The Grooves of Time

A few years ago, my dad gave me something more valuable than money--his record collection. Not just any collection, my dad was radio DJ for more than half his life, and over that time he amassed a library of wide-ranging titles that span from classic to quirky to I-can’t-believe-that-was-even-made. 

Moving the collection took time. Crate by crate, box by box, we carted the music from his basement to mine, just as we’d carted those records along with speakers, turntables, mixer, wires and that lead heavy Peavey amp into church halls, bars, lake houses, gymnasiums, and everywhere in between so many years ago.  

I've got some CD’s, tapes and even a couple eight tracks. I've even got a few of my father's old air checks from the station that are a blast. But the records, that's what I remember most. And it's even more fun now, watching my son listen and learn. 

It’s something to see, a five-year-old gently setting the needle on the record. He’s got decent taste, too, although the Star Wars arrangement gets most of the play as we dual it out with light sabers. But he digs Michael Jackson and he loves Inner Circle's Bad Boys theme. And Joan Jett, too. It cracks me up whenever I hear him singing I love Rock and Roll…

The of the album cover has a chunk taken out, right at Joan Jett’s elbow. We had this dog, a German shepherd named Samantha. She was a handful, a pure bred runt that I hand picked from the litter. She ate everything, with a particular penchant for wax. One day we caught her chewing on that record, and well, it’s how it still is today.

Pure nostalgia, those records. It’s where I remember and pass along new memories to my kid. It’s where we don’t watch TV. We don’t play on the computer. It’s analog time. No screens and no modem. It’s where we’ve built a clubhouse under the steps, and where we dance like fools because it's what we do. 

The 45’s (those smaller, one song records for those younger readers) are a goldmine. Anything from the twentieth century lurks in those rows of analog treasures lining the makeshift shelves. From Newcleous’ Jam on It, to The Fat Boys w/ the Beach Boys (yep, look it up), to Sinatra to U2, Simply Red, Blue Oyster Colt  and so on, the most random playlist take shape down there. I remember playing We Are the World followed by Heavy D and the Boyz followed by some Boz Skaggs. It’s pure chaos. You really never know.

And the sleeves, with dedications and quickly scrawled requests. Scribbles about times and dates. You can’t find that on Amazon.  Those records have seen more Proms than an old gym coach. Wedding ceremonies, dance clubs, it’s all there, and even a scribbled out time slots of when to play the records at the station. Stickers to show what sides, notes and trial and error scribbles of advice. FADES AT 3:14, or DON’T PLAY BEFORE 4PM! Yep, apparently to DJ’s everywhere, Kool and the Gang’s, Let’s Groove Tonight, was meant to be taken literally. I can also tell you thatPaul Simon’s, Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard was getting some serious play in 1979.

There’s something about the classics. I mean, what is it about The Beatles that even today you can play The White Album and a kid’s head pops up like, That’s somebody. Who is that, Daddy? We rock out to Jimi Hendrix, Van Morrison, Led Zeppelin. Then of course there’s the old standards. Glenn Miller, Artie Shaw, and, Oh my God I must be getting old because I knew Count Basie. But from Big Band, Blues, Jazz. My rap records from the eighties. It’s all down there.

Some of my friends don’t get it, and that’s fine, people are busy, space is limited. Not everyone wants to spend their time in an musty basement, playing the records of yesterday. They say that all these songs come on the radio, and that may be true in some cases. But knowing my dad saved Midnight Serenade from the tile floor of an old AM radio station that is now demolished gives me a little bit of nostalgia that can’t be found on IHeart radio.

It’s that crackle and pop between songs, that dusty groove of Otis Redding or Marvin Gaye. Like I wouldn’t want to fire up those old spray painted Toa speakers, the ones hauled around town every weekend thirty, forty years ago so that he could keep the lights on at home, so that we could have Christmas. Heavy or not, scratches and skips, spray painted or not, I wouldn’t change them for the world.

So I’ll gladly play curator of my past. I’ll turn on the lamp in the radio, flip through the dusty wax and find just the right track. Maybe I’m on Fire by Springsteen, or Take the Five Train by Duke Ellington, whatever it is I’ll take it every time I can get down the steps to relive some magic.

Better With Age...

I can't say that I’ve always had my exceptional musical taste. When I was 11, David Lee Roth parted ways with Van Halen and started a solo career.  His "world tour" led him to Roanoke, Virginia, where my father decided to take me for my first concert.  The big night arrived and after combing our matching mullets to perfection, we headed to the show for a guy's night out.

Never having been to one of these things before, I was wide-eyed with excitement as we walked past all of the sights in the parking lot on our way into the packed civic center.  We passed all sorts of characters, this was 1986, and most in attendance looked like the villains in those high school movies my sister watched.

Inside, the opening act was Cinderella, a typical 80’s hair band with lots of make up and really bad vocals.  It was loud, extremely loud, almost as loud as that crash up car derby my father had taken me to the previous year.  We found our seats but I’m pretty sure Dad let me break the no caffeine after 2pm rule, so I had to use the bathroom.  We fought our way down the steps, making our way once again past shady characters with jean jackets and long hair.   I stayed close, thankful to be near my dad in the midst of all of the hooligans.

Inside the bathroom, I noticed smoke coming from one of the stalls, why are their two guys in there?  And then the smell hit me.   Something foreign and very distinct, something I wouldn’t smell again for quite a few more years.  My dad whisked me out of the bathroom, the conversation went something like this:

“Dad, what was that smell.”

“I’ll tell you later.”

I never did find out what that smell was that night, but the concert was great.  I’m pretty sure we left before the final encore, but it was a great time of bonding with my dad.  I learned a lot that night as well.  On our way to the concert, I remember thinking how grown up I was going to a rock concert.  When we left, I was overwhelmed and grateful that I still had a few more years of being a kid.

Growing up, my musical taste was all over the map.  From David Lee Roth to The Fat Boys, most of us experience with all types of music as we age. I’m a product of the 80’s, so I can’t say I’m proud of everything I listened to, but we had our classics. I still perk up when I hear Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Prince.

Today’s music is, well, not classic.  Some of this stuff is bad.  Really, really bad.  Maybe I’m just old, but what fills our pop radio airwaves is beyond awful.  I’m lucky in a way, my son will have missed the Justin Bieber stage. While I feel like I dodged a bullet, I worry what else is coming. The sad truth is that one day a fledgling singer will list JB among his influences…..and they won't mean James Brown.

What kind of concerts will I have to endure?  Somewhere, there’s a 7 or 8 year old kid practicing singing or rapping or something that I haven’t been subjected to that is going to cost me money.  His mother will post his/her singing on youtube and then it will go viral.  After that the kid will become a global icon and be forced into my household via my kid.  I may have to shell out $40 or $50 bucks to hear said kid perform in 10 years.  I will go to work humming and singing these awful songs that are stuck in my head after constantly hearing them.  These are the things that keep me up at night.  

My only saving grace is that we’re having a boy, but there's still cause for concern.  Maybe I can just force him to listen to Led Zeppelin like my father did after our David Lee Roth experience, and hope everything else will work itself out.