Classical music has always had a soothing quality for me. Those plaintive country songs, ‘Mama’s gone – I’m sad – too bad,’ were part of my early life in Tennessee, and they still have a certain resonance for me. Never ever liked the heavy metal music, the loud ear-drum jarring sounds that came from the discotheques during my hell-raising years, and, generally, all those songs that might have had some fine lyrics but got lost in all the high drum rolls. the heavy strumming, and the screeching brassy noise.
Now, don’t mind me. It’s just my being an anachronism, one of those guys stuck right in the middle of some century in which he likely don’t quite belong. The ballad has always been my musical preference, and, yes, I suppose the pretty ladies might have had something to do with that. The ballad sort of went with my soft southern gentleman style, that incurable romanticism that seemed ever-present, that mysterious wanderlust that kept me moving over God’s glorious acres. A bottle of wine, ‘ole blue eyes’ Sinatra singing “Three Coins In The Fountain,” and a pretty lady sitting with me in a gin mill booth, hey, there was no tomorrow — just that night of soft light and touches and a ‘glow’ as big as the moon.
So I sit here looking out at the steady ebbing and flowing of The Sea of Cortez and wonder how the world has changed. Have no doubt about it…the world has changed. Sure, one generation moves along remembering the ‘good old days’ and gives way to a new generation that finds different sounds and words to describe their feelings. Of course it’s inevitable. Time doesn’t move without changes.
Just why is it that some of us sort of stay where we’ve been all our lives? New jobs, maybe. New houses, maybe. New friends and acquaintances, sure. Maybe it’s just me, stuck in a time-warp thing. Maybe I’m homemade vanilla and don’t want raspberry, mocha, or one of those thirty-one flavors. Politicians make me mad (nothing new there). Still got some Hitlers in the world (nothing new there). Still fighting wars (something new there — different ‘ammo!’).
The big thing is, we don’t have the Frank Sinatras, the Perry Comos, the Dean Martins, the Jo Staffords, the Joni James, the Kay Starrs, all those beautiful ballad-loving gents and ladies that made a highball taste better, made a kiss at the end of an evening the goal of the day.
Know what? It’s just me, being an anachronism. The world’s all okay… I’m just stuck here!
The Final Curtain 