"Why does the sun keep on shining, why does the moon glow above, don’t they know it’s the end of the world ‘cause you don’t love me anymore..." My favorite deejay (or disc jockey) couldn’t have picked a better time to play The End of the World by a popular trio in the early 1960s called The Fleetwoods. It sang about the pain of separation and how bleak the world seemed to be without that special someone. To my weighed-down spirit, it was more a question of how could a bunch of "bobby soxers" know, much less sing about my broken heart? Astonishing as it may seem, this depressing song gave me a good cry that lifted my heavy heart that made me draw breath therefore, feel better. What’s more, my world didn’t end at one unhappy episode (contrary to the Fleetwoods’) until, of course, the next heart break!
Browsing around the bargain bin of a record shop, I picked up one CD that the Generation X buried to obscurity. Not for me. I was so excited about my find that I quickly lined up to pay for it. The CD was that of Jimmie Rodgers Sweeter Than Wine, a popular folk singer then. "When I was a young man I’ve never been kissed and got to think it over how much I’ve missed so I got me a girl and kissed her and then, Oh Lord, I’d do it all again because she has kisses sweeter than wine ..."
Another song in the album had the perfect beat and tempo to dance the boogie while keeping rhythm by wagging the right hand. The song? Honeycomb — Well The Lord made the bee and the bee made the honey and the honeybee looking for a home and they call it honeycomb ..." It was an album that celebrated the folksy, troubadour-type of singing.
Then came a restless time when not content with an office job, I packed my bags to head for New York and a new adventure. What song fitted the bill? Peter, Paul and Mary’s, Leaving on a Jet Plane (All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go, am standing here outside your door, I hate to wake you up to say goodbye... I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again... ) Somehow, their song gave me the courage, the chutzpah to dare to leave the safe environment of home for the unknown and the excitement of a big metropolis.
During my recent visit to Melbourne, I caught the special performance honoring the album by Carole King called "Tapestry." It was a nostalgic journey for 2,000 baby boomers that filled up the concert hall that night. When one female artist opened the tribute with a song written by Carole King for the brother and sister team of the Carpenters, there was a universal sigh of recognition — (It’s going to take some time, this time, to get myself in shape. I really fell out of line this time, I really missed the breaks... but I won’t be so blind this time for I’ll find some harmony).
Carole King wrote many songs that struck close to home and to hear them once again gave a flashback of memories that described my generation as being wanderlust, assertive, confident, trustworthy and hopeful. To name a few: So Far Away – (Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore, it would be so fine to see your face at my door); It’s Too Late — (Stayed in bed all morning just to pass the time, there’s something wrong here there can be no denying, one of us is changing or maybe we just stopped trying and it’s too late baby now it’s too late though we really did try to make it, something inside has died and I can’t hide and I just can’t fake it).
The most known and generally accepted was You’ve Got A Friend. (When you’re down and troubled and you need some loving care and nothing is going right. Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there to brighten up even your darkest night. You just call out my name and you know wherever I am, I’ll come running to see you again. Winter, spring, summer or fall all you have to do is call and I’ll be there. You’ve got a friend).
My friend, Evelyne Valencia-Santos, introduced me to "Tapestry." She and her sisters were prolific collectors of all kinds of music that were waxed and recorded as fast as they were released. Compiled from A to Z, from The Associations to the Beatles to Dave Clark Five to Peter and Gordon, etc., their turntable was the most worn piece of furniture in their full-of-activity house. I had a more mellow and subdued collection, what Evelyne described as kill-joy artists but with Carole King, we hit the mark. Her music enticed and ensnared with its overwhelming human shades. It had a living room feel that was warm, poignant, bittersweet and occasionally gritty.
Oh, all right, here’s another hint: Carole King’s album celebrated its 30th anniversary this year. But it is still as relevant as when it was first recorded. Who would ever forget the song A Natural Woman? (Looking out on the morning rain, I used to be so uninspired and when I knew I had to face another day, it made me feel so tired. Before the day I met you, life was so unkind, your love was the key to my peace of mind. You make me feel like a natural woman...)
My children still try vainly to make me listen to their kind of sounds, on television especially, to make it visually pleasing but I often wonder about what they would be listening to when their brand of music becomes passé? What would be their good old days?
To drive my point, I resurrected Peter, Paul and Mary’s Puff the Magic Dragon and sang it to a two-and-a-half-year-old cute and precocious child (Puff . . . lived by the sea and frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Hanalee...). My husband couldn’t believe his ears. "You are still singing that?" he asked. Why not? The sad little lullaby about the friendship between two toys lulled this tired "little man" to sleep. Snug and cozy, we heard him breathing contentedly with a healthy and rhythmic snore to boot.
Now how’s that for ageless music? Sweeter than wine, my honeycomb.