I was throwing emails back and forth with a friend of mine tonight. We were reminiscing about some old music that we are both fond of. I couldn’t help but notice that one particular album, Animals by Pink Floyd, came out forty years ago. Her particular Floyd favorite was The Dark Side of the Moon, which are a couple years older. It just doesn’t seem possible that these albums are as old as they are. I suppose it has something to do with my own aging process, right?
I’m taking a couple online courses at college this fall. One of them is The History of Rock and Roll. I was pretty hyped up about the class, and for good reason. I’m an old rock and roll hound dog that’s fallen off the wagon a few times, but like James Taylor sings on his 2015 album entitled, Before This World, I’m like a hungry dog on a bone, especially when it comes to rock and roll.
I remember my older brother playing his Woodstock album in his bedroom, and my mother hollering for him to turn it down. I grew up on the Beatles and can remember dancing to their Help album in our cellar with my two sisters and little brother. From that point on, I realized how much the music was creeping into my soul. I kid around today, saying that I always have a song running around in my head. It’s true. It’s absolutely true. I’m singing that same new James Taylor song, Angels of Fenway, that refers to the Red Sox winning the 04 World Series.
I guess my first true rock and roll album that got me caught up in the rhythmic rocking motion was the Aerosmith album Rocks. Their Last Child song enamored me so much that I played it over and over and over.
And here I go once again, writing about time. Time to live, to breathe, time to learn and love. Music and time go hand in hand, don’t they? So many songs, so little time. So much to sing about, and as time shapes and molds the music, the words tell the stories of how time forms a melody of the soul.
I absolutely love music, and to think that forty years have come and gone is mind bending to say the least. The songs of the past will never change. The only thing that changes, is us. I can still hear the guitar riff screaming out of Last Child. I can see Joe Perry cocking his head sideways as his guitar finds the perfect stride of electronic magic.
I love music. I love great melodies, and soothing harmonies. I adore a perfect solo, set in motion at the perfect time. I hop inside the music and find the most comfortable seat, so I might enjoy the story completely. It’s fascinating how some songs teach me the melody, while other songs read out loud, word for word, their incredible story. Does it depend on me? Does it depend on the artist? Does it depend on where I am, or who I’m with? Does it depend on how hungry I am for something to grab hold of me and take me for a journey through an incredibly constructed work of art?
Music helps bend the fabric of time. With its haunting highs and breath taking lows, it lifts us up and carries us to places we didn’t know existed. It’s a friend that you never worry about losing. It’s a kick in the butt when you need it, and a big old bear hug when you least expect it.
In time, it will continue to be, as it has always been.