The wonderful benefits of belonging to a health club seem to be endless. Not only do I feel like a million bucks from the water and exercise, I get into the most rewarding conversations with people of all ages. Recently, a young man and I discussed the merits of rock and roll. He, of course, was all for the music of his day which is rap. I listened for a while to his justification for words of violence and dark images. Then I told him how I was born into rock and roll, traveled the course of all it's changes and definitions. And it is so true.
Country swing gave way to Elvis and Bill Haley while I attended high school. One who wasn't there cannot know the thrill of which I spoke to my friend. Mixed into that melee was the Mickey Mouse Club. As a young bride away from home, in a navel seaport called Norfolk, Va. we waited eagerly for that rousing theme song: Who's the Leader of the Club That's Made for You and Me? M-I-C-K-E-Y- M-O-U-S-E. And along came Dick Clark with the American Bandstand. He is still a music icon to this day. Oh, life was so innocent in those times.
It wasn't long until do-wop nudged Mickey aside in our journey through the pathways of new sounds. Every week brought new groups with new hits. The Beatles turned the curve in the road of beat. It was a time of exploration and we climbed aboard for the ride. But just as we became comfortable with the mellow dulcet tones of all those many quartets of early motown, we felt the stirrings of unrest enter. The Doors; Creedance Clearwater Revival; Cream; Bob Dylan to name a few, fired up our outrage at the meaningless war of Viet Nam. That was a time of confusion for most of us. We managed to turn away from the pain and enjoyed some of the most wonderful music rock has ever known. But the terrible war ran on and on, like our 45 RPM's on our meant to be, but never quite succeeded in being true, portable record players the size of a small suitcase.. I still have my 45's. They, ofcourse, are obsolete, as is that war of the sixties and early seventies.
While Disco passed, I was busy with children and life's demands. Though I enjoyed the performances of Disco, it failed to inspire me to dance to their tunes. The BeeGees took front stage. In fact, Disco died a painful demise long before it should have, and who knows why? All those musical shoes were filled with the music of the eighties. Perhaps my time had come for indifference because very little of that music became my anthem to the soul. I preferred Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye to the weakened tunes of Rod Stewart and Phil Collin, etc.. The new hits of the week became the new hits of the year. Truly, Rock was reaching it's time to slow down.
Grunge, Punk, and now Rap. What can I say? Sometimes I wish for that spark within me to rekindle so I can find the beat once again. All I hear now is noise and profanities better left unsaid, much less in the name of music for our youth. My young friend had to agree with me on that point. He asked me where to find that wonder now. I have no clear answer for him. Instead, I suggested that he travel backward over that paythway to find true rock and roll. And miracles of miracles, he has done that. He tells me of his new respect for Eric Clapton and Cream. I give him a wink and say softly to myself, 'Gotcha!'
And the Beat Goes On!
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