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A wistful little vignette, in rich, creamy 365-word sauce.
It's an eerie kind of wistfulness. It's crept upon me entirely by mistake.
There I was, just a harmless wolf minding his own business, when that song came on the radio. It's not a hit. It never was. The B-side of a 45, it came out so long ago that even die-hards don't recall it. Today's gurus know the A-side's thousand variations, big hit that it was, But this track was different.
Never famous.
Never mentioned in blogs.
Never given a page in Wikipedia.
An instrumental, all moog synths, saloon-style piano, and throwback late-50s melody, you can almost taste hints of The Shadows, or maybe a pinch of Buddy Holly. Before tonight, the one and only time that I heard it broadcast was soon after its release. It was used as the intermission music on TV one Sunday afternoon, between the religion at 10am and the start of 'family' programmes at 3pm. I believe it was played before 'The Waltons'.
Now it reverbs its gentle melody through me, drawing me back to the empty living room, warm summer day, stale smoke hanging in the air, and my father's record player on the carpet, playing my single. The smell of the cabinet and the heat of the valves; the bakolite platter and rubber mat; and the stylus arm that looked like a claw sliding over the disc.
And the sound ... so warm ... so rich!
My record has a blue label. 'Pye', it reads. The stylised letters always scared me -- so dark and thick, reaching out for me. But that record was mine, all mine and I watched as it spun forever around and around, making music. A bluebottle in the window bzzzz'd out at the kids playing with chalk and breaking glass bottles in the street. I let the vibrations of the music ripple in my chest, my heart beating in time with the rhythm of the drum, following the bass-line and the sweetness of the moog. I didn't even know what a moog was. It was so beautiful ... and then, my dad roared from the bedroom, upstairs.
"Turn that shaggin' thing down!"
There's a tear in my eye now.
oOoIt's an eerie kind of wistfulness. It's crept upon me entirely by mistake.
There I was, just a harmless wolf minding his own business, when that song came on the radio. It's not a hit. It never was. The B-side of a 45, it came out so long ago that even die-hards don't recall it. Today's gurus know the A-side's thousand variations, big hit that it was, But this track was different.
Never famous.
Never mentioned in blogs.
Never given a page in Wikipedia.
An instrumental, all moog synths, saloon-style piano, and throwback late-50s melody, you can almost taste hints of The Shadows, or maybe a pinch of Buddy Holly. Before tonight, the one and only time that I heard it broadcast was soon after its release. It was used as the intermission music on TV one Sunday afternoon, between the religion at 10am and the start of 'family' programmes at 3pm. I believe it was played before 'The Waltons'.
Now it reverbs its gentle melody through me, drawing me back to the empty living room, warm summer day, stale smoke hanging in the air, and my father's record player on the carpet, playing my single. The smell of the cabinet and the heat of the valves; the bakolite platter and rubber mat; and the stylus arm that looked like a claw sliding over the disc.
And the sound ... so warm ... so rich!
My record has a blue label. 'Pye', it reads. The stylised letters always scared me -- so dark and thick, reaching out for me. But that record was mine, all mine and I watched as it spun forever around and around, making music. A bluebottle in the window bzzzz'd out at the kids playing with chalk and breaking glass bottles in the street. I let the vibrations of the music ripple in my chest, my heart beating in time with the rhythm of the drum, following the bass-line and the sweetness of the moog. I didn't even know what a moog was. It was so beautiful ... and then, my dad roared from the bedroom, upstairs.
"Turn that shaggin' thing down!"
There's a tear in my eye now.
oOo
Category Story / Portraits
Species Wolf
Size 119 x 120px
File Size 2.2 kB
That's a fact ... and that experience can happen several times. I recall once walking through town when I was about 11 or so, and a radio in a parked truck was playing a song by Guy Marx called "Loving you has got me bananas." I only heard it again when I located it online last year. Boy, was that one intense flashback!
I recall a song a friend and I heard on the radio when I was eleven. We discovered it would play at the same time each morning for a few weeks when it was popular. For about a week, I would stop on my way to school to join him in his bedroom in listening to the broadcast. Then, some 30 odd years later, I heard the song again on an oldies station and that little chunk of my childhood came rushing back. There are few moments of nostalgia that compare to such an experience.
Great work capturing that special moment, Metassus.
Great work capturing that special moment, Metassus.
Cute. Charming. I remember a few times, when I have "found" some good music and my peers have pointed out it is total shit. But, music is a matter of taste, I have said very sharply sometimes commenting the music my friends listen. Anyway, great little piece, I enjoyed reading this. Short and sweet.
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