Music is my Passion

Some people don't understand why music is a big deal; consequently, few will ever understand why it was, is and always will be my passion. It reminds of things from the past.

This picture is one taken of me at the home of my Grandpa Cles and Grandpa Liza, about two months before his passing at the age of 48.

The tan-colored Ottoman is just to the right of an old Hi-Fi. There were stacks of 45's from the 40's and 50's, but my favorite was what my sisters and I called the "Burp Man Record."

It was a Spike Jones cover of "The Tennessee Waltz, a country classic. Growing up found my sisters and me talking my grandmother into playing that record repeatedly, and eventually, I actually made a CD recording of it. When I hear it, I think of that room--the woolen carpet with colorful ferns, the old Hi-Fi.

Maybe it was the first time I began associating memories with music. Growing up, my dad had a stereo that babysitters eventually destroyed, and in high school, I could never play anything on it that I didn't want to see damaged.

In my junior year, I bought a copy of Abbey Road, the last studio LP from the Beatles. Almost weekly, I would walk down the sidewalk with my sisters with album in hand. Grandma would play both sides for me, while my sisters and I sat and listened.

"Isn't this fantastic?" I would say to my grandmother, who usually found something to do while we sat and listened. "If you like it, that's what counts." It took years for me to realize that my grandmother probably didn't find magic in the music of John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Grandma liked Bing Crosby. She liked the sound of Sinatra's voice, but she found his behavior less than acceptable. "But one thing for sure," she'd say, "The old pup can sure sing."

I can't imagine what Grandma Liza thought about Lennon and McCartney and others from the 60's.

Then dad bought the new Magnavox at Christmas. I was absolutely thrilled. I played it continuously. But I'm sure that my grandma missed our afternoon visits, even though she didn't care much for the music.

Music reminds of the past. There isn't a time, when I hear a song from the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album that I don't think of Paul Jones, a member of the Malad High class of 1969. He drowned that late spring. It was a sad year, lots of rain except for the day that their class stood on the shore of that reservoir north and east of Malad.

He and his friends tried to swim to a dock afloat a distance from shore. They swam in their jeans and with their tennis shoes. He became exhausted on the way back and went beneath the murky water. It still makes me sad to think of it. I didn't buy that album until I was in my late 30's. I liked the music, but I couldn't stand to think of the tragic memory I associated with it.

And when I think of anything by Buffalo Springfield, I think of the first date I had with my Annie. There was a dance at school, and my dad bought me a Sony cassette stereo that we could put in the family car. He had our relative, a local mechanic, install it for my date.

I played their Greatest Hits called "Retrospective," and when I turned off the car, she told me how much she liked Buffalo Springfield. Now, I could have seen that as just small talk, but she knew the names of all the band members--Neil Young, Stephen Stills, Richie Furay, Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin.

I knew we were soul mates at that minute.

Whenever I hear the band, or anything by Crosby, Stills & Nash or CSNY or Poco, I think of our times together.

And then there were some things I probably made a mistake with during my youth. Before I played any football game, I would listen to hours of Led Zeppelin to get me into a rage for a game. It was a ritual that I began to "psych up" for any game, and I know it contributed to the development of a nasty temper that I put aside after two years in Germany.

Now, some other bands also remind me of my past. The Moody Blues and Cat Stevens remind me of my short time at the university before my mission. It was a special time, one where you develop a sense of independence and a sense of self-worth.

And then there's my experience at Gem Boy's State in the summer of 1970. While there, I bought my first Grand Funk album, the red one. The group was an incredible three-man blues band that had searing guitar solos, great drums and a dominant base sound.

Music was also not just something that was a "passive" form of entertainment. I played and took a great deal of pride in excelling in it.

Again, my parents had a hand in that when they bought me my Selmer baritone sax. It was the beginning. I played in high school bands, participated in clinics and summer camps, and I eventually played at the university level in a jazz band and elite wind ensemble as a freshman.

I had a chance to tour Europe after my senior year with an International Band. Another classmate also had the opportunity, but being an only son on a farm meant having responsibilities. My dad would have sent me too, but he needed my help. I eventually saw Europe more times that I could ever have imagined. I'm glad it worked like it did.

And again, music is my passion. The memories it brought me are so strong and will always remain with me.

It always will be my passion. Although there are other people and things I feel just as strongly about with every beat of my heart.