Part One: Roll Over Tchaikovsky
I’ve always been fascinated by sound. As a child in the 1950’s my favorite toy by far was my little record-player. I’d play “Tubby the Tuba” by Danny Kaye, “Genie the Magic Record” and “The Little Tune That Ran Away” by Peter Lind Hayes and similar children’s records over and over, marveling at the worlds they created with just words, music and sound effects.
The love of music for its own sake arrived later, at about the same time as the Beatles. My parents had a fair number of records, mostly swing-era music and a few Broadway cast albums. I couldn’t get a handle on Benny Goodman or Glenn Miller at the time, though I think I learned the songs from the “Oliver!” cast album by heart. There was also a Danny Kaye album, Pure Delight, which I pretty much wore out. (I still have that original album, though it’s virtually unplayable now.)
Meet the Beatles got its hooks into me, just like it did to every other American kid in 1964, and I played it endlessly. But the real explosion didn’t happen until December of 1966, when for Christmas I received a new portable record player and a copy of the Beatles’ Revolver.
At first it was a little too intense for an unsophisticated listener like myself. The opening tracks - “Taxman” and “Eleanor Rigby” and “Love You To” - went right over my head. But fortunately there were enough catchy tunes like “Yellow Submarine” and “Good Day Sunshine” to keep me coming back, and I remember gradually becoming quite obsessed with the closing track, “Tomorrow Never Knows” - just the pure amazing sound of it, like no other recording I’d ever heard.
That’s what started me buying Beatles records. Over the next few months I bought all of them. And weirdly enough, I think the first non-Beatles album I bought (just because I thought the cover looked cool, not because I knew a single thing about it) was Freak Out! by the Mothers of Invention. Needless to say, that took even more getting used to.
Music became more and more important in my life - but it never occurred to me that I could become a musician. Self-confidence was definitely not my long suit at that age. I enjoyed singing along with my records, though, in the privacy of my room. I spent hours at it, especially the Beatles’ records, of course, trying to learn not only the words and melody - and then the harmonies - but also how they got a particular sound or texture with their voices: the raspy growls and airy high notes; how they made their singing sound sad or happy or angry. But I certainly would never have thought of singing in public.
I’ve always been fascinated by sound. As a child in the 1950’s my favorite toy by far was my little record-player. I’d play “Tubby the Tuba” by Danny Kaye, “Genie the Magic Record” and “The Little Tune That Ran Away” by Peter Lind Hayes and similar children’s records over and over, marveling at the worlds they created with just words, music and sound effects.
The love of music for its own sake arrived later, at about the same time as the Beatles. My parents had a fair number of records, mostly swing-era music and a few Broadway cast albums. I couldn’t get a handle on Benny Goodman or Glenn Miller at the time, though I think I learned the songs from the “Oliver!” cast album by heart. There was also a Danny Kaye album, Pure Delight, which I pretty much wore out. (I still have that original album, though it’s virtually unplayable now.)
Meet the Beatles got its hooks into me, just like it did to every other American kid in 1964, and I played it endlessly. But the real explosion didn’t happen until December of 1966, when for Christmas I received a new portable record player and a copy of the Beatles’ Revolver.
At first it was a little too intense for an unsophisticated listener like myself. The opening tracks - “Taxman” and “Eleanor Rigby” and “Love You To” - went right over my head. But fortunately there were enough catchy tunes like “Yellow Submarine” and “Good Day Sunshine” to keep me coming back, and I remember gradually becoming quite obsessed with the closing track, “Tomorrow Never Knows” - just the pure amazing sound of it, like no other recording I’d ever heard.
That’s what started me buying Beatles records. Over the next few months I bought all of them. And weirdly enough, I think the first non-Beatles album I bought (just because I thought the cover looked cool, not because I knew a single thing about it) was Freak Out! by the Mothers of Invention. Needless to say, that took even more getting used to.
Music became more and more important in my life - but it never occurred to me that I could become a musician. Self-confidence was definitely not my long suit at that age. I enjoyed singing along with my records, though, in the privacy of my room. I spent hours at it, especially the Beatles’ records, of course, trying to learn not only the words and melody - and then the harmonies - but also how they got a particular sound or texture with their voices: the raspy growls and airy high notes; how they made their singing sound sad or happy or angry. But I certainly would never have thought of singing in public.
There was always a piano in the house though, because both of my brothers took piano lessons for a few years, and once in a while I would sit down and noodle at it. Usually it wasn’t anything more advanced than, say, “Chopsticks”, but at one point, when I was maybe sixteen, I found myself creating a song. It was called “Snowflakes” and the lyrics were inspired by an aphorism from that font of wisdom, The Reader’s Digest: “No snowflake feels responsible for an avalanche.”
Here they are, in all their poetic depth. First verse:
Snowflakes, snowflakes,
Each one alike and none the same,
Buried the earth and no one feels the blame.
This was followed by a second verse which had nothing whatsoever to do with the first:
Lonely, lonely.
Once there was someone who knew, but she’s gone.
Where are you now, when I need a new dawn?
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Here, take my handkerchief - you’re probably a little emotionally overcome.
Bad lyrics - not to mention bad grammar. Musically though, it wasn’t horrible, at least for a first attempt. A crude recording does exist, but I’ll spare you.
I do have an instrumental piece from that same period - say, 1968-69 - that still sounds pretty good to me. I called it “Roll Over Tchaikovsky”.
About the only album of classical music in my parents’ collection was The Nutcracker Suite, which got hauled out every December with the rest of the Christmas tunes. Out of boredom one day I flipped the record over and played the other side, which was Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings. For some reason I really liked it and got to know it pretty well. If you happen to know the piece you’ll find a quote from the opening bars of Serenade about half-way through “Roll Over Tchaikovsky”.
Here, take my handkerchief - you’re probably a little emotionally overcome.
Bad lyrics - not to mention bad grammar. Musically though, it wasn’t horrible, at least for a first attempt. A crude recording does exist, but I’ll spare you.
I do have an instrumental piece from that same period - say, 1968-69 - that still sounds pretty good to me. I called it “Roll Over Tchaikovsky”.
About the only album of classical music in my parents’ collection was The Nutcracker Suite, which got hauled out every December with the rest of the Christmas tunes. Out of boredom one day I flipped the record over and played the other side, which was Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings. For some reason I really liked it and got to know it pretty well. If you happen to know the piece you’ll find a quote from the opening bars of Serenade about half-way through “Roll Over Tchaikovsky”.
(If you don't know the piece you can listen to the first 30 seconds or so here: Serenade)
I have no idea why I wrote such a classical-sounding piece of music, considering how little exposure to the genre I’d had. The recording quality is more than a little fuzzy and the playing is hesitant to say the least, but here it is:
Roll Over Tchaikovsky
And here’s one more instrumental from around the same time:
Untitled Instrumental #1
That was the extent of my composing career for the next decade or so.
I have no idea why I wrote such a classical-sounding piece of music, considering how little exposure to the genre I’d had. The recording quality is more than a little fuzzy and the playing is hesitant to say the least, but here it is:
Roll Over Tchaikovsky
And here’s one more instrumental from around the same time:
Untitled Instrumental #1
That was the extent of my composing career for the next decade or so.
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