A LIFETIME OF MUSIC

“Woh-uh-oh, listen to the music…All the time.” The Doobie Brothers

This year’s Grammy Awards brought back some great memories. Watching an 80-year-old Joni Mitchell perform her iconic 1969 song Both Sides Now took me back to my college dorm room, where there was always a record playing in the background. A few days later, I sat down to watch the documentary Echo in the Canyon, which tells the story of the music scene in Los Angeles’ Laurel Canyon in the mid-1960s. The music of Mitchell, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, The Mamas and the Papas, Buffalo Springfield and more is brought to life through interviews and video recordings.

Tracey Chapman’s Grammy rendition of Fast Car, a song from 1988, brought tears to my eyes. Chapman and this masterpiece were both rediscovered for a new generation by an admiring country singer, Luke Combs. The song, which speaks of escaping poverty and alcoholism, compelled me as a young lawyer to consider the world outside my busy, self-serving orbit.

Since the 1960s, the methods of delivering music have gone through as many transformations as the mediums for researching information. I have readily adopted and as quickly discarded scratchy vinyl albums, eight track tapes, cassette tapes, boom boxes, iPods, compact discs, and now streaming music through my vehicle, phone, and computer. Technology has continued to advance and made it easier to keep music close-at-hand in our mobile society. I can now play almost any song at a moment’s notice.

Music like art and literature is cumulative. Each new generation builds on the performers that came before. All young music lovers go through a similar transformation from the passive acceptance of the music favored by their parents to an active cultivation of their own tastes. In my experience, music has helped define and formulate a sense of self for each generation.

Identifying as a rock & roll fan, punk music devotee, country music follower, metal-head, Goth lifestyle promoter, or Swiftee gives a young adult an anchor. It is an association with others of similar age, while figuring out how to fit into a complex world. I have known teenagers who seemed to hate all music except for irritating loud noise shared with like-minded close friends. For the most part, these individuals all became functioning adults after their generation was taken over by the next one.

Rock & roll, or more to the point, classic rock, defines my favorite genre of music. Many other forms of music have brought me great joy, including symphonic performances. However, classic rock songs are the music embedded in my memory, stored and remembered unconsciously.

My first concert was at Princeton University in 1967. My mother took us to see Arlo Guthrie perform Alice’s Restaurant.  She probably favored the anti-Vietnam war theme, as we were pacifists and members of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers).

As a teenager, I was not a fan of pop radio. My group of like-minded New Jersey companions would listen to the underground FM stations from New York City and Philadelphia. The long compositions of Cream, Yes, The Moody Blues, Procol Harum, and Pink Floyd would entertain us for hours.

The summer between my 1969 high school graduation and college, I attended what would become the generation-defining concert held in Bethel, New York. Woodstock introduced me to a radical music culture I had not yet considered, wrapped in progressive political and sexual views. The bands that performed at Woodstock that memorable August weekend have remained among my favorites.

My best friend at Swarthmore College was a Beatles fan who taught me a great deal about the band’s experimentation in recording techniques. We would gather around a phonograph and play Beatles songs backwards, searching for hidden messages. When a close High School friend returned from Vietnam, he introduced me to progressive rock and Genesis. Again, hours were spent listening to cryptic lyrics, searching for hidden meaning.

In law school, my roommate was immersed in a type of music, art rock, with which I was not familiar. I learned to appreciate Peter Gabriel’s solo work, Roxy Music and similar groups.

I never would have developed a taste for Seattle Grunge music but for time spent in a rehabilitation facility to treat my alcoholism in the late 1990s. For several weeks, I was surrounded by twenty somethings recovering from opioid addiction who loudly played nothing but Nirvana and Pearl Jam. I learned to appreciate Grunge, and it is now included in my music library.

In my later years, I have come to believe that the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra is one of the greatest gifts that our area has to offer. Two hours of classical music presented by world-class performers is a magical experience. Ironically, the PSO has now taken up performing symphonic versions of classic rock albums to help pay the bills.

Given my age and music biases, many of the young performers at the Grammys failed to impress me. I am hopeful that new albums by the Rolling Stones, Hackney Diamonds, and Peter Gabriel, i/o, will gain recognition next year, but octogenarian rock musicians may no longer move the awards needle.

I am convinced that all music has its place. It connects people and their values. It furnishes a platform for the underrepresented. It supplies a window into diverse cultures. For me, it has provided a life of youthful adventure, enjoyment, and continued entertainment.