Listening . . . watching . . . thinking . . .

My favorite band played last night at a fundraiser at a beautiful winery on Seneca Lake, Ventosa. It's a nice place for an event, and it's not so very far away.

Anyway, I was in the far back corner of the room most of the night, and could barely see my favorite guitarist, but occasionally the dancers would part, and I could see his face while he played. He has the best "guitar face" ever.

I had a lot of time to sit and ponder music and it's affect on people. I wondered, as I watched the couples take to the dance floor for an old, slow R&B type tune, if they were remembering that tune from years ago, and who they were dancing with the first time they heard that song. When they played "Wonderful Tonight" I was brought instantly back to my college boyfriend's living room when he sang it to me (along with Clapton, of course) for the very first time. Listening to Joe as he played it and watching his face as he soloed was exponentially better. But just the same, music and memories are inseparable in my life, and I imagine that's the same for everyone. I can't hear a Rolling Stones tune without thinking about the fact that I sat in the cold and rain in Rich Stadium with about 100,000 other people back in 1981 for my very first concert--the Stones, with Journey and George Thoroghgood opening. If I remember correctly, Journey played in the rain, George brought out the sun, and by the time the Stones took the stage, my date had regained consciousness. It was a while before I went to another concert; and never with him again.

I remember that during my whole first pregnancy, I played Kenny G (taste evolves and matures, okay? I was 25) all the time in the car and at home. After Drew was born, if he was fussy, I'd put Kenny G on, and he quieted. It was familiar and soothing. That was cool. I remember that I used to sing certain songs to him every night when I was pregnant with my daughter, and after she was born and when she was fussy (which was all the time), I would sing those same songs, and it was calming to her.

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve taking walks in the woods with my dad when he used to sing Scarlet Ribbons to me. I loved that song. I can still hear his voice singing it; though he hasn't sung it, probably, since Caroline was little. I loved going to my uncle's house when he would bring down his guitar and their whole family would sing. Those were the best times. He used to get out his banjo and sing a song I haven't thought of in forever--"My Ding-a-Ling"--and it would annoy the heck out of my grandmother. Totally tame, even thirty-five years ago, but grandma would get all in a fuss. My uncle used to take his guitar to the Rochester Psych Center and perform for the patients. They thought he was Johnny Cash. I've sung there three times with my gospel choir. They love us. One guy, Daniel, thought I was someone else, too, but I won't go into that here! It's fun to see the patients get into the music and have their spirits lifted. I'm sure that's why my uncle did it for so many years.

Music is an integral part of our psyches. We sing, we play, we listen--when we're happy, when we're sad, when we just need that boost. Music is always there for us if we want it. How lucky are we?

yours in music,
Tracy