In middle school, my remarkable friend Molly shared with me her love of David Bowie. At that point, I don't think I was mature enough to appreciate the fierce enterprise of his music. I liked the hits, sure, but Ziggy Stardust was far beyond me. I just didn't get it.
Now that I'm a few years wiser, these songs hit me like a mace. The lyrics, the structures, the orchestration...every time I listen to David Bowie, I think of Mols. To me, those small-yet-persistent gifts are one of the marks of a meaningful friendship.
For this song, and for the perspective I needed to appreciate it, I am so grateful to Molly, and every other genuine friend I've met along the way.
And I'm grateful to you for reading this. Thank you, as always.
- "Rock 'n' Roll Suicide" by David Bowie, from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars (1972)
I can't believe it took me 23 years to find and appreciate this album. If you've got forty minutes to listen, I urge you to check out Al Green's Let's Stay Togetherin its entirety.
I could write a whole essay about my experience of music, and how few artists of color I've actively sought out in my life. And I hope I will—in a distracted frenzy, I just abandoned this post for 30 minutes to write a pitch on that very topic.
First things first, though: if you do nothing else today, spend three minutes with this song.
-"Old Time Lovin'" by Al Green, from Let's Stay Together (1972)
"Don't Deceive Me," from the album Portrait of a Man (1972). It was recorded by the inimitable Screamin' Jay Hawkins, who fathered at least fifty-seven children. Really.
So as I pack up my material goods and prepare to return to the east coast, I find myself reflecting on the people I've met and known, both in and away from Kansas City. Being the sappy, hyper-emotional person that I am, I feel a plethora of emotions about leaving my hometown and returning to college. I'm excited to see all of my friends at Wellesley tomorrow, and very sad to say goodbye to everyone here--especially since it never feels like there's never adequate time to see everyone I'd like, or even adequate time with the people I do get to see.
But more than anything, I suppose, I feel incredibly fortunate. Although I'm fairly inept when it comes to maintaining contact with people (especially when there's a significant geographic distance involved), I'm so indescribably lucky to know as many warm, caring, good-hearted people as I do. Being physically removed from any loved one is never easy, but (to my inexperienced way of thinking) it's an inevitable aspect of life, and it amazes me how irrelevant geography is in connecting with others,
how wonderfully friendship transcends constraints like physical distance. And that idea is about as comforting as can be.
I could babble for days on the topic, but this Donovan record won't flip itself, nor will my clothes magically assemble themselves into my bags. So I'll let Elton John say the rest, with way more eloquence and musical inclination than I could ever hope for.
We made it! After four hundred miles on Interstate 80 East, we've set up camp in Wendover, Utah for the evening. We thought our hotel was in Nevada for the first few hours we were here, until my dad asked the clerk and found out that we'd lost a precious hour in driving a quarter-mile past the state line to our hotel. It's funny how arbitrary things like time zones and state lines are.
Anyway, there's not much to tell about our day. My dad stomached a lot of my music (as in No Doubt and Patience and Prudence and lots of other artists). After that, we also listened to Pink Moon by Nick Drake together. If you've never heard it and are interested, the full album is below. It's one of my all-time favorite pieces of music, and will always probably remind me of car rides with my dad.
Some background, since I'm feeling verbose. When I was in maybe fifth grade, I got one of those silly music encyclopedias that Rolling Stone publishes. Flipping through it, I found the entry on Nick Drake and became intrigued. After showing the entry to my dad, who was also unfamiliar with his music, he took me to Best Buy and bought me Pink Moon for ten dollars. We went back out to the car, a little nervous to listen to the CD--we'd never listened to Nick Drake before and knew nothing about him except that he'd made this album before he died--but, as soon as the title track came on, we simply looked at each other and smiled. And for years after that, we'd listen to that album in the car together.
Pink Moon (1972)
So, to end that major digression, Pink Moon felt like appropriate music for driving alone together through the rocky and sparse Nevada countryside.
We also talked (imagine that) about everything from Ernest Hemingway's post-war insecurities to Willa Cather's treatment of the Midwestern terrain to westward settlers journeying on the California trail.
Oh, and we saw some really lovely things out the windows. My Internet connection right now is dreadfully slow, so I'm afraid these photos may have to be without captions for a day or two,
My dad wasn't even irked that I pulled over to look at this dust devil
