Box stacked on box stacked on box of time forgotten recordings littered our family’s dining room floor. Some individual works quickly found themselves on the oak table being shuffled about and placed into unorganized treasure piles of oohs and ahs.
Classical, show tunes, holiday, country, easy, rock, folk, it was all there. Mono, stereo and high-fidelity, the plethora of melody rich diversities, infused with history at variable speeds, was placed before me. They all eagerly and patiently waited for the opportunity to once again return to entertain.
Some were covered in dust, others sprinkled with hints of mold. I thought to myself, nothing that a soft touch couldn’t handle.
Some were heavily finger printed or cardinally scratched; these unfortunate casualties were a sign of well known abuse by former masters. I quickly and attentively tried my best to aid in any prolonged suffering. So far so good, and in most cases there was nothing that a dime taped to the arm of the player couldn’t handle. Things were kosher and for most, a balance was restored.
With so much vinyl, there’s no way I could go wrong. I looked over the bounty as a farmer would his harvest.
A faint whisper of “choose me” started to come from the collection. In a very short time more and more joined in, crafting every effort to get my attention. They yelled out things like “Don’t pass me by”, “I put a spell on you”, “Love me tender” and “Delirious.”
I even heard the cry to pick Beethoven symphonies #’s 5 and 8 and the guarantee of a full spectrum of sound from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “The King and I.” Pledges from the wax spun out of control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a gathering of some waywardly LP’s. They began to shape and construct tactics of a different flair.
Fashioned in seductive and tempting artistic apparel, these arrangements pushed through the crowded table. Some entered with grace and humility, while others were more forward with their approach. These brazen individuals, without hesitation, passionately displayed their influences like a peacock proud of his plumes.
I have to admit it, I was a bit more intrigued and it did create that persuasive argument for candidacy toward a turn at the turntable.
After some time, I made my selection and maneuvered myself throughout the cardboard maze
I placed the colorful collage of vintage covers and the secrets they kept on the living room coffee table.
This small, make shift, meet and greet lounge sparked a mixture of conversations.
The crooners couldn’t help but to make their way to the open stage. I didn’t mind, it was a nice preshow and set a comfortable tone for easier dialogue between all of us.
Drink in hand; I began to mingle my way throughout the crowd, introducing myself as formally as I could. Their reception was very kind and they cheerful drew me in to have a chat.
We shared in a few good laughs. They pointed out once hidden intention and showed me novel writings like “should be played at full volume.” Grinning I continued to shuffle though the lot and familiarize myself with the ensemble.
While working my way through the clusters, I came across an old friend named Wiki Pedia. We’ve talked before and I asked about my selection of groups. Wiki couldn’t wait and jumped at the opportunity to share a vast knowledge about the artist, their careers and other fun little tidbits.
Did you know the guy, between Ringo and Lennon, on the Abbey Road cover was touring England and discovered he was in the photo when the album was released?
Or that the track listings on the back cover of the Rolling Stones, “Let it Bleed” was intended not to match the album purposely? How about Black Sabbaths debut album? It was released on Friday the 13th and all the songs were recorded “live” in three days.
I smiled at Wiki and excused myself to get another drink.
I returned a little later to find the crowd of talent itching to be a part of this lollapalooza. I looked over to Wiki and gave a nod, we were ready. I decided to go with who I knew, made my selection and approached the stage. “This was going to be good” I said as I made the appropriate settings and clicked start.
A silence came about as we all gathered in front of the stage. I took a seat next to Wiki and waited for the kick off of the concert.
A snap and crackle filled the room and soon the opening song began. A lone guitar strummed, as a violin and more instruments entered, enriching the room with their opportunity to narrate a story. Soon a well known voice sang, “Pistol shots ring out in a bar room one night. Enter Patty Valentine from the upper hall. She sees the bartender in a pool of blood, Cries out; My God they killed them all! Here comes the story of the Hurricane.” I was captivated.
As the next song turned, I looked over at Wiki and asked quietly about the folk song "Hurrican". Sinking comfortably in our seats, Wiki told me how the song came about, who was there and what had happened as the artist played his harmonica. Jokingly laughing, I said that "I recently heard the song in a popular adult swim show" and referenced the title. Wiki, face unchanged, reminded me of the significance of the song and how it conveyed throughout generations and stood the test of time. I was thankful to be able to hang out with Wiki.
The night went into the early morning. Artists came and went; their songs lingered throughout the homes hallways and stairs. The lounge was almost bare. Empty beer cans, snack wrappers and cigarette butts took over the spots that skilled, soulful poets once massed. The morning light began to peek into the homes windows; Sunday was approaching. I knew I was worn out and as I looked over toward Wiki, I saw no signs of fatigue.
Even with tired eyes and my head heavy, I had to continue on with determination and respect for my new found friends. We had to finish what we began.
The last group took to the stage and with triumphant sound; the first track shook the homes windows and laid down for future musicians, music’s 10 commandments.
The band performed with a feverish inspiration of musical bliss. Leaning over to Wiki I said, “You can’t argue at the magnitude of their talent. They will live on forever.” Wiki said nothing. I can only assume that Wiki was stunned.
The final track to this sweet night was performed by a soloist and the orchestra that accompanied him. I glanced over at Wiki and saw the signs of being tired but Wiki still wanted to share information with me.
Twelve violins, three violas, three cellos, one harp, three flutes, one clarinet, one horn, one vibraphone, one string bass, the Mike Sammes Singers and written for Julian, the soothing sounds of this lullaby swept through the home. The ensemble escorted in the morning sunlight and provided the perfect narrative toward my efforts as I prepared for bed.
Wiki’s LED continued to flicker orange, my batteries were done too. We took one last look at each and didn’t have to say a word. We both knew that we’d see each other again.
I made my way up the steps to the bedroom. The music began to ease and with a final whisper Starr, warmingly told all of us “Good night. Good night everybody. Everybody, everywhere. Good night.”
