Darn that music but bless it, too

One lovely evening last week, Tony Bennett sang to a packed audience of baby boomers.  Anywhere I looked, I saw balding heads and color-dyed hair, therefore no one younger than 40 years old in that milieu, present company included.

Many wore hats.  Why?  “Just, because,” my friend replied.  “You can tell if a man is really old when he wears a hat even at night,” she continued.  Spoken like a vet — I mean, a veteran.  The women came casually dressed but oh-so-lovely to watch because their eyes sparkled.   The audience was ready to settle back and listen to soft and easy music, perfect for a rainy night.  The mood was definitely un-frenzied except for that occasional hoot call for Tony Bennett to sing an old ditty. Nostalgia was flowing from every pore. 

When he sang about unrequited love or the thrill of falling under a spell or the heart taking wings and the feel-good sensation of true and lasting love, I made a silent wish that my precious children and grandchildren must someday experience this beautiful and gentle feeling.

Tony Bennett’s repertoire had songs gloomy and sad, but sophisticated and smart, too.  They dug into the rich vocabulary of the English language where one can describe heartaches by the number of times the tears fell.  Thank goodness, there was no young blood to throw cold water on our burning memories.               

Indeed: Music is a generation divider.

I sat up to watch Miley Cyrus on the MTV Awards, making an effort to understand what was happening to this young celebrity.  Sure, her good girl/mouseketeer image had to be revamped — her spinners called it refitting or restyling — but must it be to the extent that even her own mother would have doubted where her value-formation lessons went?  “Where did I go wrong?” she asked.  Miley was not content with this overt and smutty production.  She appeared in a new music video describing herself as a loose wrecking ball swinging on a metal ball with not a stitch on and making all kinds of tarty, lascivious gestures.  This video was viewed by over a hundred million subscribers.  What could be more sickening and frightening?  She was the face of a world spinning out of control; of too much hunger for fortune and fame, no matter the cost.  She was like wax melting down to an unimaginable, pitiful blob.

Do not fool yourself.  Your taste in music can give a glimpse, if not a profile, of who you are or have become. 

In the 1960s, the older generation was against our music — “It’s noise” — that twisted, bumped, and shook the extremities below the hips.  It was considered scandalous and profane to imitate Elvis Presley shaking in his cowboy boots.  His long sideburns and thick wavy hair completed the image of a rebel.  Without cause.  But, his brand of music had lyrics that described puppy love defined by teddy bears and cute, innocent toys.  Did it affect our psychic balance?  No.  In fact, it celebrated young love that had a fighting chance to grow and mature into a true and lasting relationship.

The same with Frankie Valli and his top hit Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You that celebrated the unbounded excitement of young love and the goodness behind the beauteous face.  Of course, no one topped the Beatles and their depot of ballads and rock music that were both heartwarming and hopeful.  Today, they’re considered classic, in music’s Hall of Fame, up there with singing icons like the Chairman of the Board, Frank Sinatra. 

Then came the Flower Power music of groups like Peter, Paul, and Mary.  The steady inflow and effect of psychedelic drugs were becoming a big concern.  It was insidious and very harmful.  Although an isolated, defined group took this harmful drug, the music was traditional folk music.  It wasn’t a long wait; in fact, when I lulled my infant son to the gentle melody of For Baby (I’ll walk in the rain by your side / I’ll cling to the warmth of your tiny hand / And the wind will whisper your name to me / little birds will sing along in time / the leaves will bow down when you walk by / and morning bells will chime).

 In one jam session or shindig, young men pursuing postgraduate studies in an Ivy League school in Boston brought marijuana – to taste and experience – but I had no idea of what it was and why people would even smoke it.  “Do you smell that?” asked my roommate.  I replied, “What?  Where?”  I thought it was mosquito coil.  “In Boston?” my roommate scoffed.  The smoke dispelled, quickly allowing fresh, cool air on a late autumn night.

The 1970s gave us the Fifth Dimension, a rhythm and blues, soul and jazz group who sang about the “Age of Aquarius.” We copied their dizzying palazzo pants and multi-colored scarves.  Another group called The Odyssey sang You’re a Native New Yorker about shooting the breeze like a Broadway star.  Some found the cornrow braid hairstyle very attractive to wear for long, shiny, like ours.   

The Bee Gees, Jackson Five, and Motown music followed.  Still, lyrics were clear and inspiring; it helped that the melody was neither ear-piercing nor annoying.

When the music video was invented and sound became extremely loud and shrill, I turned old.  I’ve become like my mother and her preference in music.  But high-tech, sound mixtures saw the classic, non-fading appeal of the music of yesteryear and producers took pains to re-master, restore, and revive them.  It was like coming out from the rain.  Nothing can compare to the sheer joy of swinging on a star once again with both feet planted on the ground.

Music, our kind of music, makes my day.

Listen.