The Sounds of Music

When I was growing up my parents had a console stereo. The best way I can describe it is that it was made of a blondish colored wood and set on four spindle legs. The front was covered in a beige weaved type of material and in the lower part of the center section was a small amber colored light that indicated that the stereo was on. The lid opened in the center and the turntable and knobs were recessed in the console. The turntable would play 16, 33.3, 45 and 78 rpm records, and was equipped with a changer that allowed several albums to be stacked, providing hours of listening, in the case of long-play vinyl.

To my young eyes, my mom and dad’s console stereo was a thing of mystery and beauty.

I do not recall much of the music that I heard in those early years, but I do remember one piece in particular. It was Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Festival Overture in E Flat Major, or as it is more commonly known, the 1812 Overture. I would sit in front of the stereo for hours listening to the piece. Often times I’d have my copy of The Child’s World:  The World of the Arts laid open on my lap. On page 105 of the book was an illustrated layout of a symphony orchestra. As I listened, I would move my arms, conducting my orchestra on the page. Other times, when I still didn’t know better, I’d lay on the floor and press my eye against that small amber colored light, hoping I could get a look into the console and discover the mystery of what was inside the cabinet. In my mind, the orchestra and the audience were inside; one to the left and the other to right. What I could never quite figure out, as far as the Overture was concerned, was where were the brass cannons and church bells found that were present in the finale.

Music plays a large part in the memories I have. I am sure this is true for many people. When I look back on my two score and fourteen years I recall specific moments in life and the music that provided the soundtrack for those moments. The memories, like the music, may be euphoric or they may recall moments of great sorrow. Whichever they may be, the music provided a landscape on which these memories rest.

I can not listen to the Tchaikovsky piece without remembering those early years in my parent’s home. That memory then leads to remembering a story my parents shared with me; a story that involved having more cough syrup than was prescribed. The sweet taste was so nice that I helped myself to a bit more one night, and though it was not fatal, it was enough to make me drunk. My parents discovered this early one morning when I was hugging my father’s neck very tightly and singing, loudly, into his ear, The Star-Spangled Banner. Now, when I hear our national anthem, not only do I feel a sense of patriotism, I also remember an inebriated toddler singing for his parents. 

Over the years, my soundtrack expanded as my memories grew. It now includes, in addition to Tchaikovsky, other classical compositions by Samuel Barber, Aaron Copland, Leo Delibes, Antonin Dvorak and Camille Saint-Saens to name a few. But also present is music by The Beatles, U2, John Prine’s Hello In There, Paul William’s With One More Look at You/Watch Closely Now, and others. As I continue to explore the good times I’ll visit some of this music and the moments associated with it.

Music, like art, film and literature, are pieces that make up the fabric of our lives. At their best they can become a memory unto themselves. But more often than not, they are the things that help to illustrate our lives, to give it texture and color and help us to recall who we are, where we’ve been and it some instances, where we’re going.

What makes up your soundtrack?

Greg


Note:  A special thank you to my daughter Ali for sharing a photograph of her console stereo.