TIMELESS

For my own sanity and a modicum of health reasons, I try to walk between 30 and 40 minutes each day. With sore knees, creeping arthritis, and multiple calories, the exercise therapizes (new word? If not, it is now) me. The other advantage is a daily opportunity to conjure thought topics and make advance plans. It always astonishes me how one's mind can explore, recall, and create. Yesterday's thoughts centered on music. In the interest of full disclosure, my musical talents are nil. I played some drums during my last year and a half of college, but I would hardly put that on a resume. Yet music signifies our rites of passage, personal development, and range of interests. One can't live in the past, despite what the fictional Gatsby thought. However, it's fun to retrace our musical (and often social) timelines.

My brother, five years younger, but ten times smarter, knows my likes, dislikes, and passions perhaps better than I do. In recent times he has kept me notified concerning the whereabouts and appearances in and around Portland of groups I followed during my high school tenure. First and foremost was a band called PAUL REVERE and the RAIDERS. Paul Revere was supposedly the leader's real name, although that is open for debate. The group was comprised of five men, including a keyboard player (Revere), lead guitarist, bass, drummer and a lead singer named Mark Lindsay.In my own rebellious stage, I admired those with similar approaches to society. The Raiders were my kind of rebels.

Growing up in Seattle was similar, I'm sure, to most larger cities in the late 50's and early 60's. I attended the first coed Catholic high school in the state of Washington (more on that at a later date). Social life revolved around weekend teen dances at numerous venues -- schools, parish halls, and commercial clubs. The Seattle area was a mecca for early rock groups with big sounds and flashy attire (matching suits, bright colors). One night at Parker's Ballroom during my sophomore year, my friends and I saw Paul Revere and the Raiders. They were loud, frenzied, uninhibited, and intimidating. They all wore matching revolutionary war uniforms, including high black boots, waistcoats, and three-point hats. The rumor at the time was that they all quaffed repeatedly from a large container of white wine hidden on the stage (never visually confirmed, but likely). Lindsay towered above everyone with a dominant stage air. He was at least 6'2", and owned his territory, replete with elongated hair and a ponytail. The main reason I was so enraptured though, was the SOUND-- big, loud, raucous, organ/drums dominant, and the raspy, compelling voice and presence of Lindsey. I had never seen anything like it. Parker's (the North Seattle mecca of live music), was packed, a fire inspector's nightmare. To say I was (at age 16) transfixed would be an understatement. I became PR&Rs' biggest fan, bought all their records (still have most), and saw them at least 10 times in the next few years. They eventually went commercial with a pop contemporary sound and multiple appearances on a variety of Dick Clark productions. But I was never disappointed with them -- they were my first in a manner of speaking, and still among the best live shows I've ever seen.

Through the decades I've developed a far more eclectic appreciation of music ranging from jazz to blues to country and everything in between. The enjoyment of different styles equals the maturation process. I still have my favorites. A few years ago, one of my good friends called to tell me that Delbert McClinton was coming to Petaluma, and wondered if I would like tickets. I was in a Delbert phase then (and still), and had most of his recordings. But I had never seen him live. For those unfamiliar, Delbert McClinton's music is a mix of rock, country, blues, and grit. He is well into his 60s, and has toured for over 40 years. His other claim to fame was that he taught John Lennon how to play the harmonica. But I digress. He and his group played at a remodeled movie theater turned nightclub called McNeil's. I arrived well in advance to beat traffic jams across the bay, and drifted around scenic Petaluma for a couple of hours until show time. Delbert finally began his set at 9:00. As the next two plus hours unfolded, I found myself drifting back in time. Not since Parker's Ballroom had I been that enthralled with a performance. It was one of those nights when everything worked, and even at my advancing age I found myself clapping, shouting, and stomping throughout. Those times of sheer joy are rare, thus treasured.

Last Christmas my brother surprised me. I flew to Portland for a week-long stay over the holidays. On a Saturday night he told me to get ready because we were going out to dinner. Eating has never promoted shyness on my part, so I was eager to oblige. He took me to a local restaurant. The name spurred my memories -- Mark Lindsay's Rock&Roll Cafe. The meal was good, and the ambiance better. On every wall, long-ago photos reminded me what I had experienced. As we left the cafe, my brother pointed to a smallish broadcast studio in the front of the building. A live show was obviously in progress. Behind the microphone sat Mark Lindsay emceeing his weekly oldies gig. The ponytail was still there, although nearly silver in color, and the face displayed the inevitable wrinkles of age. For just a moment I felt that same charge of emotion from so many years ago. It wasn't the same, but time hadn't tarnished the memory.

Music works.

MM