Why I Write

 Hey All! Thought I'd clear away the doom and gloom for a night and post a little story I wrote for a class awhile back. Enjoy!

“Here Jen, listen to this,” Dad says, as he turns the stereo way up, blasting the chorus of “Eight Days A Week.” Pounding on the dashboard of his truck, Dad keeps the rhythm and sings the harmony (or “with Paul,” as he always said). He likes to emphasize, with his eyes, the tricks of the song; when his part went up, so did his eyes. 

  “Seriously, Jen. Listen. They don’t write shit like this anymore. Just listen to that sound.” Trying to appease his request, I lean closer to the speaker, thinking that’s what he wanted me to do. I knew exactly what he was talking about; no one nowadays could sing a perfect harmony like the Beatles. No one wrote chords the way John and Paul did. No one could really do anything like the Beatles, and if someone tried, it never sounded right, according to Dad anyway. As the song ended, the look on Dad’s face was pure ecstasy.

           

“Ready for another?” he asked, quickly pushing eject, and popping the next CD in. I knew if he had his way, the songs would never end. And I can’t blame him; I feel the same way.

For as long as I can remember, the Beatles have been the major contributor to the soundtrack of my life. Almost all of my memories involve the Beatles in some capacity; crawling towards the record player as an infant to “Love Me Do”, watching my drunken parents and relatives dance to “Drive My Car” as a small child, and smoking my first cigarette in my backyard as “Eleanor Rigby” streamed outside from the house, just to name a few.  I grew up knowing the Beatles were important, and that they would impact my life in ways I could not imagine. Their music was my first true taste of an art form, but I know I was first drawn to it because of how much I love my Dad.

As a child of the 60’s and a young kid when the Beatles first came to America, Dad is beyond a fan. He has multiple copies of all their albums not just on CD, but he has his original vinyl’s, A Track’s, and cassette tapes. Yeah, he doesn’t use them, but he refuses to part with the “original sound” that new technology cannot recreate. That muffled, crackling sound that echoes out of the record player is how music should be heard, according to him. Music is supposed to awaken the senses, not dull them to sleep with simplicity and perfection. He plays every song, as if new, and never tires of listening to them over and over.

But, it’s not just the music; Dad is obsessed with everything to do with the Beatles. Every time a new book is published, which is often, regarding the music, lives, or really anything, he runs to the book store to buy a copy and then we don’t see him for a few days. Like a crazed teenage girl, he pours over the pages. I can imagine there are only so many stories, so he’s probably read the same thing over and over again. But he doesn’t seem to care. Maybe this time, he would think as he opened a new biography, someone has discovered something new; a new angle on a song, or proof that Yoko really did kill the Beatles. Dad is not a Yoko fan. Book after book, he feeds his interest and educates all those around him.

                                                                                                                     

And, as an eager pupil, that is what I love; the stories.

          

  Dimmed lighting, a cold glass of beer, and the Beatles softly playing in the background, is all Dad needs to start talking; revealing stories of the music and everything he knows concerning the Fab Four. From a young age I sat, head in hands, awe absorbed in every word he said. He talked like he was there himself and I convinced myself that Dad was the fifth Beatle, and that I was the only one who knew it. How else could he know so much? By telling those stories, I was let into a secret club. A club where only I knew that Ringo was not the original drummer, that Paul originally played guitar but switched to bass after George joined the band, or that John had a nervous break down after he made the infamous “…more popular than Jesus” comment. Dad only furthered my “fifth Beatle” belief when he talked about what was behind the songs I loved to sing; the deeper meaning beyond the words and guitar riffs.  I can still remember everything he told me…

“‘Let It Be’ was written during a time when Paul was really depressed. He and John were fighting a lot and he felt the band drifting. One night, he woke up to see his mother, Mary, standing at the foot of his bed. She had passed away when Paul was young, so he wasn’t sure if he was still dreaming. She said to him, “Just Let It Be”, an old saying she used whenever Paul was down. See, a lot of people think the ‘Mary’ reference is religious, but it’s not. It’s really about his mom.”

                                                Or

“Jen, it’s not about drugs! Everyone who listens to ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,’ just assumes that it’s about LSD. John wrote the song for his son, Julian. Julian drew a picture of a girl with ‘kaleidoscope eyes,’ and when John asked him what it was, he answered ‘It’s Lucy in the sky with diamonds.’ People are just crazy and want to tack a meaning on something they know nothing about!”

The stories lifted me to another stratosphere. For the first time I realized, songs are another avenue of storytelling. Songs can have character arches and description. They can paint a picture, and help the listener imagine a background, or what a character looks like. A song can move a music lover to tears. And, if a song moves us, then the artist did his job; to sing a song that has no personal clout or significance is pointless. Life is needed in a great song and the Beatles are masters of this quality. Not only are their songs catchy, but there is soul behind every word. Try listening to “She’s Leaving Home” without crying. Or “The Long and Winding Road” without calling your best friend right after. I could name song after song, and dissect even the minutest detail from it, because every Beatles song drives at emotion.

Dad wasn’t asking me to lean closer to the speakers. He was telling me how to approach music; to listen. Not to the sounds; to listen to music with an open mind, but also with my heart. The two, usually separate entities, are vitally important to seeing music as something more than just words and noise. By exposing me to the Beatles at a young age, he was showing me how to always look at music. Like a gene, he passed on his taste and the rather snobbish way he looks at everything before and after the Beatles. For that I can do nothing, but sit back, pop “Sergeant Pepper” into my stereo, turn up the volume, and listen.  

“We’re Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band. We hope you enjoyed the show…