On the Road to Rock Music Obsession: Part II
In the early part of 1973, my sister was buying records like “Playground in My Mind” by Clint Holmes and “The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia” by Vicki Lawrence (of Carol Burnett Show fame). The latter song, a pop hit, had a country flavor similar to the country records my cousin Traci was buying: “Happiest Girl in the Whole U.S.A.” by Donna Fargo and “Rose Garden” by Lynn Anderson. I liked these songs but did not love them; they all possessed a profound sadness — like “In the Ghetto,” “Let It Be,” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” which my sister and cousin also liked — that brought me down and even depressed me. I liked upbeat, happy songs and loved to rock. So while my sister and cousin were buying their sad, weepy female anthems, I was buying records like “Little Willy” by Sweet. Just as with Michael Jackson’s “Rockin’ Robin,” I absolutely had to have “Little Willy”! And after I got it I played it so much I nearly wore it out. As a result, “Little Willy” is probably the worst-sounding record of all my old 45s.
I bought “Little Willy” at the Woolworth store in the Northglenn Mall, like I did all my records, but this purchase was especially memorable. My sister and brother and I were with my mom in J.C. Penny at the south end of the mall, when I asked if I could walk to Woolworth, at the mall’s north end, and buy the record myself. To my astonishment, my mom thought it was a good idea. She gave me money, told me where to meet her, then sent me on my way. It was a right of passage, an adventure I will never forget.
Walking from one end of the mall to the other by myself seemed like a great distance, but it shouldn’t have; I had been in the mall hundreds of times and knew exactly where I was going. I remember worrying while walking that the record would be gone when I got there, that the bin would be empty. This was a legitimate concern, because hit records did not sit on store shelves long in those days; they were often snatched up like there would be no tomorrow. But I found and bought my record without any problems, then began my return journey. Halfway back I approached Northglenn Mall’s centerpiece — a group of fountains, three of which shot water 20 feet into the air. Around the fountains was a metal railing with a heavy wooden rail. Shoppers would pause to make a wish and pitch a penny into the pool or rest for a minute or two while gazing at the giant columns of water colored by red, blue, and yellow lights. I recall passing the fountains and taking notice of the crashing water, the faint scent of chlorine, and the momentary press of humidity. These sensory impressions, for whatever reason, made an indelible mark on me, and I can see, hear, and smell the Northglenn Mall’s fountains as if I were standing next to them today.
When I arrived back where I started, I sat on a square wooden bench in the mall — just outside of J.C. Penny, with Furr’s Cafeteria off to my left and the shoe repair shop and Swenson’s 33 Flavors down a ways to my right — and waited for my mom, sister, and brother to show up. While sitting and waiting I caressed my precious piece of plastic and marveled: How was it that there was music in those tiny grooves? [3] I also admired the attractive silver label with black graphics, remarking to myself that the Partridge Family and Vicki Lawrence were also on Bell Records. I studied the label, reading everything on both sides — the names of the songwriters, the publishing companies, the producer’s name, the title of the LP from which the single was pulled, and more. Because I had never before paid close attention, I didn’t realize just how much information was contained on those small round labels. They weren’t just eye candy, as I had once thought, they were informative and served a purpose. These discoveries, and the journey that led me to them, kept me firmly on the road to rock music obsession.
Above piece excerpted from the forthcoming It’s Only Music: A Musical and Historical Memoir.
[3] In my “The Subtle Influence of Cyber Worship,” a 2008 Denver Post guest column, I talk more about my fascination with the reproduction of recorded music: “More recently, I heard a caller on a radio talk show gush about the compact disc and digital technology. Isn’t it amazing, he said, that we can pop a small disc full of 1’s and 0’s into a machine and out comes Abbey Road? Well, yes, it is. But it’s really no more impressive than pulling a stylus through the grooves of a vinyl record and turning mechanical vibrations into Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Or passing magnetic tape over a playback head and translating electromagnetic signals into Rubber Soul. This notion that the world emerged from darkness only in the last ten years or so puzzles me. Then again, cyber worship is an intoxicating elixir” (www.denverpost.com/opinion/ci_9134909).
