I've listened to music every single day for at least 30 years and have absorbed a billion sounds. The source of music is probably spoken stories, or maybe the source of spoken stories is music--who really knows. Most of us like to be read to, I know that much.
Then the other night, after a month or six weeks of very little car/commute/walking music, I was fixing dinner and put on Flip Your Wig on the bomber 70's receiver and turntable that our neighbor Susan gave us. The sounds poured out like sparkly molten glass. You can't post and re-post moments like that, they're personal, like breathing.
We also went and saw Billy Joel at the Sprint Center a week ago Friday and it was a fantastic show. Our seats were essentially behind the stage but the sound was kickin' and all the hits got played plus a couple of deep album cuts. 52nd Street was the first album I got, and I used to sing both sides of it in the shower until the water got cold. In an emotionally quirky midwestern home, nine year olds need news from the outside world, about club life and having a tab at Zanzibar. Each song is a well-told story without being a mannered story song. Song first, story second, tough as nails.
