ERIC'S BIT or AN UNMUSICAL BRICK
Sunday afternoon I watched a live set by Priests on YouTube. Wikipedia identifies the band as post-punk. Music classifications have proliferated since the Sixties. Back then there was only rock n’ roll and all the other stuff I didn’t listen to. Whatever they are, Priests are loud. I listened while Mary did the laundry. The machine noise spared her from the concert. Don’t think I make my co-author drudge away while I entertain myself. After all, I serve as head cook and bottle washer at Casa Maywrite.
Mary and I do agree on a lot of music. She introduced me to Phil Ochs, the folk/protest singer who was never properly appreciated during his short lifetime. I haven’t quite converted her to punk rock. Oh, I dare say she can bear the Ramones, or at least pretends to. They are one of my favorite bands.
Music fascinates me in a way writing can’t. I’ve spent too much time writing for it to retain any glamor. I know too much about the mechanics. I know too well how tapping out letters one by one on a keyboard can ultimately result in a novel, but to me coaxing a song from guitar strings might as well be magic.
I am as unmusical as a brick. At college I was the only male student who didn’t sport a guitar around campus. When it came to mating rituals I was a peacock without a tail. The high point for my musical career was playing triangle in the fourth grade production of The Anvil Chorus, and not lead triangle either. Around that time my dad wanted me to learn trumpet, the instrument he played in the navy band, but I didn’t have the lung capacity or the interest. And who wants to monkey with an instrument you need to periodically let spit out of anyway?
Those trumpet lessons taught me that I lack the ability to comprehend not just musical notation but the very concept of notes. What are they? Where do they come from? Not out of my mouth, that’s for sure. I’ve got plenty of mumbles in there, and grumbles, rumbles, squawks, and croaks. All sorts of unpleasant noises, but not a single note. Our grade school music teacher taught us “Do Re Mi†but all I got was “Beats Me….â€
No matter where I try to start a song it always ends up going too high or low. I’ve suffered a lifetime of public shame, lip syncing the National Anthem and Happy Birthday and The Old Wooden Cross while everyone around me warbled and boomed in joyful tunefulness. I got so much practice moving my lips vaguely I could’ve appeared on American Bandstand.
But the beauty of my musical ignorance is that I can listen uncritically, in amazement, with pure enjoyment. Unlike writing, music retains its mysterious glamour.
I was into rock and the British Invasion back when people were “into†things. The Kinks, Beatles, Doors, Stones.Then in the eighties, going to school in New York City, I toured Village record stores every week searching for the newest punk/new wave singles. I even squeezed in a few visits to the CBGB rock club, seeing Blondie, Wire, and the Dead Boys.
Lately I’ve been listening to music again after being out of touch for many years. It’s remarkable how many great new artists I’ve missed. My generation’s music didn’t have a monopoly on genius. Maybe I ought to take guitar lessons. Then again, why ruin it for myself?
AND FINALLY
As promised last time, we close with an update on last June's Great Red-Headed Woodpecker War. This year we've occasionally heard his buddies hammering about in the woods, but the dawn visits of a specific bird seeking to practice drum solos on our guttering last summer have not been repeated. These days the sleepy buzz of mowers forms most of what we hear, or at least before August heat makes lawns look forlorn and die off. Meantime, August 15th will see the next issue of Orphan Scrivener buzzing into subscribers' in-boxes.
See you then!
Mary R and Eric
who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at http://home.earthlink.net/~maywrite/ There you'll discover the usual suspects, including more personal essays, a bibliography, and our growing libraries of links to free e-texts of classic and Golden Age mysteries, ghost stories, and tales of the supernatural. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Our joint blog is at http://ericreedmysteries.blogspot.com/ Intrepid subscribers may also wish to know our noms des Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales Drop in some time!
