Back to the Past

I usually, well never, use others' names, but my story is coming to a place where others' stories intersect with mine. Today I use the name of a woman I knew nearly 50 years ago. I hope she is at peace.

Phase 4

            The school year played out and I was glad to get out of Madisonville. I wanted some different fun. The first part of 1964 had been cold and miserable and I had been sick several times through the year. Summer couldn’t get there fast enough. The trip back to Norfolk didn’t tire me as it had before. Somewhere along the way my mom bought me a plastic whistle clarinet. I wailed on it until my parents called for a halt. I loved being able to play tunes, but complied with their demands and rested it in the space beneath the back glass of the car. After a couple of hours I decided to test my parents’ nerves and give the horn another go. The clarinet had melted and was still quite warm to the touch. It looked like the first draft of a Dali painting. The sun robbed me of the chance to create my own compositions.

            Entering from the west like a horde of jealous marines, I hit the shores of Norfolk ready to lay the entire town to waste. Horny sailors had nothin on me. Actually, I had the same appetites for mischief as that randy crew. The austere lives we lived in Madisonville were gladly left behind, at least for the summer. The future looked bright. I liked our house, our backyard, our neighbors…and I liked the music.

            The British Invasion was in full swing that summer. I was glad that my mom was listening to Top 40 radio in the car because I really couldn’t get enough of everything playing. Her taste was certainly different than mine, but we did like a lot of the same songs. I found myself drawn more so to R&B (things like My Guy, by Mary Wells) than in the past, while mom liked the more popish stuff by The Supremes and the like. She also liked Bad to Me, which, unknown to us, was a John Lennon song, and A World without Love, a McCartney song.

            I really began to enjoy The Dave Clark Five. For one thing, the production behind the band’s recordings gave them a better fidelity than other artists. The mean snare sound that Clark had was closer to the sound ideal of Hound Dog than other productions where the snare (the drums, even) was often hidden in the mix. The band didn’t hurt itself with the hard stompin rhythms it churned up on the records, especially Bits and Pieces. I also dug The Beach Boys’ I Get Around. That song hit right in the middle of summer and was perfect, to me, in any auto riding situation.