Songs - Linkages to a Romanticized Past

Songs frequently bring me back to a time and place in my past.

For some reason all the bad shit going on in my life at the time seems to have faded to black. All that I seem to remember are good feelings. I guess that's human nature. At the time I know that I was dealing with earth-shattering issues, life and death circumstances, and unrequited love from any female for whom I lusted.

The top concern of every boy approaching 18 was The Draft and Viet Nam. Nearly every one of us knew of someone killed in the "meat grinder" that was Viet Nam. The song that defined our fear was "For What It's Worth".

"Born To Be Wild" became our anthem. Particularly those of us that owned motorcycles. I studied Goldy McJohn's organ work intensely, learned it note for note as well as the syncopated beat of his percussive chords. Later, I filled in for Goldy in Steppenwolf, but I didn't replace him. No one could possibly match Goldy's style or flair onstage.

"Fortunate Son" accentuated the fact that common kids like me didn't have a chance of avoiding The Draft. I wasn't born with silver spoon in hand.

I fell in love the moment I saw Michelle Phillips singing "California Dreaming" with the Mama's and the Poppa's. I envied Poppa John Phillips at the time. My admiration changed to disdain when I learned that he was fucking their daughter McKenzie. The song is forever tarnished.

I remember nearly puking every time the radio played The Archie's song "Sugar Sugar". Bubble gum exploded in my face.

Loved all the legs in Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made For Walkin'". She couldn't sing like her daddy but man... those legs.

I hated the Tommy James song "Crystal Blue Persuasion" until we toured to San Francisco and a girl persuaded me with some Crystal Blue. What a fucking night, literally.

I didn't understand "White Rabbit", either. I kind of got the Alice in Wonderland reference, but the song's meaning was lost on me until, once again, a hot female demonstrated on me naked. Oh My! One pill did make me larger.

"Let's Dance" was begging for lurid lyrics. "Hey, baby, won't you take a chance. I left my rubbers in my other pants... So let's fuck. Let's fuck."

I remember opening for a Detroit group that I'd never heard of at a festival in Battle Creek. Once the Motor City 5 started with "Kick out the jams, motherfuckers," I was hooked.

Of course, Alan Price brought me a solo that I would turn into my signature piece with "House of the Rising Sun". Opened for Eric Burden years later. What a strange and whimsical cat.

And, of course, we all had to learn Inna Gadda Da Vita so our drummers could get their rocks off beating out a 90-minute solo. (At least it seemed that long) It was a good chance to take a piss, get another drink, bang a chick, and still make it back before he finally shot his wad.

So, if you were "Happy Together" on a "Monday, Monday" or you just "pulled into Nazareth feeling half-past dead" the songs were greater than you can "Imagine" at the time. You probably "Heard It Through The Grapevine" that your "American Woman" was no good for you. You found a new gal that would "Get It On" and bang your gong.

OK, enough of the extended song title bullshit. I do miss all of those songs and experiences, but "It's All Right Now! Baby, it's all right now..."