Why do we give up our hearts to the past, and why must we grow up so fast?
I remember those words from Joe Walsh’s “Pretty Maids All in a Row” track that appeared on the Eagles, Hotel California album, way back when music made a different kind of sense to me. What ever happened to the Eagles member, Randy Meisner anyways? I loved his voice on so many of their older tracks. Me thinks me needs to Google him and find out. I did buy Mr. Meisner’s solo album back in the seventies, but didn’t follow up on him after that.
I had a different kind of love for music back then. Fact is, I probably had a different kind of love for just about everything under the sun. Different things stood out back then. Different feelings, with different ways to feel them, pushed and pulled me through my adolescent years and propelled me into my young adulthood, without even warning me of the changes I would surely go through as I slowly pulled my head out of the sand. The only unknowingly weird thing was that while I figured out how to pull my head out of the sand, I comfortably worked it up my, umm, well, I think you know which direction I am talking about, I mean, it’s plain as day, and simple as hell to do, without actually having to think about it.
When I had the chance to do those few online radio shows from my laundry room, back in 2011, I continuously felt the urge to play songs from back in the seventies. Somehow, I have it engraved into me that that decade of music is the one that I loved the most and it was also the one that made the most sense to me. It became who I was, and it probably played a big part of who I wanted to become. There was so many different avenues of music that came to my forefront back then. It was hard to figure out which genre spelled out my emotions more, I mean, I started loving rock and roll, but I also continued my passion for pop, and Motown, and soul, and the blues, and well, through all the other styles, I hate to admit it, but I was completely engulfed in disco as well. Yes, disco mania, with all its rhythmic beats, disco mirror balls, silk shirts, polyester pants, platform shoes, and along with the Bee Gee’s alto styled blah blah blah, well, it just seemed to fit into the times.
My favorites though were the rock era bands of the seventies. Kansas, Aerosmith, The Doobies, Peter Frampton, Rush, Journey, Pink Floyd, Zeppelin, The Who, The Stones, Heart, Queen, and all the rest, banging out all those amazing power chords that ripped through my soul and captured an unknown chamber of my rock and roll, hound dog heart. With all the partying I did back then, they all fit like a glove, and I never argued with any of them, not even once. Oh, I continued to listen and love the other genres that had been such a big part of the other areas of that decade for me, but the rock bands redefined what music meant to me.
I suppose that Aerosmith was the first ones to climb into the driver’s seat. Their Rocks album took me away to places that I had never been to, and I loved every minute of the journey. Then came Heart, Queen, Boston, Foreigner, and the rest of them, right behind, with their guns a blazing and hammers pounding away on the fabric of my youth. As the music changed, I changed right along with it. As the methods of delivering their melodical points also changed, I craved it more and more. I remember when I was a little tyke, I used to listen to 45’s in my bedroom on a little portable record player. I would have an elimination tournament in my room every weekend, winding down to my favorite songs, until I declared a winner every week, which usually came down to either the Carpenters, the Beatles, or the Mama’s and the Papa’s. Usually the same three songs, Close to You, Something, or Go Where You Wanna go.
Man, am I going all over the place with this piece. I apologize for that, and urge you to try and get over it, but it’s not really my fault, you see, music has a way of veering to the right, then snapping back to the left, without warning, and without hesitation. I do love it though, and with its warming lyrics and soothing melodies, I welcome whatever spicy sauce it feels like dipping my soul down into.
I have written a couple blog posts in the last couple years about music, and continuously refer to it as a big part of me. I suppose that in the future, I will continue to write about my passion for those uplifting melodies, and I hope I will continue to feel it in my bones until the day I die, for it is such a big part of who I am, from the inside, out. Every fiber of my body, at times, vibrates with a song playing in my head. I am so happy that I can hear the whole structure of a song in my mind, from the beat of the drum, to the back-up vocals, to the chord structures, to the running harmonies that pick me up and take me away, time and time again. I am blessed with an internal tuning fork that sends chills up my spine as it rides along the highs and dips way down into the lows of so many wonderful melodic creations. I am forever grateful for the wonderful gifts that have guided my musical soul for so many years.
Even with all of the changes I have gone through over my ages, I listen to the artistry with the same passions that I have had, for all my life. Even though my surroundings have continuously differed and changed and molded and swayed and created so many uniquely altering variables, music always seems to be able to grab hold of me and snap me back into the same mind sculpting hallways of my past, not caring where I am or what is going on. It always finds its way back into my heart, exactly where it belongs.
You see, I am a music lover. I drink it, I breathe it, I hear it, I believe it, I need, want, crave, yearn for, lust after, and absolutely desire it, through and through, from beginning to end. It has always been and will forever continue to be part of me, for I am, and have always been a part of it.
Why do we give up our hearts to the past? Why must we grow up so fast?
Excuse me, but I do believe that if you listen long enough and hard enough, the astoundingly incredible views of an infinite list of wonderful music artists, including those of Mr. Walsh, just might have the answer.