The third and final post about my music influencers:
1971 Roundabout Yes Billy Martin
Roundabout Lyrics
Billy was privileged. And gifted. Picture a young man cast in the mold of a Saturday Night Fever version of John Travolta: tall, thin, Italian, complete with holy chin; missing but wishing for the Brooklyn accent. Missing and not seeing that he was NOT John Travolta. Missing and not seeing that he was NOT a lot of things. When Billy played his keyboard or his bass he became. He and I would listen to songs over and over trying to force the talent into our fingers to no avail. Poor Roundabout was probably our most frequent victim.
1974 Summer Madness Kool and the Gang Mark Wilson
Mark was a whistler and like me, was probably infected with whistling by his dad. He was also a member of a gifted musical family. He perfected many styles and techniques of whistling: through his teeth; with and without vibrato; old-man imitating; warbling. He whistled while he worked in art class and I was often curious what the songs were. I never asked him directly because that would have been in direct violation of high school masculinity regulations him being a year ahead of me and all. Rather, I was able to one-by-one figure them out just by hanging out with him over summer break or after school. The thing was, he never whistled an entire song but just the catchy bits which actually made them easier to identify. For Summer Madness the catchy bit Mark whistled through his teeth was this.
1979 Comfortably Numb Pink Floyd Jane Mehta
Comfortably Numb Lyrics
There's a line in the song Time by Pink Floyd that goes, "Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way" that used to make me chuckle when thinking about Jane. Her bedroom walls had iconic Queen and Elton John posters -- whom we neither discussed nor listen to -- alongside Pink Floyd and Genesis posters whose music we incessantly played and debated. Her music preferences were drenched in cynicism and mistrust even though Jane was neither cynical nor untrusting. She was ambitious. Perhaps music was a tool for her: a reminder of real-world monsters she would soon be facing. And slaying. The influence of Pink Floyd introduced to me by Jane continues to serve me well to this day.
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