Endless Summer
I don’t remember the first song I ever heard, but I’m sure I loved it. I do, however, remember the first time I realized music would become a driving force in my life.
The summer of 1976 was a magical time for a 12-year-old. The country’s bicentennial celebration was in full swing and the nation, my home town, and pretty much everything else was awash in red, white and blue. That summer, as in summers prior, music could be heard almost everywhere; from the windows of my neighbors’ houses, from cars passing by, from the local bars whose doors were open in hopes of that rare summer breeze. Everywhere, radios played. It was the best summer I can remember. It seemed endless.
In the days before the internet, before anything digital, we relied on the local disc jockeys for our playlist. Of course, you could call the station and request a song. If you were lucky enough to get your song played, let alone hear your name and town being mentioned, it was an extra good day.
But, in the early 1970s, to me it really didn’t matter what they played. These were the days of Neil Young, the Allman Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Elton John and the Eagles. Mixed in was a string of one-hit pop wonders. It was my life’s soundtrack and what an amazing musical score I was living by.
Then came 1976.
That summer, music exploded. Albums like Boston’s self-titled debut, Stevie Wonder’s Songs In The Key Of Life, Destroyer from KISS, 2112 from Rush, Leftoverture from Kansas, Heart’s Dreamboat Annie, Hotel California from the Eagles, Alice Cooper Goes To Hell, AC/DC’s High Voltage, and McCartney’s Wings At The Speed Of Sound all muscled in for pole position on my radio.
As if all that wasn’t enough, 1976 was also the year I’d discovered the Beatles. I’d always liked the vocal harmonies of the 1960s, and when asked what I wanted for my upcoming birthday, I remember saying, “I want music, something from the sixties.” I believe my mom passed this request on to my sister, who through what must have been divine intervention, brought home Meet The Beatles. From there, I subsequently progressed through their entire catalog almost in chronological order, from The Beatles’ Second Album, straight through to Let It Be. They have been and will no doubt continue to be my favorite band.
At some point during that year of musical bliss, a guitar spoke to me. I don’t mean that in the metaphorical sense. I mean it spoke to me, literally. It said actual words. It asked, “Do you feel like we do?”
I did feel it and I was in awe. Peter Frampton’s colossal Frampton Comes Alive was also released in 1976. How on earth did he make his guitar talk? My infinitely curious mind was determined to find out, and when it did, I would be doing that too.
I got my first real guitar somewhere around the age of 14. I say my first real guitar, because I had previously received a “kid’s version” guitar for Christmas at age 8. I plucked the strings a bit and when no real music came out, I put it aside and happily went back to my Hot Wheels. But, that was before the endless summer. That was before the magical guitar that talked.
At some point later that year, with only six months or so of practice under my belt, some friends and I formed our first band, Future. It was a trio; two guitars and drums. We were quite terrible, as 14-year-olds with six months of practice tend to be. But, thanks to the efforts of my friend’s parents, we got our first gig playing to a group of adoring sixth graders. I was hooked.
Through the years I have listened to countless songs from countless bands, from the progressive rock of the Police and Peter Gabriel in the 1980s, to the welcomed resurgence of heavier rock via the Seattle grunge movement in the 1990s from bands like Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Soundgarden, and Stone Temple Pilots. I’ve been fortunate enough to have seen live shows from some of those amazing performers that graced the speakers of my childhood radio, including Paul McCartney, Elton John, Heart, the Eagles, Crosby Stills Nash and Young, Black Sabbath, and the Who.
The 21st century ushered in the age of digital music, where we can listen to anything we want at any time, whatever and whenever the mood suits; something I could have only dreamed of as a kid. Armed with an iPhone and satellite radio, I’m continually discovering new bands and new sounds, adding a new soundtrack to my life. But just as often, I pull a classic album out of its sleeve, drop the needle, and go back to that endless summer when music exploded and guitars talked.
Bliss.
