Produced by Didier Deutsch
From the soundtrack album West Side Story, Columbia Records, 1961
There can be a great temptation to think of our own stories as tragedies. It would certainly be easy to do so. Thank God we have music to help us navigate that notion.
My siblings provided a portal to some of the then-contemporary sounds of the 1960s, from Gene Pitney and Ricky Nelson to the Beach Boys and the Dave Clark Five, and more. My Dad favored what he called pre-Pearl Harbor music. My Mom loved Dixieland, swing, Frank Sinatra, and Antonio Carlos Jobim, among many others. And, of course, Mom loved Broadway.
That love was passed on to me. Original Broadway Cast LPs of everything from Carnival to Gypsy were as much a part of my vinyl upbringing as Beatles '65 and my T-Bones 45. I heard it all. I absorbed it all. An appreciation of music--on any level--is one of the great gifts we can give our children. It's something my wife and I were able to bestow upon our daughter. It doesn't matter that Meghan's taste sometimes diverges from ours, just as my devotion to rock 'n' roll diverged from a lot of what my Mom liked. That's okay. Again and again and again: we dig what we dig. As long as we dig something, the beat goes on.
The beat needs to go on.
My love of Broadway did endure, and it is actually an interest I'm able to share with my wife and daughter. It's an interest first developed within me by my Mom. By Mom's Broadway records. By Mom dragging me to see local productions of Anything Goes and Dames At Sea and my cousin Maryann in The Unsinkable Molly Brown. By Mom providing access to a world of wonder, and providing it incidentally. It wasn't planned. It just was.
When I was little, my preferred show album was actually the movie soundtrack from West Side Story. I didn't understand its urban milieu, social commentary, and Romeo and Juliet storyline until many years later; I dug the tunes right then and there. "Gee, Officer Krupke" was my favorite, but I loved the song "America" nearly as much, and the latter has stayed with me ever since. I like to be in America. Okay by me in America. Everything free in America.
For a small fee in America.
Sometimes the price of living seems too high. We pay to the best of our ability, and we move ahead with whatever rhythm we can muster. It hurts. Man, it just hurts, and I can't write anything that will make it hurt any less. On New Year's Eve of 2021, the same month that I lost both Mom and my Uncle Carl, I burst into tears as my TV showed the ball dropping at midnight. I sobbed and muttered, "Good fucking riddance, 2021."
The language would have bothered Mom. Heh. I remember that she was bothered by some of the language used in West Side Story, and she warned my young self not to repeat some of the words heard therein. I hope she understands now, and forgives me from across the veil that separates the mortal from the mystic.
I know she forgives me. I know she's proud of me. Look, Mom: I wrote a book. And it's all about the gift you gave me, the evergreen gift that is a love of music. There's a place for us. For all of us, in America and everywhere else. Let the music play. Let the beat go on. Life can be bright in America. If you can fight in America.
We can fight, and we can win, at least in the short term. The tragedies will come, and survival is not assured. The short term is better than nothing. I'll meet you at the dance, my friends. A star-crossed love is still a love, and love is worth fighting for.
Even in America. Especially in America.
This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, and on the web at http://sparksyracuse.org/ You can read about our history here.
I'm on Twitter @CafarelliCarl
Well said, Carl. We sometimes take too much for granted here.
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