GrandBell's love
Do you remember what it was like when you first discovered that music lived? Adam Duritz could put words to your empty days and Fiona could make your bad days good. You knew that each song had its own life. The general's soldiers shined their shoes and babygirls learned that respect was the minimum. Still, people wonder how anyone could be a fan: "Its just a song." I challenge unbelievers to listen. Listen until your mind is numb and listen until your song is heard. Maybe you'll have to write it, but music is for everyone.
I was talking to my grandmother tonight and she told me that she remembers liking the Jackson 5 and wanting to meet them, "to see if they really were that talented." She started telling me about the time she got to see Jerry Butler. She said she'd seen others "play, but I cannot remember them because I didn't really know them that well." My grandmother, who is struggling to hold onto her memories, remembers Jerry Butler and his words: He don't love you like I love you. I'm picturing a slender 27 year old woman sitting with her two year old daughter listening to Jerry Butler on a summer afternoon, when in reality, she probably heard Jerry's song on the radio in the kitchen she worked in. She may have bought his 45 too. My grandmother would later lose her precious record collection. She still talks about it today, how someone came and took all her records without asking, her voice pointing at my grandfather. She amazes me.
Do we as listeners get to know our musicians? Are they intimate and truthful with us? If they love their music I think so; but then, one can only be as truthful as the truth they know. Blah blah blah.
I was talking to my grandmother tonight and she told me that she remembers liking the Jackson 5 and wanting to meet them, "to see if they really were that talented." She started telling me about the time she got to see Jerry Butler. She said she'd seen others "play, but I cannot remember them because I didn't really know them that well." My grandmother, who is struggling to hold onto her memories, remembers Jerry Butler and his words: He don't love you like I love you. I'm picturing a slender 27 year old woman sitting with her two year old daughter listening to Jerry Butler on a summer afternoon, when in reality, she probably heard Jerry's song on the radio in the kitchen she worked in. She may have bought his 45 too. My grandmother would later lose her precious record collection. She still talks about it today, how someone came and took all her records without asking, her voice pointing at my grandfather. She amazes me.
Do we as listeners get to know our musicians? Are they intimate and truthful with us? If they love their music I think so; but then, one can only be as truthful as the truth they know. Blah blah blah.