I often wonder why the music of our teenaged and young-adult years sticks with us for the rest of our lives. Nothing newer is ever as satisfying. Maybe it’s because we first heard the music when we were full of searching, and the first sounds we heard imprinted on our souls like a mother duck imprints on her ducklings.
I also wonder why every age group thinks their generation invented rock-and-roll, and believes the rock-and-roll played by their generation is the version that will last forever.
Last Sunday night we went to a concert in Dallas that started with a long set by the Doobie Brothers, followed by another long set by Chicago. It was an amazing evening, if for no other reason than to see men in their 50s who still have their chops, who play as well as ever, and appear to enjoy every minute of it.
Now, I know what some of you regular readers are thinking: Enough already about Chicago and all that dated 1970s music. All I can say to that is, “Well, no, it isn’t enough. There’s more.”
Not only does the music of my youth stay with me, some songs in particular left permanently implanted images in my brain. I remember the first time I heard “Jesus Is Just Alright With Me,” by the Doobie Brothers. I was in Hobbs, New Mexico, on a dark and damp Sunday evening in 1973, driving my 1964 Chevy Biscayne to Bellview Baptist Church for the evening service, when I heard the song on my radio. I sat, entranced, in the caliche parking lot until the song ended. I knew the Doobie Brothers, of all people, had not found religion, but I didn’t care about their motives. They were singing the coolest song I had ever heard that had the name “Jesus” in it. I went out that week and bought their Toulouse Street 8-track. I eventually wore it out playing it in my car, but it outlasted three 8-track players.
But Chicago was my music-of-choice when I was in high school and college. I bought every album they made (well, at least the first 14), and I still have them all (even though I don’t have a turntable that will play them). I also bought books called “Sketch Scores” which had all of their songs, including the horn lines, and I spent many nights laying in bed listening to the albums and studying the horns.
I heard “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is,” by Chicago, on the radio in the summer of 1971, and hearing the brief trombone solo at the end of the song changed my life. Before that week was over I went to Gibson’s Discount Center in Hobbs and bought the Chicago Transit Authority album, their first, recorded and released in 1969. I remember listening to the opening song, “Introduction,” for the first time, with its numerous solos and swinging horn lines and, well, all I can say is, it rearranged the molecules of my life, morphing me into a musician. Just like that.
And to my joy, the first song Chicago played Sunday night was “Introduction.” As soon as I heard those first two distinct eighth notes, bump bump, a pickup and beat one, I was carried away, like magic. “Sir, I can name that song in two notes.” “Sir, I can be captured, with two notes.” Like magic.
I must say my favorite part of the concert was the encore, which consisted of six songs, with both bands on stage playing, fourteen musicians at one time, including three drummers. There was a lot of energy.
The combination of the two bands had a lot of texture. Their two styles blended well without much overlap, so each song had an original sound. The Doobies changed the feel and depth of Chicago songs “Free” and “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is” and “25 or 6 to 4,” adding complex rhythms and density of sound. Chicago made “Rockin’ Down the Highway” and “Listen to the Music” swing with fine horn arrangements laid on top of the traditional Doobie Brothers boogie guitars.
Well, we had great seats for the concert. We could see and hear very well. And since the audience was made up mostly of people my age, we got to stay in our seats most of the evening. However, more than once, Cyndi looked longingly to our right where people were standing and dancing the entire night, wishing she could be having fun with them.
But even I had to stand up when the combined bands played “Free.” In a brief instant I became who Cyndi is all the time, someone who has to move their body to experience music. Granted, I was just moving my arms, which hardly qualifies as movement on Cyndi’s scale, but it was heartfelt and sincere. I just wanted to be free!
