Musical windows are that period in your (usually) young life
when you first experience the magical and wondrous feelings that music can
bring to your soul. All the traumas of life; first love, heartache, disappointment,
pending adulthood, lost love, romance, travel and a million other mysteries
that make up one’s young life can be perfectly encapsulated and immortalized in
a song…usually to a porous mind eager to absorb all the nuances of life ahead.
Musical windows can be born anyplace and at anytime. My
musical window originated in grade school around 4:30 each morning as I donned
my galoshes, heavy jacket, mittens and knit hat. Then it was off to deliver
newspapers to a customer base that assumed the Saint Paul Pioneer Press would
always be on their front steps before 6:00 am.
Under those layers of clothing was strapped my brand new
Motorola salmon (pink) colored transistor radio tuned to KDWB, the only radio
station in town according to my astute pop-culture friends.
I grew up on all of the classics of the 50s and early 60s,
pop music, country crossover tunes, lingering hit parade relics, show tunes and
anything else that caught my fancy. I didn’t discriminate about the music or
the artists. If it moved me, I loved it. It’s what I call my classical music.
I began with my beloved 45-rpm records, graduated to vinyl
and eventually moved on to tape and CDs. Melanie once tried to get me into her
I pod but it wasn’t the same. I’m just now discovering iTunes. Why change to a
new delivery medium if the old one works just as well. The music is the same no
matter how it reaches your ears.
Then, as sometimes happens, I got sweet revenge. The younger
set (that would be my kids) read about vinyl having a purer sound than your
average CD and they asked if I had any. “You know, Dad, they’re black and the
size of a medium pizza.” Of course, I answered in the affirmative and told
them. “I’ll even let you hold one if you’re careful.” Oh, the wonder of musical
revenge on the younger generation.
Today my kids laugh at my musical tastes until they find a
tune they like and discover, much to their chagrin, that it’s just a cover tune
for something that was done years ago by one of my favorite artists. Seriously,
they ask. Seriously, I reply with a grin.
For two kids who hated band and thought it torture that we
made them stay in all through high school, I find it curiously satisfying to
hear them both talk about their own children having to be in band
themselves…when they’re old enough…whether they want to be or not.
Of course, the fact that I introduced Melanie to the Beatles
and Brian to Led Zeppelin isn’t lost on them either. In turn, they’ve turned me
onto their kind of music. I find it mildly curious that we’ve gone from my love
of folk music of the sixties (Bob Dylan, Tom Paxton and Ian & Sylvia (“Four
Strong Winds”) to a revival of the alternative folk rock music of today with
The Lumineers, Elephant Revival, Trampled by Turtles, Old Crow Medicine Show,
Julia and Angus Stone and numerous other great groups and artists. It’s a
musical exchange I relish.
Music speaks a special language to many of us. It raises our
blood pressure and pumps adrenaline into our veins. It inspires us. It feeds
our fondest wishes. It comforts us in times of romantic encounters and coats
past memories with soothing pastels that belie the reality of our past
entanglements. It is that multicolored rainbow that follows the hail and
thunder of lost loves. It helps us think wonderful thoughts and harbor grand
visions of a life that could be, should be, might be but seldom is.
Certain songs become indelible imprints of moments in time
that we want to hold onto forever. A faction of our life perfectly captured by
some song that brings back the sights and sounds and emotions of some
unforgettable experience.
It’s an elixir for our soul. A balm for our pains. Music is
a narcotic I eagerly ingest each day. A lifelong addiction I relish. My love of
music is a wonderful heritage I want to pass on to my grandchildren and feed
their addiction as well. To help them create their own musical window, rich
with the soothing sounds that satisfies their souls.
So I’ll stick to my vinyl and tapes and CDs and let my kids
find the newest capsule for their tunes. The grandkids will be ahead of us in
no time. Hopefully they’ll find their own musical window and despite the
differences in tune-carriers, we can all share the music together.
Then we’ll all be able to claim our own version of classical
music.
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