It's Ok to Be Confused
Transistor radios pressed up against our ears, we listened to the British Invasion, San Francisco pyschedelic, Motown and brassy polished pop. Hollies, Who, Kinks, Stones, Beattles, Supremes, Rascals, Yardbirds, Sly Stone, Four Tops, Electric Prunes, 13th Floor Elevator, Doors, Animals, Turtles, Mamas and Pappas, Lovin' Spoonful, and the great guitar gods with their thunderous, bell-like tones and brilliant articulation. What a great time. Then FM arrived. Stereo was born. Long Playing records! The sound barrier was broken time and time again. Later: fusion, funk. Jaco, Holdsworth, George Duke. And so many others -- but that's the short list. These sounds, these hooks -- they echo in our brains -- etched into our cortexes like primal imprints waiting to be fired up with fresh chords in recognition. Then, adult life -- raising a family, throwing yourself at a career, shelter, loans -- the whole 9 yards. You put music on a shelf. Literally, your flute collects a 1/2 inch of dust. Your equipment turns into a collection of museum pieces, and you wonder if you still have it. But then the kids grow up and you see the light of day, and muster just enough energy to find new music buddies, testing their patience with your fumbling fingers and faltering falsetto, until -- after 5 years -- it's all sounding pretty good again. And DIFFERENT. A bit deeper -- not just the voice, but the lyrics and the melodies. The rhythms are more interesting. The phrasing is extended. The whole thing just rocks fresh reflecting our life and times.