09-05-2025, 09:56 PM
(This post was last modified: 09-05-2025, 10:19 PM by jacket3ree.)
Hulk's reply got me thinking. (Don't worry. We all like what we like - I find this series of threads awesome because I try the new music I see here. I mean Cowboy Bebop!) I sense that after the 80s I shut down on getting into new tunes. Perhaps because I got married and stopped going to bars and clubs; perhaps the first third of my life when everything seemed to happen had a live soundtrack. Who knows.
What I do know is that the 70s (and late 60s and early 80s) just stuck with me. In 1969 men first set foot on the moon (I still have that 45) and when we returned to first grade that fall, in music class Ms. Beatty came in with her mini skirt and a copy of the now-familiar sphere that looked like a baked pie under her hand and announced that we were doing Tommy for the Christmas play. That's a little ambitious and maybe she just wanted to spin the newly released masterpiece on a good sound system while getting paid and killing an hour of class time. Still, I was absolutely mesmerized. We were learning to read, she handed out sheet music and we played Tommy over and over. Ever since I was a young boy, I played the silver ball.... Now the narc known as Elaine Burns went home and told her mom we were listening to the Acid Queen and not only was the play off, Ms. Beatty was removed from the school. Never forgot what The Man would do to ruin fun. (The Man that was Elaine Burns' Mom.)
About four years later, we were old enough to take band. I wanted to be Keith Moon. My parents told me I could play trumpet. Well, cornet because that's what my dad played and that's because that's what his dad played and the instrument was stored in the basement and hell if they were about to have a drum kit anywhere inside our domicile. (I still have the cornet in my garage and it is 105 years old.) To be fair to Mom and Dad, we had a Hammond B3 in our dining room. I mean, cool points for that. And Dad's kick ass stereo system. And Dad knew Tom Lehrer personally from parties in Cambridge.
Not happy until when watching Sesame Street one spring day a Mr. Stevie Wonder talked to Grover and busted out a version of Superstition that should be on data disks sent to other solar systems showing the achievements of Man. Good God! The horn section was melting pavement led by the most normal looking dude just setting the world on fire with a trumpet. Sold! (And let's be candid, that cover of Whipped Cream and Other Delights. If Herb Alpert can get Lani Hall, maybe....)
My mom brought home Jesus Christ Superstar. Oh my god. Dad loved Abba. Yeah, whatever. Gaining some semblance of financial independence by mowing neighborhood lawns, I began the collection in large part to piss off my parents. Beggar's Banquet 'cause toilet on the cover. Black Sabbath because that sounds badass. And it was. I mainlined the 70s. In Joe Huston's basement spinning anything and everything into the wee hours trying to manifest Nancy and/or Ann Wilson or Debbie Harry to walk down those stairs. Zappa! Santana! Let's get out of this basement and go to another basement at Kerns' house to discover the B52s and girls.
A few decades later singing Tommy with my daughter driving her to the Tri School production of same. Pretty sure the 70s did it for me. Some day I'll look at a decadal histogram of my collection because I'm genuinely curious. I mean I have some Kacey Musgrave. Golden Hour is spectacular and Deeper Well is magical. That's just a year old. My grandkids are into Adele and Taylor (their dad went on tour with her once), so I do hear the new stuff. But I had my granddaughter pick an album to spin when we had them for a few weeks while their parents were overseas. Steve Miller's Fly Like and Eagle. "Grandy, this is really good!" DNA's a thing.
What I do know is that the 70s (and late 60s and early 80s) just stuck with me. In 1969 men first set foot on the moon (I still have that 45) and when we returned to first grade that fall, in music class Ms. Beatty came in with her mini skirt and a copy of the now-familiar sphere that looked like a baked pie under her hand and announced that we were doing Tommy for the Christmas play. That's a little ambitious and maybe she just wanted to spin the newly released masterpiece on a good sound system while getting paid and killing an hour of class time. Still, I was absolutely mesmerized. We were learning to read, she handed out sheet music and we played Tommy over and over. Ever since I was a young boy, I played the silver ball.... Now the narc known as Elaine Burns went home and told her mom we were listening to the Acid Queen and not only was the play off, Ms. Beatty was removed from the school. Never forgot what The Man would do to ruin fun. (The Man that was Elaine Burns' Mom.)
About four years later, we were old enough to take band. I wanted to be Keith Moon. My parents told me I could play trumpet. Well, cornet because that's what my dad played and that's because that's what his dad played and the instrument was stored in the basement and hell if they were about to have a drum kit anywhere inside our domicile. (I still have the cornet in my garage and it is 105 years old.) To be fair to Mom and Dad, we had a Hammond B3 in our dining room. I mean, cool points for that. And Dad's kick ass stereo system. And Dad knew Tom Lehrer personally from parties in Cambridge.
Not happy until when watching Sesame Street one spring day a Mr. Stevie Wonder talked to Grover and busted out a version of Superstition that should be on data disks sent to other solar systems showing the achievements of Man. Good God! The horn section was melting pavement led by the most normal looking dude just setting the world on fire with a trumpet. Sold! (And let's be candid, that cover of Whipped Cream and Other Delights. If Herb Alpert can get Lani Hall, maybe....)
My mom brought home Jesus Christ Superstar. Oh my god. Dad loved Abba. Yeah, whatever. Gaining some semblance of financial independence by mowing neighborhood lawns, I began the collection in large part to piss off my parents. Beggar's Banquet 'cause toilet on the cover. Black Sabbath because that sounds badass. And it was. I mainlined the 70s. In Joe Huston's basement spinning anything and everything into the wee hours trying to manifest Nancy and/or Ann Wilson or Debbie Harry to walk down those stairs. Zappa! Santana! Let's get out of this basement and go to another basement at Kerns' house to discover the B52s and girls.
A few decades later singing Tommy with my daughter driving her to the Tri School production of same. Pretty sure the 70s did it for me. Some day I'll look at a decadal histogram of my collection because I'm genuinely curious. I mean I have some Kacey Musgrave. Golden Hour is spectacular and Deeper Well is magical. That's just a year old. My grandkids are into Adele and Taylor (their dad went on tour with her once), so I do hear the new stuff. But I had my granddaughter pick an album to spin when we had them for a few weeks while their parents were overseas. Steve Miller's Fly Like and Eagle. "Grandy, this is really good!" DNA's a thing.