I guess that is to be expected. I was raised with the sounds of music filling the house. My mother loved folk music. My father loved Middle Eastern music. They both loved classical music and bluegrass.
In that environment, as I say, I developed a fondness for all kinds of music. I liked the music my parents liked — still do — but I also liked the music that was popular with others of my generation.
Hey, I'll listen to Mozart or Ravi Shankar or Hank Williams any time and be quite content to do so, but I'm also a product of my times, and the music of my times was rock 'n' roll — or what is simply known as classic rock today.
Oh, well, as Shakespeare said, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.
I love the Beatles. I love the Rolling Stones and the Who and Bob Dylan, and I love some of the lesser lights as well. Elvis was before my time, but I appreciate what he did all the same, just as I appreciate the contributions of Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly.
Anyway, I didn't watch Michele Bachmann's announcement the other day in her hometown of Waterloo, Iowa, that she was going to run for the Republican presidential nomination. But I wasn't surprised to learn that she had used a Tom Petty song — "American Girl" — to pump up the crowd.
What did surprise me, however, was the fact that neither she nor anyone from her staff apparently ever contacted Petty or any of the members of his band to see if they had any objections to her use of the song.
With all the talk on the Republican side of the fence about protecting and preserving one's property rights, I would have thought she would be particularly careful about being sure that her ducks are in a row when it comes to intellectual property issues.
But she wasn't careful. And Petty has kindly asked her to cool it.
I guess it was a natural mistake. Hillary Clinton used the song at her rallies in 2008, and Bachmann must have assumed it was in the public domain.
But that isn't how it works.
Well, Hillary and Michele don't see eye to eye on a lot of things. Maybe Petty didn't mind if Hillary used his song, but he does mind if Michele uses it.
Of course, this isn't the first time that a politician has tried to score points with the public through popular music. It has often been used in campaign rallies and advertising.
In a way, I suppose this is fitting. Republicans have been openly yearning for the next Ronald Reagan, and this flap over music might give Michele an advantage in that competition.
But that might not really be an advantage.
When he was running for re–election in 1984, Reagan — in what must have been a bid for the youth vote — tried to link himself to Bruce Springsteen, who may have been the most popular performer in America at the time.
He was also riding high on the charts with "Born in the U.S.A.," and Reagan was eager to capitalize on the "message of hope" he perceived in the song.
Problem was that the song was about the negative influence on Americans because of the Vietnam War — a war that Reagan had praised as a "noble cause."
That's the real issue here, isn't it? Some people are so eager to score political points with cultural references that they don't bother to look beyond the title or the melody.
In their haste, they give voters an insight into the kind of attention to detail they can be expected to bring to the issues they will confront in office.
Reminds me of the words from another classic rock song.
If the band you're in starts playing different tunes, I'll see you on the dark side of the moon.
My bedroom window faces west so I won't be able to see when the sun starts to peek out over the eastern horizon, but that hasn't begun yet. It is still dark in Dallas, Texas, where I have spent so many Christmas mornings in my life.
And I am thinking about the music I associate with Christmas. It isn't always what you might think. Sure, there are the usual associations with seasonal songs and grade–school shows, but there are other, more personal memories of music and Christmas that are on my mind.
Sorting out those memories seems to be the order of business for me this morning. Perhaps it points the way to inner peace, which seems to be a worthy goal on Christmas.
I can get just as misty as the next person when I hear certain traditional songs that bring back memories of Christmases past and friends and relatives who have been gone for many years.
It always astonishes me how empty you can feel when you can't celebrate a holiday like Christmas the way you always did, how much you miss what was and will never be again — and how helpless, how powerless you feel when things change that you didn't want to change.
Change is inevitable, of course. And I guess I'm feeling particularly vulnerable to it this year. Seems like a lot of people who were important in my life have died this year, more than usual. Yes, I know that happens with more frequency as we get older, but it still leaves me with an empty feeling.
Change need not be a bad thing. I've been without a full–time job for more than two years now, and I guess I have been a little impatient waiting for the next chapter in my life to begin. As far as I'm concerned, that's one change that has been too long in coming.
Still, though, I can understand the resistance to change.
I grew up in Arkansas, but my grandparents and most of my parents' closest friends always lived right here in Dallas. My father was a college professor so he had time off at Christmas and we usually came to Dallas to spend the holidays.
I guess Christmas is always a magical time for children, but it was an especially magical time for me, and coming to my grandparents' home was always magical.
There were times when — for reasons I have forgotten or never knew — we didn't leave for Dallas until Christmas morning. In those days, we would have our family Christmas, then we would load up the car with our belongings and the gifts for the grandparents and friends and depart on the drive to Dallas, which usually took about seven hours in those pre–interstate days.
My memories of Christmas morning in those days are of waking up early and remaining in bed, impatiently waiting for the rest of the family to get up.
Like most children, I guess, I anticipated the presents that Christmas morning would bring, but I was excited, too, by the idea of simply being in Dallas later that day, in my grandparents' home. That was always an adventure for me, and there were always things to look forward to — the brownies in my grandmother's cookie jar, the softness of the beds in her home, trips to the park on pleasant days (and there were many of them in Dallas at Christmas when I was growing up), the familiar sights and sounds that I always associated with Dallas, whether it was Christmas or the Fourth of July.
When I think of music and Christmas morning, I can't help remembering a Christmas when I was still small. How small? I don't know. It's a vague memory, but I was young enough that I was still crawling into my parents' bed in the predawn hours and snuggling next to my mother. I guess I was 4 or 5.
On that particular Christmas Eve, my father set the alarm clock so we would all get up early enough to pack the car and get on the road, but he set it on radio and not alarm so, when the appointed time arrived, we were awakened to the sound of Christmas music playing on the radio.
The three of us lay there in the dark for several minutes, listening to the music before we got out of bed and began getting ready for the trip. I can't recall the tunes that were played — I think "Oh, Tannenbaum" was one of them, but that may be the intrusion of another memory because that was one of Mom's favorites.
Most of the time when I was growing up, we were in Dallas several days before Christmas.
But I still found myself waking before sunrise and waiting for the others to get up.
I remember a Christmas one year in the 1970s. I had gotten a portable radio for my birthday the month before, and I lay in bed listening to that radio via the earphone that came with it.
It was very dark in the bedroom, the way it is now, not even the faintest traces of dawn's earliest light could be seen peeking through the curtains, and I remember hearing, for the very first time, the song "Black Water" by the Doobie Brothers. I think it had been released maybe a month before, but I hadn't heard it.
If I had heard it, I'm sure I would have remembered it. I was a Doobie Brothers fan in those days, and the song, with its bluegrass and Cajun influences, was so different from anything they had recorded before.
And yet I found it oddly familiar — and appealing.
Its message had little, if anything, to do with Christmas, but it had special relevance for me. After Christmas, my family planned to drive to New Orleans for a few days. We would be in the heart of Cajun country, where we probably would hear music that was similar to that — and, in fact, we did.
I remember humming that song all that Christmas morning while we did our family Christmas thing, then when we bundled up and drove to the retirement home where my father's mother was living. I didn't hum "Black Water" as we walked through the rather bland, antiseptic halls to my grandmother's room, but the song was playing on an endless loop in my head.
Not exactly "White Christmas," but, even today, when I hear "Black Water," I remember that Christmas morning.
Christmas always reminds me, too, of my mother, as I have written here before. It has never come close to being the same for me since she died.
I've been thinking of one Christmas in particular. I couldn't say what year it was, but it was when I was still living in Little Rock and vinyl LPs were still being sold so it must have been in the 1980s.
One of my closest friends was working as a clerk in a record store, and I told him I was looking for a record to give Mom for Christmas.
Mom was always very musical, and she was fond of performers like Simon and Garfunkel, Don McLean, John Denver, but I wanted to get her something I didn't think she had heard.
My friend suggested a collection of winter–oriented instrumental classical music from Windham Hill that featured a variety of artists like George Winston. I went by the store one night when he was there, and he played some of the album for me. I was impressed and bought it on the spot.
On Christmas morning, I remember sitting on the floor next to Mom when she opened my gift. She wanted to hear it right away, and it provided the perfect backdrop for a family Christmas. For the rest of her life, Mom frequently played that album on Christmas.
Christmas truly was Mom's time of year, just as it was for an old friend of mine, Phyllis, who died earlier this year. I don't think Phyllis and I ever spent a Christmas together, but we did see each other during the holidays.
And I always knew, even if I didn't see first hand, how much Christmas meant to her.
So this year especially, my thoughts are of Phyllis. And, indirectly, that, too, reminds me of some music that makes me think of Christmas.
Phyllis, as I have mentioned before, was a dedicated Christian. She changed Protestant denominations during her life, but, as far as I know, she always believed in God and Jesus.
She was also a talented musician. She loved all kinds of music. Well, I don't know how she felt about rap, but I think she liked just about every other kind of music.
About a year or two before we met, a rock opera called "Jesus Christ Superstar" was doing something that organized religion was failing to do — bring young people into the flock.
Phyllis and I never discussed "Jesus Christ Superstar." But I think she approved of any music that inspired people to seek God.
Anyway, I remember one Christmas when my parents gave me a small package, small enough to fit in my hand. When I opened it, it turned out to be a homemade cassette recording of "Jesus Christ Superstar."
My father was a religion professor at a small liberal arts college in my hometown. As I recall, there was one copy of "Jesus Christ Superstar," a two–record set packaged in a special box (rare for that time) with a libretto, in the library at the college where he taught — or perhaps it was at the church where we were members.
Whichever it was, my father arranged to borrow it and recorded it when the technology for doing so was primitive, to say the least. The record he used as his source was scratchy, and it yielded a copy that was far from perfect. But I treasured that tape and listened to it endlessly until it finally gave out.
And even today, when I hear a song from that original recording, I remember that Christmas morning, whenever it was, and I listened for the first time to that tape my father made for me.
OK, my musical Christmas memories aren't exactly "White Christmas" or "Jingle Bells."
But they're mine, and I treasure them.
If you have a few minutes to spare on this Christmas Day, I'd like to hear about your Christmas memories — musical or not.
Here in Dallas, Texas, we seem to be going through a seasonal transition that is more extensive than usual. Ordinarily, my impression has been that we get about two weeks of spring and two weeks of fall, and the rest of the time it is either summer or winter. But the whole month of October seems to have been wetter and milder than usual, and I cannot tell if that means we can expect a colder than usual winter, one that is perhaps more prolonged than what we have experienced in recent years.
That might not be a bad thing if it meant some of the insects get killed off.
As I write this, we expect a shift of nearly 30 degrees, from around 76 during the afternoon to below 50 overnight. I am not sure what that says about what to expect. I just know it seems a little radical for my system.
Anyway, the weather has put me in a reflective mood.
And I thought I would share a few appropriate songs with you. I do not know what the weather is like where you are. And these are not all meteorologically inspired. But tomorrow is Friday, the last day of the week for those of you lucky enough to still have jobs. The day before Halloween, for those of you with children or plans to dress yourself up for some trick or treating.
This is not really in line with either of those moods. I guess this is a sort of stream of consciousness. And it is my gift to you.
"Remember a day before today A day when you were young. Free to play alone with time Evening never came. Sing a song that can't be sung Without the morning's kiss Queen — you shall be it if you wish Look for your king Why can't we play today Why can't we stay that way Climb your favorite apple tree Try to catch the sun Hide from your little brother's gun Dream yourself away Why can't we reach the sun Why can't we blow the years away Blow away Blow away Remember Remember."
Richard Wright ("Remember A Day") from Pink Floyd's "A Saucerful of Secrets"
Nearly 21 years ago, when I was living in Little Rock, Ark., my brother told me he wanted to treat the two of us to a Pink Floyd concert. The concert was going to be in Reunion Arena in Dallas sometime around my 28th birthday.
My brother was living in Dallas at the time, and he said he could get tickets easily.
Sure, I said. I'd like to see Pink Floyd. And I made arrangements to take some time off from work and drive to Dallas for the concert.
Mind you, this was in the days when Pink Floyd and songwriter/bass guitarist Roger Waters were going through a rather messy, public split.
Waters actually left the band two years earlier, in late 1985, saying it was a "spent force," and he focused his attention on a solo career. The remaining members of the band were working on a new album, though, prompting a legal dispute over Waters' claim that the band's name shouldn't be used. The matter was eventually settled out of court.
Anyway, in November 1987, I found myself in Reunion Arena with my brother, watching Pink Floyd perform. As we were walking through the parking lot to the arena, I saw several cars and vans with the words "Roger Who?" sprayed on the windows.
It's safe to say emotions were running high on both sides in those days.
Keyboardist Richard Wright played that night, as he always did at every Pink Floyd concert since the band was formed in the 1960s. Wright was a founding member of Pink Floyd, although he probably wasn't as well known as his band mates.
If you missed seeing him perform that night — or any other night — you've run out of chances to see him, I'm sorry to say.
Wright passed away from cancer at his home in Britain today. He was 65.
The Times of London reported that one of Wright's band mates, David Gilmour, wrote this about Wright on his blog: "No one can replace Richard. He was my musical partner and my friend. I have never played with anyone quite like him."
As BBC so aptly put it, "with Wright's passing, a hugely important chapter in the story of British music has closed."
It was Tuesday, Aug. 16, 1977. I was 17 years old, and I was about to start my senior year in high school.
In fact, classes were scheduled to begin the following Monday, August 22. And high school orientation sessions were being held on campus that Tuesday afternoon.
I had many things on my mind that day. There was orientation, as I said. And in a few days, my parents were going to observe their 25th wedding anniversary. I was still trying to decide what to do for the occasion.
I was never much of an Elvis fan, and he certainly wasn’t on my mind as I went about my business that day — to look for a suitable wedding anniversary gift and to go to my high school’s cafeteria to join my classmates for our last pre-academic year orientation together.
But Elvis was suddenly on everyone’s mind when the TV networks broke into regularly scheduled afternoon programming to announce that he had died.
Cable TV was on the verge of becoming the national obsession, but in 1977, very few homes were connected to cable. TV meant the Big Three networks — ABC, NBC and CBS (and PBS, although it didn’t have much of a news division in those days).
But I remember that, when I walked in the door of my home that afternoon, every single network had cameras on hand to capture the moment when a hearse carrying Elvis’ body departed from his Graceland mansion in Memphis.
And that moment was, indeed, broadcast live on all three networks.
With thousands of people lining the Memphis streets for a glimpse of the vehicle transporting the body of "the King" to the mortuary.
Up until that time, the only things that I had ever seen live on every network were things like space missions and presidential elections and inaugurations.
And the Watergate/impeachment hearings.
Maybe there were other celebrities who got that kind of coverage before Elvis died. If there were, I was either too young to know about it (i.e., was Marilyn Monroe’s death given that kind of TV coverage in 1962 — when TV ownership wasn’t nearly as extensive as it is today?) or I’ve conveniently forgotten about it.
President Kennedy's assassination got wall-to-wall coverage in 1963, but my family, like many families in those days, did not have a TV set, and we watched the broadcasts on the neighbors' TV.
In the years since Elvis died, I’ve seen a few deaths of famous people that got a lot of TV coverage — former presidents, of course, and the pope … and Princess Diana.
But none from the entertainment world got the kind of coverage that Elvis got.
And all these deaths have occurred since the dawn of the 24-hour news networks.
Today, when someone famous dies, it’s taken for granted that CNN will be there. So will Fox News — and C-SPAN, if the famous person was in a position of authority, like a president or a monarch or a pope.
And the original networks will be on hand as well.
Unless you count Princess Di, I don’t think I’ve seen another celebrity’s death that had the kind of cultural impact that Elvis’ death had.
But Princess Di wasn't really a celebrity in the sense that Elvis was.
Elvis was a performer. Princess Di was primarily known to the public in her role as the spouse of the prince of Wales. After her divorce, she was known for her humanitarian activism — on behalf of those with AIDS and to eradicate landmines.
She wasn't a performer.
But maybe it will be that way when Michael Jackson dies.
In the 31 years that have passed, I've heard several conspiracy theorists claim that Elvis' death was an elaborate hoax — that "the King" faked his own death to be free of the press and his fans without letting anyone down.
And the myth has been fed by the numerous claims from people who said they had seen Elvis in out-of-the-way places — like convenience stores and interstate men's restrooms.
It was never a very plausible argument, though. When Elvis died, the pills he'd been taking for years and his unhealthy diet had transformed him into a bloated caricature of himself. His concert performances in the last years of his life only served to provide fodder for the lounge impersonation acts that came after his death.
He always retained his fan base, but his broad popular appeal had faded. When Presley died, society had largely forgotten him. And, when I heard the news of his death, I had the same reaction I had when I heard about Bing Crosby's death a few months later — one of yesterday's stars had passed away.
Neither Presley nor Crosby seemed relevant. They were relics from the past.
Today, Elvis' mansion and his record sales have made his estate one of the biggest moneymakers in the world, but in 1977 Elvis didn't have a massive fortune anymore. It was the efforts of his ex-wife Priscilla in the months after Elvis died that turned the estate into what it is.
In 1977, though, Elvis wouldn't have been able to count on having that money to support his lifestyle in anonymity. He had no reason to believe that Graceland would generate millions of dollars annually as a result of his death.
So let me ask you this. If Elvis faked his own death, what was he planning to do for an income? Go back to truck driving in Mississippi?
If he were still alive, Elvis would be 73 now.
But I don't think he's been alive for the last three decades. I think it's probably true that he died of a heart attack, brought on by his weight and his long-term drug abuse, on that August day in 1977. (Apparently, Elvis had his heart attack while sitting on the toilet — prompting some wags to suggest that the "king died on the throne.")
If you're in the mood for some Elvis tonight, may I suggest that you turn to TV Land, which will show a two-hour retrospective ("Elvis, by the Presleys") at 8:30 p.m. (Eastern). The program was made three years ago.
I haven't seen it, but it reportedly features Presley's ex-wife Priscilla, his daughter Lisa Marie, his cousin and Priscilla's parents.
No one will ever forget Judy Garland -- least of all anyone who votes on the American Film Institute's (AFI) movie lists.
Created by the National Endowment for the Arts, AFI has honored Garland's work many times -- usually for the 1939 classic "The Wizard of Oz," which was named #6 on the Top 100 Movies of All Time (although it dropped four spots in a revised 2007 edition of the list) and #26 on the Top 100 Most Inspiring Movies.
But AFI recognized Garland for her body of work, ranking her #8 on the Top 100 Female Stars list. Anyone who's ever heard her sing "Over the Rainbow" knows it's an honor she richly deserved.
(By the way, AFI ranked that song #1 among movie songs. And, on a separate list, Garland's line, "Toto, I've got a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore" was recognized as the #4 movie quote of all time.)
Garland was born 86 years ago today. Less than two weeks after her 47th birthday, she was found dead of an accidental overdose of pills she had been taking for a long time. Thus, her death was ruled accidental and not a suicide.
Her death was as tragic as Marilyn Monroe's had been earlier in the decade. I will always remember how sad my grandmother was upon learning the news.
Actually, it was my grandmother who introduced me to Judy Garland -- figuratively speaking, of course.
When I was about 5 or 6, I watched "The Wizard of Oz" for the first time -- with my grandmother. The flying monkeys frightened me! And my family owned a small black-and-white TV set in those days so I didn't get to see things like a truly yellow yellow brick road for several years. (That was quite a revelation, I can assure you!)
But I learned to appreciate Garland's singing through my grandmother.
Garland's "Wizard of Oz" co-star, Ray Bolger, probably summed things up best at her funeral when he said, "She just plain wore out."
Indeed she did.
But I, for one, never get tired of seeing her or hearing her sing.
During the Thanksgiving holiday, I listened to my CD of Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt.
And I was struck by how the music mirrors what is happening in our politics -- on both sides.
I suppose no other composition reflects the presidential campaigns in both parties as masterfully as "In The Hall of the Mountain King."
If each instrument is (metaphorically) assigned to a different candidate, you realize as you listen to Peer Gynt that each campaign is saying the same things, only in different pitches and tones. The Democrats speak their party line, and the Republicans speak their party line. On just about everything. Very little variation from anyone.
In politics as well as Peer Gynt, as the cacophony builds, so does the tension -- but also the agreement.
In the end, you have a resounding "Me, too!" from the final instruments.
There you have it. The state of our politics boiled down to a few minutes of classical composition and performance.
I'm sure there were those who paid attention to it, but I saw no recognition in the media that October 12 was the 10th anniversary of the death of singer/composer John Denver.
Denver, who died in an experimental airplane crash, was 53. He was also one of my mother's favorite singers. Like Denver, my mother died before her time. She was 63 when her life was taken in a flash flood in 1995.
It was hard to pigeonhole Denver. Some people thought he was a country singer, some people thought he was a folk singer, others thought he performed soft and pop rock. The truth was that he performed all those genres in a way that was uniquely his.
His music was relentlessly cheerful and sweet, but it also had a poignance and a mellow quality. I enjoyed listening to his music as a teenager, and I still listen to it when I hear it on the radio. I appreciated his support of environmental causes, and I think his voice would have added a meaningful dimension to the debate over global warming today.
His music is a reminder to me of a time in my life when things were simpler. Or at least they seemed that way.
And I guess I'll never hear one of his songs without thinking about my mother and how much I miss her.
"We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence is not an act but a habit."
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)
"Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn."
Unknown
"Everything in life can teach you a lesson. You just have to be willing to observe and learn."
Howard Arnold Walter (1883-1918)
"I would be true, for there are those who trust me; I would be pure, for there are those who care; I would be strong, for there is much to suffer; I would be brave, for there is much to dare."
"In the best of times, our days are numbered anyway. So it would be a crime against nature for any generation to take the world crisis so solemnly that it put off enjoying those things for which we were designed in the first place: the opportunity to do good work, to enjoy friends, to fall in love, to hit a ball and to bounce a baby."
Unknown
"If you're lucky enough to get a second chance at something, don't waste it."
Harry Truman (1884-1972)
"It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit."
George Carlin (1937-2008)
"I've got this real moron thing I do. It's called thinking. And I'm not really a good American because I like to form my own opinions. I don't just roll over when I'm told to. Sad to say, most Americans just roll over on command. Not me. I have certain rules I live by. My first rule, I don't believe anything the government tells me."
Stephen King (1947- )
"People who try hard to do the right thing always seem mad."
Dr. Seuss
"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You."
Eleanor Roosevelt (1884-1962)
"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face."
Groucho Marx (1890-1977)
"Whatever it is, I'm against it."
Mel Brooks (1926- )
"If Shaw and Einstein couldn't beat death, what chance have I got? Practically none."
Edward R. Murrow (1908-65)
"The speed of communications is wondrous to behold. It is also true that speed can multiply the distribution of information that we know to be untrue."
Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881)
"Every man is my superior in that I may learn from him."
Confucius (551-479 B.C.)
"It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop."
Ancient proverb
"Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad."
Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)
"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction."
Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
"Where they burn books, at the end they also burn people."
Kurt Vonnegut (1922-2007)
"The two real political parties in America are the Winners and the Losers. The people don't acknowledge this. They claim membership in two imaginary parties, the Republicans and the Democrats, instead."
I got my bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Arkansas, and I got my master's degree in journalism from the University of North Texas. Most of my adult life has been dedicated to writing and editing in one form or another. Most recently I have taught writing (news and developmental) as an adjunct journalism professor at Richland College, where I advise the student newspaper staff. Go, Thunderducks!
In that environment, as I say, I developed a fondness for all kinds of music. I liked the music my parents liked — still do — but I also liked the music that was popular with others of my generation.
