Music That Marks Your Life

Perhaps I am odd; well, in truth, I realize that I am odd and have been told so by numerous persons on innumerable occasions.

That being said (or perhaps more aptly, written), I tend to mark critical times in my life by various pieces of music that I found myself listening to at the time, or that I purposely sought.

The first "get-over" music I can recall: losing my second very close girlfriend, Linda Fertig, in the 70s. John Fogerty's "Rockin' All Over The World" pulled me through, as did Stray's "Stand Up And Be Counted." They seemed to work absolute magic.

Though I have to admit, my very first girlfriend affected me infinitely more; I worked at Chatham Village in Kettering, Ohio, on the maintenance crew and took a radio with me when I worked inside and out, shoveling snow, changing filters, mowing lawns, painting fences. Dawn Keller was in fact my first and most staggering girlfriend. I'll not then and now ever forget her. Music, for me, at the time (1970 to 1973), was all over the map. I know that she was my first actual true love that surpassed, even, my first wife. But I suspect she knows this already. And more. Maybe our musical icon would be the Humble Pie concert at the Hara Arena in Dayton, Ohio. I smile when I think of her and associate her with the music of the times. There are SO many memories. Fairmont East High School, Chatham Village, my white 1966 Ford Fairlane, her mother, my mother. Those were wonderful days for the both of us. Only positive. Except for the make and manner of our parting.

In 1979, I encountered a critical incident where I ended up taking the life of another human being as a law enforcement officer. My friends the FBI came to visit (oddly enough, I ended up working for them almost five years later), as did the local DA. I was the subject of suits. I can clearly recall listening to nothing outside of a steady diet of Van Halen and Black Sabbath; more specifically, the Sabbath Bloody Sabbath album. I replayed the title track and "Killing Yourself To Live" over and over. I do not know why.

I can write about this now, many years later, after having gone through many transmogrifications and adaptations. My final analysis is this: the heroin-dealing asshole died and I lived because I was the better shot at 25' on a vehicle stop. He pulled his gun first. Inaccuracy was his downfall. Fuck him. I was younger and had better training. He was stupid and took 3 rounds to the torso, and one very nice scaldingly-hot round to his forehead. Center-punched. BABY. He fell like a fucking rock. There is much more to this story. That I shan't reveal in public. The suits and hate and discontent are over. Besides, his survivors wouldn't have the mental capacity to scan blogs, much less read.

As an aside: Never poo-pooh either the stainless 4" K-frame S&W Model 66 or its concomitant .357 round. Trust me; it's taken MANY years to get to the point where I can crow about my living and his death. And if you've never been there and find my analysis disturbing or inappropriate, well I can only say this: STFU. The asshole is dead because he was stupider and slower, and I was smarter and faster. Then. And that's all that counts. For me, anyway.

Okay. Better now. Vented. Probably shouldn't have done so in public, but, there it is.

Other music crises:

My divorce in 1988: listening to a steady diet of Talking Heads, 801, Smashing Pumpkins and King Crimson. I went back to my roots, to what I loved, to what was familiar. I have absolutely no idea why. But of course I do.

Fast forward to 2004: I severed a relationship of 17 years which, in public, I should not address to be fair. I found myself primarily listening to the newest Phil Manzanera album, 6 PM. It just seemed to typify my angst, my confusion, my resolution, my new direction, my temporary vacuosity.

It was slow, it was wistful, it was introspective, it was self-centered -- it simply spoke to me.

My life, perhaps because I was in radio for so many years, revolves around music. Much of it remarkably obscure and esoteric. I associate radio and music with many chapters in my life.

I completely concur with Foghat's philosophy from 1978's Stone Blue album:

Wind tearin' through the backstreet, I hear the rhythm of my heart beat,

Rain blowin' to my face, I'm tired of being in the wrong place.

Blues knockin' on my back door, I can't jump from the second floor,

Turn up the radio higher and higher, rock and roll music set my ears on fire.

When I was stone blue, rock and roll sure helped me through.

When I was stone blue, rock and roll sure helped me through.

Do you associate music with certain portions of your life?

What do you link with what songs and at what time?

You've read mine. . .

"When I was stone blue, rock and roll sure helped me through."

This is more honest than I've been in years . . .

BZ

P.S.

I began my blog in 2004; it actually "caught on" in 2006. Despite that, it's taken me almost 30 years to reveal this information to anyone, much less proffer it in public. Some may be offended; some may not. For those offended, my first response is not kind. My second response would be: unless you've been there, read and listen. A book I might suggest:

On Killing, by David Grossman.