Passages

One of my favorite personal memories involving Aretha Franklin:

I didn't have my own car so I often would ride the bus to go to my college classes. One day I was walking from the bus stop, just a few houses away from home, when I heard this music BLASTING through someone's window. It was Aretha Franklin, and I thought, "Someone's got good taste."

As I neared my home, I realized it was coming from our house. It was a gorgeous day and apparently the front door and all our windows were open, so Aretha's voice was coming out loud and clear like someone's personal rock concert.

I walked into the house, stunned and confused, because my mom was always telling me to turn my music down, and here it was just jamming full out. 😁 What was going on??

I followed the sounds of the Queen of Soul all the way down the hall and found my mother in my bedroom, working at her sewing machine, grooving in her seat as my Aretha Greatest Hits CD blasted on my stereo.

I think I stood with my mouth dropped wide open for a good few minutes before she even noticed I was there. Then I said something like, "Damn, Mom, I didn't know you had it in you. Is this what you do when we're not home?" 🤣 🎶🎤

It was like I saw another side of my mom that day, one I'd never seen at this level before, and it was fascinating and really awesome. ♥

-

What are your favorite Aretha Franklin songs? I love all the most popular ones, of course (RESPECT, Ain't No Way, A Natural Woman, Chain of Fools, Save Me, etc.) but some of my personal favorites are You're All I Need to Get By, You Send Me, Dr. Feelgood, and Baby I Love You.

In honor of the late, extraordinary David Bowie, a little something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck. Wow.

David Bowie and Freddie Mercury singing Under Pressure, a cappella.

I like a variety of music.

I can listen to pop music one day, jazz the next, then opera, or punk cabaret, or classical, or Broadway, or rock 'n roll... it all depends on my mood.

Today?

I cannot stop listening to "At The Ballet" from A Chorus Line as covered by Sarah Jessica Parker and 3 cast members from Glee (Naya Rivera, Chris Colfer and Lea Michele).

In looking up the screen version of that long popular Broadway show, it seems the film came out when I was 13 years old. Talk about an impressionable time!

I can remember being thrilled by the dance numbers, wishing I could move like that, wishing I could take a dance class, yet also being scared of the politics and the physical judgment that goes with performing in such a field. Mainly, though, I just wanted to be able to sing beautiful songs like they did.

It's been a long, long time since I've seen that movie (and that stage production); yet, in listening to these new performers recapture an amazing song with gorgeous harmonies, I can't help but feel such nostalgia and yearning to sing again.

I can't stop listening to this song. They did a fantastic job with it.

Just heard the news about Whitney Houston.

Man...

This is like another piece of my childhood dying. First with Michael Jackson, who was a big part of my young years, and now Whitney, who was my favorite singer when I was in junior high, high school and beyond.

She was one of the first artists whose albums I would anticipate excitedly and buy with my own allowance. I have almost all her work on cassette tape. My junior year in high school show choir for Cabaret Night, my friend Lynn and I sang the duet Whitney did with her mother from her Whitney album ("I Know Him So Well" from Chess). I wore that song -- and that entire album -- out. I went to college for music performance largely because of how much I wanted to be like Whitney Houston as a singer. Sad to say, I can't pull off R&B like she could, but I sure wanted to. So much.

Say what you will about the potential sappiness of her power anthem ballads and pop songs, but very few female vocalists in the pop world during the 1980's could sing like Whitney. Mariah Carey wasn't even on the scene yet, Christina Aguilera was probably not even born or just a little kid, Olivia Newton-John was more of a country/pop star (and fading in the general popularity of record charts), and Madonna was more of a show-woman and a boundary-pusher than a skilled vocalist. Whitney was IT. She was the biggest female artist, and I idolized her.

When her popularity declined and her behavior grew erratic and drug-addled, I was so disappointed. Not just because she was the female artist I looked up to the most, but because it was destroying her voice and her body. It was just so sad and wrong.

I always hoped that she would find new, healthier footing again and show all the naysayers that she still had the power of voice to move us all. I hoped she would be able to do it for herself, too.

48 years old. That's way too young. It's criminal.

:(

RIP, Whitney. Thank you so much for the inspiration and the years of beautiful music.

On January 1st, I talked about a need for this new year (and new decade) to be a fresh start for me, an opportunity to refocus and continue to strive for fulfillment, positivity, and accomplishment -- physically, mentally, professionally, creatively, all of it.

I've got a long freaking way to go.

In order to keep nudging myself forward, I want to come up with little tools to inspire myself and fire me up when it feels like I've been doused with a bucket of cold water. Metaphorically speaking.

;)

Of course, not everything in life can be solved by little tricks and tools, but I'm talking about those times when your thoughts are less than loving about yourself, your body, your talents, whatever it is about yourself that you tend to pick apart when you're not feeling particularly self-nurturing or confident.

One option that almost always revs me up is music, so -- silly or no -- what I'd like to do is come up with a mix of songs that sparks my energy, something that screams "Women rock!" and therefore I rock. When I need the reminder, you know?

I've got a list I've been working on here and there over the past months; right now it's got about 11 potential songs, but I feel like it's incomplete. I know there's probably plenty of music I'm forgetting or phasing out on or that I just don't know and should know.

So I ask you all: what awesome songs do you listen to that fill you up with great gorgeous girrrrrl power?

It can be anything... Instrumental or vocal. Sung by a woman, a man, or a full band. Slow song or fast song. Gentle folk piece or rip-roaring guitar solo rock song. Just so long as it's something kick-ass that reminds you of the strength and power of women. Or something that has a message about smart women. Or about being yourself. Or about anything that makes you feel alive and wonderful and loved and strong and smart and beautiful.

Tell me, what songs fulfill this for you? I'd love your input. ♥

Top Five Meme. You know the drill. ;)


First of all, true to what I said would happen, I did think of a couple more answers to callieach's Top Five Ensemble Showtunes question, and slapped myself for forgetting. After all, how could I forget the classic "One" from A Chorus Line? Say what you will about that show and how agonizingly long it ran, but it's still a memorable dance number and one of those songs you just can't get out of your head. (For better or for worse.)

I didn't slap myself for not thinking of that one, but I did grunt and slap myself in frustration with the realization that I forgot about "Let The Sun Shine In" from Hair. How could I forget that? *head desk* All these big-haired, rainbow-peace-love hippies go out into the audience and dance all over you! Heeeee. And make you get up and dance with them. And make you want to. It's very alluring. *GRIN* Seriously though, it's a good song, one that draws you in, uplifts your mood, makes you want to sing along, and besides, it's just plain FUN. What's not to love about that?

P.S. lostakasha, I know you must have heard that one! I read your Woodstock LJ entry. ;)

Okay, now that I've got that off my chest, let's get to the next request in line.

These questions were asked by the most awesome siapom. Welcome to my LJ, and thanks for playing along!


( Top Five Commercials That Make You Cry )


( Top Five People You'd Invite To a Once-In-A-Lifetime Dinner )


And finally...

( Top Five Guilty Pleasures )


And that's it for part 2! I hope you're finding these a bright spot of entertainment in your day. If not, well, what the F*** do you want from me?? *teasing grin*

It's been a full week since Michael Jackson died, and it's taken me this long to find the words to express my thoughts about it. It's complicated.

Like so many, I feel conflicted about the man. One way or another, I'm sure most people have feelings (and probably even jokes) about his bizarre and troubled life as well as the questions surrounding his close -- or too close -- relationships with children. I have thoughts and theories, but I can't say with absolute certainty what I believe. I have no way of knowing what he did or didn't do.

What I can say for sure is that I think he needed major therapy, for many things but especially for the damage caused by his own stunted childhood and how it affected the way he looked at himself in the mirror. I wish someone had helped him before he altered his physical appearance so radically. As someone who has struggled with negative body image issues, I look at the dramatic differences in Michael Jackson photos from over the years, and I feel great sorrow for him. I wish he'd had someone in his life who could have helped him with that.

Mostly, I wish that kids today -- wow, does that make me sound old! -- knew him as the talented man I adored when I was a kid. I imagine so many just know him for his eccentricities and weird behaviors and odd plastic surgeries. That is so sad to me.

And so many of the artists in R&B today are simply emulating his style and his moves. (Even Justin Timberlake, who would probably be the first to admit Michael influenced him). Of course, Jackson himself got a lot of his stuff from James Brown, but he was only five years old at the time and already had so much natural talent, so there's just no comparison.

He was a phenomenal dancer, gliding across the floor like liquid, bending and contorting like smooth putty. His videos were innovative for their time, so amazing and fascinating to watch (during a period when MTV actually was about music and performance instead of excessive reality TV crap), and his music was undeniably outstanding... when he was a kid with the Jackson 5, when he was starting out as a solo artist, and by the time he hit his stride with Off The Wall and Thriller. I know it's been a while since he's been in the scene, but I can't imagine the music world without him.

I still remember sitting on the floor at my grandma's house, glued to the television set, watching the Motown 25th Anniversary special with my older sister, seeing him moonwalk for the first time and hearing the crowd gasp and cheer with delight. We played that "Billie Jean" performance over and over again, just to watch him move.

My sister was such a huge fan -- she had posters of him on our bedroom closet doors (the kind where his eyes were focused outward but everywhere you went, it seemed like he was looking at you, LOL), and she would tape countless TV specials about him and we would watch them over and over again.

I was too young to know him from the J5, but watching clips of his performances of "Who's Lovin' You?" astounded me. He was only five or six years old, yet he had such depth of expression, singing that bluesy song.

I also remember when the "We Are The World" single came out, and the local news interviewed my sister as she purchased it, on either an audio cassette tape or a 45, no less!

I watched all his music videos, each outstanding in its own right, but who could forget "Thriller"? I believe it was the first of its kind to be short-film length; as a story and as a music-and-dance vid, it was such a remarkable creative project.

And it scared the crap out of me.

(Hey, I was only, like, eleven or twelve, okay? And I was a very sensitive child. Okay, maybe the right phrase would be "big chicken baby." Shaddup. You want a piece of me?)

Anyway, I remember jumping in absolute terror when his head jerked up, his eyes all demon yellow, and his voice suddenly changed from his usual soft tenor to that angry, distorted bass as he yelled "Go away!" And my sister milked that... boy oh boy, did she love to scare me with that video. She used to play the song all the time, which was fine; I liked the song. It was the transformation section of the video that scared me. And at the end of the final scene, Michael looks at the screen and smiles this wicked smile and his eyes turn yellow again, and it just made me shudder. So Lisa would come up to me at unexpected moments and she would widen her eyes like Michael did, and get in my face and laugh like Vincent Price, until I either kicked her or yelled "Mo-ooommm, tell Lisa to leave me alone!" (Heee.) I'm a grown woman, I know there are no monsters in my closet -- at least, unless you believe the show Supernatural, heh -- but I nevertheless have to steel myself if I sit down to watch that video, because so many fearful childhood feelings rise up, like I'm still 11 freaking years old.

But the biggest thing for me was when Michael and his brothers had their Victory tour. On a total lark, my dad entered a contest for concert tickets (at Burger King, I think), and he actually won. But because the tickets turned out to be for the Detroit performance, and since he wasn't familiar with that area, he refused to take us. Plus, there was the matter of there being only two tickets. My brother was too little to go, my mom didn't really care to go, but my sister and I both desperately wanted to go. If my dad used one of the tickets, that meant he would have to choose between his two daughters, and there was no way. No way were we going to get this close to seeing Michael Jackson perform live and end up stuck at home. I remember we begged and pleaded for him to come up with a solution so we could both go. I remember saying, "Why did you enter this contest if you didn't know how you would handle it if you won? Were you really going to make one of us stay home?" And he simply laughed, "I honestly didn't think I was going to win." Ultimately, I think he sold those tickets, and he relented to our pleading by purchasing new ones for the Chicago venue, and the three of us went. The seats were in one of the nosebleed sections, but it didn't matter. The girl who sat next to us -- I recall Jermaine was her favorite Jackson -- convinced us to venture down for a better view. Her dad and our dad kept an eye on us from a distance, while the three of us ran down a few levels and stood against the railings. All I remember from that night was staying up very late, dancing manically, and watching both the stage and the big screen monitors in enormous awe. It was incredibly entertaining and exciting. He was a tireless, inspiring performer. (And even more thrilling -- that night, he ended up staying at the hotel for which my uncle was reservations manager, so my uncle got my sister Michael's autograph. Yeah, just my sister, not one for me, not that I'm bitter or anything. *GRIN*)

I confess, I haven't listened to his music regularly in years, but I feel sad about the news of his death. I believe the first words out of my mouth were, "No freaking way!" The more I thought about it, the more I felt like a large portion of my childhood had just died. It just feels so strange.

Therefore, tonight, I thought I'd honor Michael Jackson the musician.

Do any of you have favorite MJ tunes?

Here are some of mine:

( 'Cause this is Thriller! Whoo! )

As Michael would say, "Go with it. Jam!"

Thanks for strolling down memory lane with me tonight.

:D

"This is your life. This is your journey. You are the Hero..."

~ Lee Smith


Today I DANCED.

I put on this song, cranked it up, and I just let loose. Completely. Hair flying, hips shaking, who-gives-a-fuck-who's-watching, absolute lunacy.

I wasn't trying to exorcise pain or depression. I thought that's what I was feeling, but it's not either of those things.

I'm trying to rid myself of apathy. Emptiness. Holding pattern blahhh.

I feel like -- if I just keep doing this, keep singing and dancing about, taking in the music, and remember to hold onto what it does for me --

I might, just might, be able to get my joy back.

Then the sky opens up and everything feels possible.

:D

There's really nothing like music.


***********

"Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life."

~ Berthold Auerbach

The brassy jangle of the bell overhead was the first sound I’d hear as I opened the door and stepped up from the cement stoop, over the threshold, into the store. It was such a happy sound to me. A welcoming ting to all who entered, signaling immediately that this was a place of melody and music.

It was the spot I went to for all my sheet music and P/V/G books, for pop and Broadway and jazz, opera and rock, vocal music, piano and violin. Endless sheets and booklets of staff paper waiting to be scribbled with transpositions, harmonic arrangements, and original works. Music-themed note cards, pencils, and pens. Coffee mugs, stickers and magnets. You name it, I bought it at Don Poh’s.

From the moment of entry, there was a distinct energy in the air. Electric and inspirational. Joyous. Fun!

Not even two feet from the doorway and already I’d pause, taking in the sight of the main room filled with grand pianos and uprights, my hands itching for the ability to sit at one and play a yearning Chopin sonata or a lively Mozart concerto. If only I had that virtuosity…

Sometimes he’d be there, standing around, sipping from a coffee cup and shooting the breeze with a potential patron or fellow musician. Or behind the counter around the corner, sitting at an ancient desk, chatting with his wife as she poured over the paperwork. But my favorite was when I’d come in and find him sitting at one of the grand pianos, working his magic, luring me and every other customer in, as if we too could play that beautifully, if only we’d sit down on a bench and give it a try. Come on, it’s fun. You can do it. You just need to practice and play.

The man was amazing. First of all, he provided a hall for people to perform in and hold small concerts -- in a room located off to the right, I can still picture its warm light and golden hardwood floors, and hear its great echo. He had a beautiful display of pianos. And not only was he an accomplished, talented musician, but he also could remember almost every single name of every customer who’d ever bought a piano from him, including the exact make and model they’d chosen. There wasn’t a day that I stopped in to the store where he wouldn’t be able to name my parents and which Baldwin upright piano they’d bought. Even five years later, he’d still ask about it, if we all were enjoying it, and if I were there to pick out some new and challenging piece to play.

I would usually make a beeline for the glass case straight ahead, for it held all the wonderful little music-themed trinkets and jewelry, each made of silver, gold or brass, all shiny and alluring. Magical. After giving those items their proper due, I’d then switch my gaze to the more attainable objects in the cabinet -- the coffee mugs etched with eighth notes and treble clefs and thick lines of staff, or the petite boxes of pretty note cards with designs of violins, rainbows and roses.

I’d stand there far too long, practically pressing my nose up to the glass, until Don’s wife Judy would stroll over and ask if there was anything I specifically wanted to see. Despite how that may sound, she never made me feel like an imposition or a pesky kid. She was always so happy to see me, so gracious to help me with whatever I needed.

Sometimes I came just to pour over the shelves of sheet music and boxes of songbooks in the left hand corner of the shop, and she would leave me to my quiet yet intent browsing. Other times I came prepared with a list of longing, all the songs I wanted, all the artists’ books I hoped would be available and in stock, and Judy would take my list and walk me over to the counter, where I would watch breathlessly as she looked up each and every title, to see if they had it. If they didn’t, she would take the time to pull out her numerous catalogs and search to see if the song even existed in print or was something they could special order for me. And if the store suddenly got busy with customers, she would let me stand at the counter and browse those catalogs myself, jotting down all the codes for the wonderful titles I dreamed of purchasing for my own personal music library. I could stay in that store for hours, browsing happily, wide-eyed and entranced. It was heaven.

When I’d made my selections, I’d gleefully present them so Judy could ring them up, place the tell-tale Don Poh Music sticker on the back of each book or sheet, and slide them carefully into a fun, black-and-white, score-decorated paper bag. To top off my visit, she or Don would give me a wink and tuck in something extra, a violin-shaped eraser or a decorative pencil, a little gift to say thank you for stopping in here and being a loyal customer.

Without question, there was no place like Don Poh’s. And no way I’d ever buy my music from anyone else. I always left there with a huge smile on my face, eager and excited. I couldn’t wait to go home and play.

In 2004, Don (and his wonderful shop) retired. One of his former students -- and a piano technician, to boot -- took over for him, but the guy moved the shop to a different location. I’m so glad someone kept the business, but of course it’s not the same place. It can’t be. I’m certain it’s a lovely store and will become a sanctuary for scores of budding, enthusiastic music students, but it will never capture the magic I felt when visiting Don’s place. Whenever I go home to Green Bay to visit my parents, I can’t help but think of what’s missing on East Mason Street. It’s just not the same.

And now I know it never will be.

When my parents came to visit me recently, my dad pulled me aside and said, “I have a bit of sad news for you.” He held out a small newspaper clipping. An obituary. And my heart sank.

My thoughts go to his family and friends. I know they must miss him terribly. Yet, looking upon the picture of Don’s characteristically exuberant, smiling face on the page, my mind immediately floods with joyful memories and treasured time spent. I realize, I am blessed to have known him. He was a good man, and a great man of music. He will be missed.

Thank you for everything, sir. It’s been an enormous pleasure.