It was the jazzy, big band sounds of the 1940s…Count Basie. (It was the "Red Bank Boogie," in case you were wondering.) In all of the blogs I've written, I’ve never really mentioned my dad much. (He’s probably thankful for that.) But, I have to take a minute and mention him now. Although I didn’t always love it (or even like it for that matter), I grew up listening to my dad blare the stereo in the family room and blast the car radio with the rhythmic sounds of the jazz, big band and blues music of the 40s and 50s. The usually scratchy, but finger-snappin’ smooth beats were burned into my brain.
I remember hating it when I was a kid. I just wanted to listen to the Gap Band drop a bomb on me and sing along with Rick as he crooned about Jessie’s girl. Why was I being tortured with this old crap? I didn’t understand the words (when there actually were words. I mean -- who were those five guys named Moe?) There were no cool synthesizers or drum machines. (Insert whiny kid voice here): Whyyyy did he have to blare it throughout the house, especially on a Sunday afternoon when all I wanted to do was watch Godzilla eat a city or see what trouble Buckwheat and those other Little Rascals were going to get into?
Oh…Right. I know now…Because it was good.
It is timeless.
And, it will always remind me of my dad.
The musicality and jumping rhythms of these truly great talents still make my heart swoon a little. I can imagine myself sipping a Tom Collins and being swept across the dance floor at the USO, swirling my skirt around to Louie Prima, Count Basie, Cab Calloway, Nat King Cole or Duke Ellington…It is melodic. Impressive. Classy. And it makes me want to swing. If you listen closely to this kind of music, you’ll hear many of those riffs still being used in music today. Back then, there were no electronic machines pumping out the sound… it was done with the breath of your lungs, the shape and curvature of your mouth, the nimbleness of your fingers, and the raw talent of the musician belting it out on the handcrafted brass (or wooden) instrument he was playing. Take a moment to appreciate the music of these legends. It is the beating heart of our past, the pulse of our presence, and the inspiration for the life-blood of our musical future. If you have children, I beg you to please expose them to these great treasures.
My dad gave me this wonderful gift, without using any words…without a lecture…without a lesson or a class. My dad gave me this gift simply because he was doing something he enjoyed, and I noticed.
I hope that my love of art and books is something my kids will remember about me and thank me for. I hope that they will see my passion, as I saw my dad’s, and appreciate all of the nuances that go into creating something. Words are powerful. But actions are just as important. I said before that in order to truly succeed at anything, you have to find the love. And when you find that love and express that love (or passion) for something or someone, even in the smallest ways, it matters. It shows the world who You. Really. Are. My dad loves music. He supports the arts. He treasures and embraces unique talents. So do I.
Remember this: when you don’t think your kids are paying attention, they are.
Thanks, Dad.
*Take a listen to the song that serenaded me to work that day and inspired this blog.
http://youtu.be/GliERYTrVJo