Sometimes, ironically, I find it hard to talk about music. That’s because it’s so much a part of my life, that I can’t step back and look at it objectively anymore.
I’m not sure what started me down this path, but I’m going to guess that Walt Disney is the one responsible. The first movie I saw was “Sleeping Beauty.” I don’t remember anything about it from that first viewing except that the queen turning into the dragon scared the living bejeebies out of me. But the first record I can remember owning was a picture book tour of Disneyland, and I distinctly remember the section about all the different countries, with the soundtrack of “It’s A Small World” playing on my tiny plastic turntable.
Wonder whatever happened to that record…
Another early memory of music was being enamored with the TV show S.W.A.T. (later revamped like everything else into a feature film starring Sam Jackson.) What theme music! From the first squeal of the alarm bells going off to the last crash of the orchestra, I was hooked. I used to set my toy guys up against the wall so I could run past and grab them just like the guys did in the intro. I don’t know how old I was before I realized that the UPS truck wasn’t the team’s special rolling headquarters.
(Strange that the only other memory I have of the 70’s was of hearing “Calling Dr. Love” from Kiss on the radio, and absolutely needing to have that record. Until I saw the front cover. It was probably six or seven years before I could listen to them again. But that’s another story…)
The one thing that came from all these different experiences was my growing love of music. The first instrument I “played” was a toy drum kit my parents bought me. (They promptly regretted that move.) Then I started trumpet lessons. I can’t really point to why I chose that instrument. Maybe it was because of Doc Severson, the bandleader for Johnny Carson. (For anyone under the age of 25, Carson was the host of “The Tonight Show” before Jay Leno, and will always be the reigning king of late night. But, again, that’s another story…)
My mother used to tell me that it sounded like a moose dying in my bedroom. I would just look at her funny, and go on blowing that horn for all it was worth. And then I discovered Chuck Mangione. Chuck actually played a flugelhorn, a deeper cousin of the trumpet. I thought that was so exotic. I can remember sitting in front of the stereo listening to the record “Feels So Good” and staring at Chuck hugging his horn on the cover with a look of pure joy and contentment on his face. Looking back on it, I think it may have been that picture that really did it for me. Seeing his love of his instrument made me understand what music was. It was something that was a part of a person, that can give utter satisfaction like nothing else in the world can.
So then I was hooked. I started to explore, to seek out these magical masters of brass. I learned about Dizzy Gillespie, he of the puffed out cheeks and bend bell. (Seriously, check out a picture of the guy playing, it’s a trip.) I listened to Maynard Ferguson. I heard Louie Armstrong, first as a trumpet player, then as an incredible singer. “What A Wonderful World” is my favorite song of all time.
But, along with Chuck, the one who really sent me over the edge was Herb Alpert. Along with his Tijuana Brass, Herb turned me onto a whole different world of music. Now it wasn’t just about the American experience. Now I was starting explore the world, and I was heading south for my first stop. Suddenly, I wasn’t thinking of guys in sweaters and felt hats, or dimly lit jazz clubs where the effort to play that thing like you meant it was rolling down the musician’s face in rivers of sweat. Now it was about brightly colored clothes and bullfights and beautiful girls and celebrating life. Herb took me places that I had never known existed, and I wanted to go.
End of Part 1
www.rocknfunmusic.com
January 13, 2012