Take Note, Martinez for July 31, 2008

Music's Magical Connections Through Space and Time

My oldest son got married this past weekend. The ceremony was lovely, featuring songs sung in Estonian. Most of us in attendance had no idea what in the world was being sung, but there was a mystical quality to the songs, performed by a six-person acapella group, that traversed the need to understand the words. It was pretty amazing music, probably written hundreds of years ago, and brought into the present to unleash the same unexpected chill in listeners in the year 2008 as it did when first performed.

I was asked to play a solo set during the reception, and the first song I chose to play was the first song my son Jeff ever recorded, when he was ten years old and carrying a huge crush on a girl in school. Back then, he was a Monkees fan (thanks in no small part to Nickelodeon and its reruns of the old TV series). He recorded the Davy Jones classic, "I Want To Be Free." If you remember it, you'll recall a big heaping helping of schmaltzy lyric and a decidedly late '60s philosophical bent to the lyrics: "I want to be free, like the bluebird flying by me/like the waves out on the blue sea/if your love has to tie me/don't try me/say goodbye. . .", etc. I dug deep this weekend and pulled out the tune for Jeff, who wept, and during the performance, I saw a number of women singing along. Women of all ages, young and old. Very surprising, but there it is. Music is the thing you take with you your whole life. How many speeches, or movies, or TV show moments do you remember from 20 years ago? Yet, if I were to put on a song from that period that you cherished, you would probably remember the words, the way you wore your hair back then, the person you loved, and various other details. Music is amazing that way.

My brother, who was also at the wedding, began remembering our father, who died in 1978. My dad once played sax on the radio, though none of us ever heard him. Mostly he sold cars, and in the end he owned a bar. I played at his bar a few times, as a young, rebellious kid, and when I performed the Stones tune Sister Morphine, he fired me. I did a great rendition of a junkie singing that song, and couldn't understand why that would infuriate a parent (something I completely understand today). My mom also fired me from HER bar for singing that same song. So it was something my mother and father agreed upon, probably the only thing in decades. So again, the magic of music.

I was telling my brother, who is ten years my junior, about the time in 1962 when I first held a guitar in my hand. I was 8 years old, and living with my dad and stepmom in Kennewick, Washington. My dad had just hired four African American guys to sing a song called 'I Want A Car Just Like The Car that Caravan Sold My Dad,' sung to the tune of 'I Want A Girl, Just Like the Girl that Married Dear Old Dad.' The vocal group who performed the tune were copying The Mills Brothers, and one of the guys had a shiny red Gibson ES335 (the same guitar made famous, in black, by BB King). I remember my dad having the band over for dinner one night, probably after the recording session, and during one point, I picked up the guitar. My father rushed over and ordered me to put it down, but the guy who owned it said it was fine, I could play it. But my dad insisted, and I vowed that night to own my own guitar someday, and show him a thing or two. Today, I own 12 guitars and I love each of them, which includes, by the way, a black ES335. But the thing that strikes me now about that dinner was the fact that my dad had four African American guys over to the house for dinner in 1962. It gives me a completely different view of my dad, and I realize that he was pretty cool for his time. And if it weren't for the musical connection, I would never have recalled that night.

And if you wind up this Friday at Armando's (714 Marina Vista) at 8 p.m., you'll see another example of how music travels across time and space, intact and amazing as ever. Because you'll be lucky enough to see a show by the amazing Duo Gadjo, consisting of Jeff and Isabel Magdison. These two excellent musicians both sing and play guitar, but with a decidedly French twist. And Jeff also will astound when he pulls out his slide guitar and gets all Delta blues on you, while Isabel straps on the washboard and you realize how cool percussion can be when someone is wearing tin thimbles. These two cover a gamut of material from a century of French and American songbooks, and each has their own stamp on it. But each has a tradition of respect and affection for the origins of the music that shines through and transports the audience to the magical world this pair creates on stage. Listen closely to Jeff's guitar work; the intricacy and emotional fluidity is that of a seasoned professional who has become one with his instrument. Isabel sings with an ease and passion that will make you smile.

Myself, I won't be there. One of the other aspects of music that transports one is the out of town gig. I will be playing with a band called Going Grey at a bar called Cheers in Vacaville. It should be a fun time, and we'll be there Friday and Saturday night, so if you're in that part of the world, come by and say hi. Otherwise, get thee to Armando's and transport thyself.