Nine Out of Ten Ain’t Bad

While awaiting my turn at the barbershop, the AARP Magazine cover stared back at me from its rack.  Okay, it wasn’t really a barbershop.  It was a salon,  But not just any salon.  It was one of those franchise salons for cheapskates like me who carry around coupons for discount haircuts.  “Ten Essential Boomer Albums,” the headline read.  I grabbed the magazine, rescuing it from  between Glamour and People.  I flipped through some pages to the list of records.  “Alright,” I muttered to myself.  I owned nine out of those ten albums!

The first one was Bob Dylan’s Highway 61 Revisited.  I had that one… until someone “borrowed” it from me, along with a Simon & Garfunkel album not on the list.  Never saw either one again.  I first heard “Like a Rolling Stone” on my cousin’s transistor radio while we were fishing along the banks of Turtle Creek.  Now, I have nearly every Dylan album ever released, even the “borrowed” one.  Dylan’s music probably has influenced me more than any other songwriter.

Long ago, I wrote about the second album on the list, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, for a review column in my high school newspaper, Arista.  In that same column I also reviewed We’re Only in It for the Money by the Mothers of Invention.  That one isn’t on the list for reasons unknown to me.  I have some clippings of those record review columns.  Each of them ended with a plug for Don’s Record Shop.  A classmate on the business end of the newspaper staff was supposed to collect money from old Don in return for the advertising.  Whether that actually happened remains a mystery.  On the other hand, I don’t recall ever buying record albums at retail prices from Don.  Ever the cheapskate, I sought out the record bins at Arlan’s Discount Store.  Karma triumphed on Don’s behalf though, when both albums warped beyond playability in the trunk of my parents car one sunny afternoon, the result of my own negligence.

I had to look up Led Zeppelin IV.  Zeppelin never bothered to title their first four albums and even though three of them were in my collection, my head hurts trying to recall anything after Led Zeppelin II.  To make matters more confusing, this fourth album goes by an alternate title comprised of four Runes symbols, each representing a band member.  So I remember it only by its cover art featuring an old guy hunched over and carrying a bag of sticks.  It’s also the album with their most overplayed song, “Stairway to Heaven,” and is one I wore out on my turntable.

What’s Going On (Marvin Gaye), Tapestry (Carole King), Exile on Main Street  (Rolling Stones), Innervisions (Stevie Wonder), Eagles: Their Greatest Hits 1971–1975  (Eagles), Exodus (Bob Marley & the Wailers) and Saturday Night Fever: The Original Movie Soundtrack (Bee Gees) made up the rest of this “essential” list.

Saturday Night Fever?  Really?  I confess to seeing the movie, but never thought seriously about owning the soundtrack album.  I was miffed by the “disco” wave the Bee Gees chose to ride.  The Bee Gees had made some decent music and their first album, appropriately titled Bee Gees 1st, was in my collection.  But their Odessa album with the red-flocked, gatefold cover was the real gem.  Either my first wife or her sister owned that album, depending on whose home it was in at the time.  An oft-pilfered item between them, it finally met an unfortunate fate, melting into a charred hunk of red-flecked vinyl, the result of a house fire while in my sister-in-law.’s possession.

So the AARP music critic and I might agree on nine out of his ten essential boomer albums… all ten if you take into account a different Bee Gees album that burned to a crisp.  I could easily come up with a different “Ten Essential Boomer Albums” list.  There’s a very good chance none would have been purchased at Don’s Record Store.  Sorry, Don.

Arista Full copy

What are your “Ten Essential Boomer Albums?”  Leave a comment and let me know.

Love and Mercy

A few days ago I saw the new Brian Wilson biopic, Love and Mercy. As I mentioned to my wife Sylvia after the film, and at the risk of sounding a bit too sentimental, I was misty-eyed during much of the movie. Maybe it’s an emotional attachment to the music of the Beach Boys in general, and Brian Wilson in particular. The attachment extends more specifically to the album Pet Sounds, the production of which was an integral part of the film story. Maybe I’m simply a fan.

When Pet Sounds was released in May 1966 I was finishing my sophomore year in high school, had just put together a garage band, and had landed my first full-time summer job as a private groundskeeper for a well-to-do retired businessman in my hometown. I’d always enjoyed the Beach Boys and their songs about summer, surfing, cars and girls. My cousin Mike and I even went to Chicago, driven there by my uncle, to hear the Beach Boys in concert at McCormick Place the previous year. Brian Wilson had stopped touring with the band by then which was a disappointment.  However, his place on bass guitar and harmonies was capably filled by Glen Campbell.

Pet Sounds was a different Beach Boys record. It was more introspective and personal music. The songs on that record spoke to me in a way that’s difficult to describe. All day long during that summer I mowed acres of grass, reseeded several patches of lawn, and labored at other outdoor chores. All the while, each song from Pet Sounds played repeatedly in my head. I heard every nuance of every note played and every lyric sung. It helped pass the time while working and would be the equivalent today of wearing earbuds connected to an iPod. But it was all in my head. There was no external device.

As much as I liked that album, most of my friends did not. And I knew this was not music my garage band could play. So at each day’s end that summer, I’d go home and clean up for dinner, maybe have a few bandmates over to practice, and then go to my room to play some records or listen to WLS Radio, the “Big 89.”  But the next working day it would usually be Pet Sounds in my head.

Summer ended, school reconvened, I bought a new bass guitar with the money I earned and continued to play gigs with my band.  The Beatles released Revolver, the Beach Boys released Good Vibrations and life went on.

I heard the Beach Boys again in 1971 at Notre Dame, again sans Brian Wilson.  Sylvia, Colin and I caught them one more time in LaCrosse around 1989, this time with neither Brian nor his brother Dennis Wilson who had died tragically a few year earlier.

At last in 2002, Sylvia and I were fortunate to be at the foot of the stage to hear Brian Wilson and his band at the House of Blues in Chicago. During intermission between sets, a stagehand picked up set lists off the floor and placed new ones. I could read one from where I stood. They would be playing Pet Sounds in its entirety. When the concert was over, they left the stage to thundering applause. Returning for their encores, I caught Brian Wilson’s eye as he walked to his electric piano. I can’t explain why, but he veered toward me and extended his hand to shake mine, which I gladly did. I expected him to shake a few more hands along the way, but he didn’t. Mine was the only one. Maybe he knew… I’m simply a fan.BrianWilsonTix2002