvis version sound anemic. Here it is. You need to get in the proper blues frame of mind.

1. Most Blues begin, "Woke up this morning."

2. "I got a good woman" is a bad way to begin the Blues, 'less you stick something nasty in the next line, like "I got a good woman with the meanest face in town."

3. The Blues is simple. After you get the first line right, repeat it. Then find something that rhymes ... sort of: "Got a good woman - with the meanest face in town. Got teeth like Margaret Thatcher - and she weigh 500 pound."

4. The Blues are not about choice. You stuck in a ditch: You stuck in a ditch, ain't no way out.

5. Blues cars: Chevys and Cadillacs and broken down trucks. Blues don't travel in Volvos, BMWs, or Sport Utility Vehicles. Most Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Jet aircraft and state-sponsored motor pools ain't even in the running. Walkin' plays a major part in the blues lifestyle. So does fixin' to die.

6. Teenagers can't sing the Blues. They ain't fixin' to die yet, even if they lose their iPhone. Adults sing the Blues. In Blues, "adulthood" means being old enough to get the electric chair if you shoot a man in Memphis.

7. Blues can take place in New York City, but not in Hawaii or any place in Canada. Hard times in St. Paul or Tucson are just depression. Chicago, St. Louis, and Kansas City are still the best places to have the Blues. You cannot have the blues in any place that don't get rain.

8. A man with male pattern baldness ain't the blues. A woman with male pattern baldness is. Breaking your leg cuz you skiing is not the blues. Breaking your leg cuz a' alligator be chompin' on it is.

9. You can't have no Blues in an office or a shopping mall. The lighting is wrong. Go outside to the parking lot or sit by the dumpster.

10. Good places for the Blues:

• a) highway
• b) jailhouse
• c) empty bed

Bad places:

• a) Ashrams
• b) gallery openings
• c) Ivy League institutions
• d) golf courses

11. No one will believe it's the Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be a' old black man, and you slept in it.

12. Do you have the right to sing the Blues? Yes, if:

• a) you're older than dirt
• b) you're blind
• c) you shot a man in Memphis
• d) you can't be satisfied.

No, if:

• a) you have all your teeth
• b) you were once blind but now can see
• c) the man in Memphis lived.
• d) you have a retirement plan or trust fund.

13. Blues is not a matter of color. It's a matter of bad luck. Jay Z cannot sing the blues. Tiger Woods could. Ugly white people also got a leg up on the blues.

14. If you ask for water and Baby give you gasoline, it's the Blues. Other acceptable Blues beverages are:

• a) bad wine
• b) bad whiskey or bad bourbon
• c) muddy water
• d) black coffee.

The following are NOT Blues beverages:

• a) mixed drinks
• b) kosher wine
• c) Snapple
• d) sparkling water

15. If it occurs in a cheap motel or a shotgun shack, it's a Blues death. Stabbed in the back by a jealous lover is another Blues way to die. So is the electric chair, substance abuse, and dying lonely on a broken down cot. You can't have a Blues death if you die during a tennis match or getting liposuction.

16. Some Blues names for women:

• a) Sadie
• b) Big Mama
• c) Bessie
• d) Fat River Dumpling

17. Some Blues names for men:

• a) Joe
• b) Willie
• c) Little Willie
• d) Big Willie

18. Persons with names like Sierra, Sequoia, and Rainbow can't sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.

19. Make yer own Blues name (starter kit):

• a) name of physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame, etc.)
• b) first name (see above) plus name of fruit (Lemon, Lime, Kiwi, etc.)
• c) last name of President (Jefferson, Johnson, Fillmore, etc.)

For example, Blind Lime Jefferson, or Cripple Kiwi Fillmore, etc.

20. I don't care how tragic your life: you own a computer, you cannot sing the blues. You best destroy it- with fire, a spilled bottle of Mad Dog, or get out a shotgun. Maybe your big woman just done sat on it. I don't care.

21. Presbyterians, Episcopalians, Lutherans and Quakers cannot have the blues. Baptists, Methodists, lapsed Catholics, AME and AME Zion adherents and any member of any Holiness sect can. Jews cannot, although they can be in a New York state of mind that is a distant cousin to the blues. Muslims can have the blues but generally don't.

22. Cotton and wool make good blues clothing. Lycra does not.

23. Shoes with tassels are not blues shoes. Other dress shoes are, as long as they got holes in 'em from walkin' so far to try to find that no-good, sorry woman what left you. If you own a pair of Manolo Blahniks, you cannot have the blues.

24. Bluesmen and -women play guitar, bass, drums, acoustic pianos and Hammond B-3 organs. They do not play synthesizers, cellos, trombones (except in New Orleans) or flutes. Sound men and club bartenders can have the blues. Booking agents cannot.

25. Reporters and editors can have the blues, if they're wearing their fedoras. Ad sales reps and Web-page designers cannot no matter what they wear. Photographers still working in film can have the blues; those working digitally cannot.

26. Football, basketball and minor-league baseball players can have the blues. Major-league baseball players cannot, nor can hockey, golf or soccer players at any level.

27. Engineers can't have the blues. 'ceptin' train engineers, of course.

- Big Mama Thompson

my mom and her dad and siblings in the mid 1940's - this is the only "bluesy" sort of old photo I could find, but I know for a fact nobody pictured shot a man in Memphis..

The Soundtrack of My Childhood

I was listening to the radio this morning and the classic Christopher Cross song "Sailing" came on, and I was immediately transported back in time to my senior year of high school, when that song was everywhere.

I can still sing every word of that song. I have the vinyl album somewhere.

As my friend Robert Evans writes in his column The Main Ingredient, music is very powerful. "It is so powerful in touching us, that it is second only to smell in generating memories. In a flood of detail, we will recall a specific event or person when we hear a certain song."

One of the first songs I remember as a small child is 500 Miles. My mother used to sing it to me. When I lived in a different city from her (which was the case from 1980-2005), and I missed her, all I had to do was start singing that song and I would start crying.

When I was around 6 I decided I wouldn't wear anything but white Go Go boots. These Boots Are Made for Walkin' was my theme song. My ambition was to be a Go Go dancer.

The first song I ever learned all the words to, from listening to it on the radio, is Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head. I learned to love the Bachrach/David songs from hearing that song.I remember it was part of the movie Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but I didn't see the movie until a few years later.

It was no surprise, then when I was in fourth grade and The Carpenters became popular, and Close to You became their first huge hit. I could sing along with Karen Carpenter and match her voice exactly. I spent a lot of time learning every word to every song on that album.

above, 4th grade

Those were the years [I was 8 and 9 years old] when I liked to stand on the porch of the Holmes' house next door, record player on the the floor, and Kristy and I would be holding mics [hairbrushes] and entertaining wildly enthusiastic audiences with our daring vocals and enthusiastic dancing. Of course, the audience was entirely in our imagination, but it didn't matter. The Carpenters and the Partridge Family were our favorites.

We were talking about David Cassidy the other night at dinner, because his daughter is on Fox sometimes, and I launched into "I Think I Love You", much to Michael's disgust. I still know all the lyrics.

I couldn't do Algebra if you held a loaded gun to my head, but I can recall lyrics to 1970's pop songs without any trouble.

If I were ever taken hostage by terrorists and locked in a cell, I would probably just sing every pop song I know, and the time would pass quickly and pleasantly. As long as there were no bugs...

Fourth grade, I would get to school early and have time to kill before class, and we would be allowed to listen to records, wearing headphones. Several of us would sit around and listen to American Pie, and we all tried very hard to memorize the lyrics. I remember saving my allowance so I could buy the 45 at the White Store [we weren't all about diversity in West Knoxville] and when I bought it, I accidentally put it on the car seat, forgot it was there, and sat on it and broke it. Even Elmers glue couldn't fix it.

Middle school was when I discovered R&B and soul music. Every Saturday, I would listen to Kasey Kasem count down the Top 40, and the song Me and Mrs. Jones stayed at number 1 for weeks and weeks. I knew all the words, but I was afraid if my mom listened closely and realized it was about marital infidelity she wouldn't let me listen to Kasey Kasem any more.

For several years, it was John Denver that I adored. Forget David Cassidy. I was going to be Mrs. John Denver, as soon as I grew up. I loved Annie's Song then, and I still love it. I heard it playing in a store not long ago, and I sang the whole thing. It's a beautiful waltz.

above, 6th grade or thereabouts, at our cottage on Douglas Lake

I also listened to mainstream radio, and the daring FM station, WOKI. I vividly remember 1974, being on the bus to Webb School Day Camp, and hearing Rikki Don't Lose That Number. Lord, that camp was awful. Nobody talked to me there. Everybody went to Webb, not Cedar Bluff. I was an outsider, and I was shy. I think of that even now, when I hear the song.

I loved The Captain and Tennille, and Love Will Keep Us Together, but I also loved You Sexy Thing, by Hot Chocolate. I was getting into Stevie Wonder long before my peers did, and who didn't love Rubberband Man by the Spinners, or My First My Last My Everything by the immortal Barry White?!

Then came the juggernaut that was Saturday Night Fever. My brother bought the soundtrack on cassette and I learned every word to every song. I remember parties of giggling girls where all we did was giggle, play the Saturday Night Fever music, eat Cheetos and drink Mr. Pibb.

Yep, we knew how to party.

Then, of course, high school. It seemed like Earth Wind and Fire provided the soundtrack to every party during those years.  I bought every album. Even now, it's my "happy" music.

Hope you've enjoyed my little nostalgia post.

 

 

Live With Passion

The older I get, the less I worry about what other people think of me, and the more I find the freedom to live life the way it pleases me, which is a beautiful thing.

Yeah, I'm weird. I dress to suit myself. I hate makeup. I cry at TV shows. I like to eat stuff I've grown.

It's no great revelation to those my age or older, but to me, it's surprising to find out that one of the nice things about being over 50 is I am comfortable in my own skin. I look back at myself in my 30's, at the OCD marriage-crazed woman I was, and I CRINGE.

I think back about some idiotic things I've said in my life, and I CRINGE.

But here's the thing. Those people who are my friends love me anyway. They know how weird I am. They know I am super opinionated. They know that [outside of a business situation] I like to occasionally drink a beer, sometimes cuss when I get mad, and laugh at very inappropriate jokes.

I hate pretense.

They also know I am generally a very loving person, a person of strong faith, and I never do anything half way. If I like you I adore you. If I don't like you, well..... I try to remember "If you can't say anything nice don't say anything..."

One huge gift of getting older is that you look back on your life, the good and the bad, and if you aren't a delusional idiot, you have CLARITY. You see your mistakes, but you see the good stuff too.

When I was young, I did some idiotic stuff. I learned some hard lessons.

Being really ill last spring and most of this summer has given me even more clarity. I want to stop living life carefully, cautiously, and I need to worry even less about what anyone thinks of me. I want to reach out and get to know new folks, like Cliff Brooks. I want to help my friends. I want to interview interesting people, like my old friend Jeff Joslin. 

I am not in pain any more, and I want to embrace life.

In September, I am going to live for 1 week according to one of Julia Child Rules. I am going to cook a different Julia Child recipe every night for a week, for dinner, and write about it. I think it will be great fun. I have always admired Julia Child.

If you are 16 or 36 or 65 or whatever age, I urge you to not live life quietly and safely and cautiously. I urge you to do things you never thought you'd do. Travel to Russia. Start your own business. Write a memoir. Oh wait, those are the things I've done. You figure out your own adventures.... LOL

Just LIVE with ZEST. [the verb, not the soap] Be Passionate. Listen to your heart more, and your head less. [I don't advocate using alcohol or drugs or anything else artificial for this, just change your thinking....]

Here's a cute video of my cousin Linda [who studied classical piano for years but now plays steel drums] and her husband Bry, playing music. They have a band. I interviewed Bry for my Twenty Questions series because I so admire how he uses music as part of his ministry, and just because he loves music. How many Presbyterian ministers do you know who also love Jimmy Buffet? Linda and Bry rock.

 

 

When You Need to Get Down and Funky...

I have a confession. When I am feeling down, I like to go on YouTube and put the following in the search box:

soul train line dance

The nostalgia button goes pedal to the metal and I am in another world, one where kids wear bellbottoms and platform shoes.

I savor clips like this gem:

 

I had a pretty emotional, difficult day. Lots going on in my world. Can't really blog about it. I will share it when the time is right.

Mike heard this tune somewhere and went around whistling it all day but he couldn't think who the artist was. As soon as he whistled it for me and said "funk" I knew it was Parliament Funkadelic. I am a child of the 70's. I know the FUNK. Greatest dance music ever...

 

Soundtracks and Memory

This is National Poetry Month, so I wanted to share a poem. Even if you don't like poetry or think it's boring, read my poem.[Sorry about the double spacing; can't figure out how to fix that.]

Then, if you like it, read some more, like the terrific Mary Oliver.

Below, my poem [I hope writing about music isn't as useless as dancing about architecture...]

Soundtracks

I used to watch my uncles singing to themselves as they walked around the house,

old hymns like Were You There?

Were you there when they crucified my lord?

Took me years to realize these soft baritone voices provided comfort.

Mama and Daddy gone, memories fading, but the music still sounded in their heads.

 

I hear my dad’s lovely, solid baritone waving proudly as a flag, above the lake.

He never learned more than a few lines of any song, and he made up the rest.

 

When my uncle Lewis died

I was stricken with laryngitis so bad I could not talk or sing for more than ten days. Grief

is a funny thing.

I listened,

though, every time I got in the car,

I listened

to the searing guitar of Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Complex woven electric blues.

Lewis would’ve hated his music.

It didn’t matter.

Stevie Ray got me through that time.

 

I get songs or snippets of songs in my head and they soundtrack my life, even when there is no radio playing.

 

I saw a movie some years ago called Songcatcher, about the music passed down through generations in the mountain communities.

I had never heard any of those songs but I knew them all.

The first time I heard Cherokee drums, I found tears streaming down my face.

My body knows songs sometimes,

songs not in my conscious memory.

 

My granddaddy could play a country fiddle.

My grandmother McMillan’s family could sing in harmony.

Mamaw sang hymns at the piano.

Daddy sang go to sleepy little baby to me.

Those songs are inside me.

 

Here is how we get to the heart of anything:

We write songs.

 

I sang the Itsy Bitsy Spider to my son last night, even though his body is a man’s body now.

The Itsy Bitsy Spider is a caress of love, a melody of hope, because he goes up the spout again.

A tiny spider connects us.

I want him to sing it to his children, like it was sung to me, like they will sing it to their children.

Above, Dad holding me as an infant, plus Bruce.

Above, Michael in 2008.

Right, Lewis, me, and Dad, around 1989.

Bruno Mars Fails English

I'm going to admit something difficult: I kinda like Bruno Mars. It's the only way in which I almost kinda sorta might qualify as a "cool" mom.Some of his music is derivative of Sting, the Beatles, etc. but I can live with that.

HOWEVER: will SOMEBODY teach Bruno how to write a song lyric that's grammatically correct?

I dropped off Michael at school today and listened to this song, "When I Was Your Man" on the way home. I like the song. It's simple and heartfelt and has a nice melody. But my inner English major was mortified upon hearing,

"...should have gave you all my hours when I had the chance"

"SHOULD HAVE GAVE YOU??"

No Bruno, SHOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU.

"Take you to every party..."

No, Bruno. SHOULD HAVE TAKEN YOU.

"Give you all his hours..."

No. He GIVES you all his hours.

AAAARGH!!! Our kids are listening to this and learning the words!!

Dude, if you're going to write an entire song in the past perfect tense, for heaven's sake write correct English!! Here's a clip with the lyrics. Listen, dig it, and then Tweet Bruno or write him or whatever and tell the guy to have his lyrics proofread by someone!

 

Now, I didn't watch the Grammys but when I saw this clip of Bruno joined onstage by Sting I thought, what a fun song. Add in the Marleys, and that's a lot of talent on one stage. [Rihanna was also there, but she irritates me no end for staying with the abusive and disgusting Chris Brown, providing a TERRIBLE example for young girls everywhere.]