Soundtracks and satisfaction—if you can get it.
Mick Jagger sees a red door and wants to paint it black. Don’t we all, though?
When I was a kid, music was a big deal on my mom’s side of the family. It often spoke for us when we couldn’t, or didn’t know how. There was music for getting together, for catching up, and for saying goodbye. Skiing had songs for the chairlift and for looking good on the way down. We had music for special occasions and even for reading books.
But mostly we had music for long car rides.
My life’s been full of those; long car rides. That’s when time always seemed to stand still. The destinations didn’t change all that much, rotating between my mom’s, my dad’s, and my cousins’ houses in Massachusetts, as well as my grandparent’s place in Vermont. Each had a soundtrack. Whether we were driving through falling leaves, piles of snow, or a coastal breeze, mom would always hit the back button after Sympathy For The Devil played. I always knew she’d look over and ask “again?”
My answer was always “yes.”
Music both covered the silence and created it in my family. One of my cousins, Colby, is older than me. Chris is technically younger, but barely—only by a few months. Those two fought like crazy back then, deeply committed to the role of “bickering brothers.” Picture black eyes, bloody lips, and too many boogers used as weapons. Naturally, it was my job to sit between them in the car. My kiddo-sized barrier wasn’t enough to stop the attacks, though.
Those long car rides are where we began our education in classic rock.
In hindsight, it was the perfect distraction. Squabbling got replaced by trivia, and family gatherings turned into game shows... you’d prove yourself by answering,“No, Ronnie Wood wasn’t in the Stones at first! He replaced Mick Taylor on guitar!!” before anyone else could.
onward.
See the latest.
Subscribe to specific columns to receive new posts directly in your inbox.