Some Thoughts: 2/24

"The Equator" by Tortoise

I grew up at 224 Munsell Road. Even though we left in 1995, I still think of "home" when I see that number. And we didn't just leave. We left the suburbs of New York City and Long Island for the countryside of Washington County, near Vermont and Massachusetts. But that was a long time ago.

These thoughts of the past bring on the most pleasurable form of nostalgia: MUSIC. Who did I listen to when I was learning what the world was as a kid? Or, more like it, who did other people choose for me to listen to before I got a sense that I could decide who listen to on the ride?

I've been listening to much of the music I loved when I was growing up during the teenage years. Lately, as I put this novel together in a very chronologically spiraling style that examines the experiences I know from some intensity of life that shines the light, I've also been trying to understand where I came from. I know that ultimately I came from music, because I'm still in the music, so what better place to start figuring out how it came to be that I grew up at 224 Munsell Road, a quiet suburban street, and found myself in India.

It's like Popa Wu says, "If you don't know where you came from, you damn sure don't know where you're going."

Or, at considerably more length, Joseph Campbell says in Pathways to Bliss:

Artists are magical helpers. Evoking symbols and motifs that connect us to our deeper selves, they can help us along the heroic journey and our own lives.

It is a popular game among literary critics and graduate students to discuss a particular writer’s influences—who they got their ideas and style from. Well, when the operation of creation is in play, an author is surrounded by an ambient of everything he has ever experienced—every childhood accident, every song he’s heard, and, too, every book and poem and pamphlet he has read. His creative imagination pulls these things out and puts them into a form.

Now, all these myths that you have heard and that resonate with you, those are the elements from round about that you are building into a form in your life. The thing worth considering is how they relate to each other in your context, not how they relate to something out there—how they were relevant on the North American prairies or in the Asian jungles hundreds of years ago, but how they are relevant now—unless by contemplating their former meaning you can begin to amplify your own understanding of the role they play in your life.

I'm always aware of the writers and thinkers who have influenced my perspectives and decisions, and I've documented many of them so that I can always go back to finding their words for reference and solace.

Music is unique as language. I have am so grateful and privileged, blessed really, to have so much magical music. I know I use the word "magic" a lot, and I mean it. How can you argue against music? How do you reply to beautiful vibrations of emotion and excitement?

If I wanted to listen to all of my music, it would take me 46 days straight to complete such a musical journey. Now, I know that some people have much more music than that, and other people would question my total as a mere collection instead of a truly diverse base of constant musical joy. The truth is, I love, at the very least, 95% of the music I own. There are probably a few albums that someone shared with me and I've only listened to once or twice, but for the most part, I loved all of the music at one point, and still love most of it, even if my perspective and preference has changed with time.

One of my favorite things to do every few years used to be listening to all of my CD's in a row, whether alphabetically, randomly, or chronologically. It usually took a few months, often combined with mundane tasks such as organizing papers at an office job, mowing the lawn, or painting our house. When I worked at a law firm for my first college summer job, they told me that they appreciated my hard work and organizational skills, yet were a little amused by "the first" experience of having an employee who wore headphones most of the time. How else can you stand looking at law suits describing symptoms of infamous E. Coli outbreaks, some of which affected people I knew?

I'm not attempting anything close to that now, but I do have a playlist of "My Generation" that begins in 1988 and continues until the present day. I am currently in the year of 2002. I selected a few songs off of each album, in chronological order (I made the original chronological playlists of my music a few years ago, a little each day), so I could feel the evolution of music in my lifetime. Some of it has been nostalgic, and some of it has involved listening to songs that I listen to now anyway. A few songs have taken on a whole new meaning after all of my experiences, emotions and ideas, many of which I couldn't fathom at age 13-19.

It's taken a few weeks to get this far in the playlist because I only listen to it when I'm walking or doing some task that doesn't require too much concentration. For example, when I'm working on the book, I can't have music going unless I need a little atmospheric inspiration, which can only last so long before I get into a zone and need to focus. Speaking of which, the book is still moving, just slow and steady. There's a lot going on in India, and I was fortunate to experience a spectacular dose of it by being there and recording as much as I could for memory. Not to mention the rest of the story, which is also coming back to me in flashes and bits through notes and quotes. I'm finally getting my feet under me, and jogging just a little more energetically and confidently, sensing the return of sunny warm green to the New York scene. I am steadily pacing with the green tortoise: slow and steady wins the race.

(I have no idea what the music video is about, but I love the song)

I wrote 3410 words today. Many of them are good words, and some of them even get along really well with each other. I'm still very enthusiastic about this project, and moreso now that I am starting to get my feet back on the ground. More focus means a better flow.

Now that I've put in extensive time, imagination and energy into India and the journey, I would enjoy publicly sharing some of my favorite experiences of music. We're going to have to go much further back than my teenage years. We're going back to the mid-1980's, when I didn't have any choices about the music I heard, and simply had to consume the sounds that my mother played in the car or my sister demanded she play for us. They're the first songs my brain thought worthy of storing in memory, and I still have them with me, on a machine and a little thin box in my pocket that brings me musical joy whenever I feel so free.

The first music that comes to mind from those days is the New Seekers' "Free to Be You and Me." I think my parents thought that was a suitable song for children, so that entire song is etched in my memory forever. The merits of the message to a young soul are self-evident.

After that I recall the unforgettable voice of John Prine, and how his songs always seemed to accompany a feeling of warm fun and sunshine. His is one of the earliest musical voices I can remember:

"Father, forgive us for what we might do

You forgive us and we'll forgive you

We'll forgive each other 'till we born turn blue

And we'll whistle and go fishin' in a heaven."

-"Fish and Whistle" by John Prine

And of course, if the voyage was an hour or more, we definitely heard some Taj Mahal at that point, if we hadn't started it all off with him to begin with:

"Betcha going fishin' all the time,

baby goin' fishin' too.

Bet your life, your sweet wife is gonna catch more fish than you

Many fish bite if you've got good bait

Now here's a little tip that I would like to relate

Many fish bite if you've got good bait

Cuz I'm a goin' fishin', yes I'm goin' fishin'

And my baby goin' fishin' too."

-"Fishin Blues" by Taj Mahal

Although it was there all along, for some reason Paul Simon's Graceland displayed a remarkable dominance in playtime ages 8 to 11, when my sister was 10 to 13. It enjoyed a resurgence in later years, but I rode in the car with my mom and sister less by then, so I was subjected to it less often. Even so, I'd been hearing "You Can Call Me Al," "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes," "Graceland," and "Boy in the Bubble" my whole life:

"I do believe these are the days of miracle and wonder"

I'm sure there were many other bands we heard more often than not, and many beloved songs, and styles of music that we were introduced to, but there's really only one other artist and album that resonates strongly with my memories of those days growing up at 224.

"I was made for America, I have prayed for America,
it's in my blood and in my bones"

-"For America" Lives in the Balance by Jackson Browne.

My mom really loves Jackson Browne. She was a social worker who leaned a little to the flower-child side of her generation. She wasn't much of a party person, but instead more of a helper and healer. Whatever Jackson sang about, whether it was love relationships, young angst or complex violent political situations, he always did so with incredibly moving, informative and passionately honest words vibrating on the waves of intense instrumentation.

Actually, now that I listen to more of this playlist, I realize that there is another brilliant politically passionate poet given the extra gift of musical talent. All who possess this talent can know that they are the greatest harbingers of joy on the magic spin ball.

"Talkin About a Revolution"

-Tracy Chapman

We heard that album all the time in kindergarten and elementary school. "Fast Car" reminds me of many a ride under the highway lights en route to some widely populated area on the Eastern seaboard.

Of course, since then, I have developed new relationships with these songs and artists. One of my greatest memories of Graceland is riding around the north island of New Zealand in a camper van with three other new American friends, winding around cliffs as my friend popped in the CD without telling me. Not to mention driving down to Bonnaroo in Tennessee while listening to the song "Graceland":

"If you'll be my body guard, I can be your long last pal,

I can call you Betty, and Betty, when you call me,
you can call me Al"

Perfect words for cheering up.

"I'm going to graceland, graceland, Memphis, Tennesse,
I'm goin' to graceland!"

Perfect words for driving my friends down to one of the greatest parties in the history of anything.

"A man walks down the street
It's a street in a strange world
Maybe it's the Third World
Maybe it's his first time around
He doesn't speak the language
He holds no currency
He is a foreign man
He is surrounded by the sound
The sound
Cattle in the marketplace
Scatterlings and orphanages
He looks around, around
He sees angels in the architecture
Spinning in infinity
He says Amen and Hallelujah!"

Perfect words.

Of course, John Prine came back to the scene when I explored all of the family's classic rock albums from the 60's and 70's during college. It doesn't take long for any human to identify with this next song, but the years of experience have given me more opportunities to appreciate it on new levels:

"That's the way that the world goes 'round, you're up one day, the next you're down,

It's a half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown

That's the way that the world goes 'round."

-"That's the Way That the World Goes 'Round" by John Prine

And of course, Jackson Browne's wisdom has made a lot more sense to this well-traveled 29 year old than it did to the totally protected child who was to bear first witness to his insights:

"Before you ever saw your chances,
you were gonna burn this city down,

Tired of the fashions and the dances,
tired of the people standing 'round.

Time running out, time running out,
for the fool wondering what his life is all about."

-"Black and White" by Jackson Browne

Taj Mahal has somehow become even more fun over the years, which is impressive considering he made a lot of children's and world music albums later in his career, which we all loved as very small kids.

Now I've seen the real Taj Mahal's, the man and the building, performing in Central Park and standing incredibly still in Agra, India, although I can't remember which one did which.