The other day I was thinking about how a part of Malibu you see from the PCH reminded me of Maui except "no rainbows". That made me think of the Marshall Tucker Band song, Searchin' for a Rainbow. That got me to thinking if there are any other groups from the 70's I hadn't listened to for a while and just loved. Hall and Oates. Mmmmmmm hmmmmm. Yes.
While cyberspace appears to include just about any subject you can imagine, YouTube can't be far behind. I checked YouTube to see what they had on Hall and Oates. Impressive. I started to listen. Can I just write? Music for my soul. Mmmmmm hmmmmm. Yes.
Initially I was a little surprised, but pleasantly so. Most of what appeared to be available for my listening pleasure was stuff from the 70's, in particular MusikLaden 1977 videos. In these videos I personally felt I could sense Hall and Oates love, appreciation and joy in making music. Fearless. Unafraid to give a somewhat different spin on their songs so you knew they simply hadn't memorized the same version recorded on their album. Not just live music, but music ALIVE!
Listening made me think how similar these Hall and Oates' performances were to some of Prince's music. I saw Prince in San Diego in 2004. The tour he said would be the last of him doing his old stuff. The tour he mentions somewhat derisively how many music acts today have little know how of actually playing music. Prince does. He can jam out. He's got more than funk in his soul, apparently it is also in his behind. He can't help himself.
And the Saxophone (sax) on "Do What You Want. Be What You Are". Amazing. Made me think of how much I've always been a sucker for great sax. I used to think I wished to play sax one day. Yet let's take a close look at that wish?
"I wish to play saxophone one day."
Doesn't say anything about playing well or playing for more than one day. Is it a wonder I don't play?
Then I watched the movie, "The Lovely Bones" last night. The main character is murdered on December 6, 1973, she at the tender age of only 14. As I was watching, I started doing the math. OMG! I was 14 on that day, December 6, 1973, in history. That date isn't my actual birth date, but you know? We are 14 for a year. I was in 9th grade at the time, Hosterman Junior High in New Hope, Minnesota.
This got me to thinking about ninth grade and how different life was. The many experiences I've had since then I could have never predicted. I didn't even know how to type yet. I wouldn't learn that until 10th grade in a class where only half of us got to use electric typewriters. The rest of us were stuck with the manual typewriters.
If you would have told me then that someday I'd be able to type so fast (without looking at the keys) that I could type just about as fast as I can think (so either I type really fast or think really slow...hmmm), I probably wouldn't have believed you. In ninth grade the thought of it may have just been too much of a feat for me to fathom, which may have had me deciding not to attempt it. Yet here I am.
It's as if when I play this instrument, aka the keyboard, it becomes an extension of my self. Even my in-the-beginning, oh-so-lame and wimpy, left pinky finger has caught up and now pulls its weight equally with my other fingers. No longer do I need to think of the individual letters to forge the particular words. I simply think the word and my fingers somehow just seem to fashion them effortlessly.
Now when I dream of writing something yet to be written (which seems to happen a lot for me in bed or in the shower), I don't worry about the mechanics. I simply let it flow out of my mind and through my fingers. Whatever the combination of letters and words, it is as if I must give them expression even if they are not always as imagery evocative as say the first lines of Daryl Hall's lyrics for the song, Abandoned Luncheonette.
They sat in an abandoned luncheonette sipping imaginary cola and drawing faces on the table-top dust.
In my mind, pure poetry.
Somehow all of this got me to thinking that if I were really to learn to play an instrument, it wouldn't be the sax. I would wish to play blues guitar emulating Eric Clapton. This isn't the first time I had this thought. In fact I went so far as to buy a guitar and a DVD the House of Blues put out with instructions for beginners to play blues guitar. I actually watched the DVD...once...while holding and strumming my guitar with what I could only characterize as some sort of relative version of fear. How was I ever going to get from this to playing the blues like Clapton? Too much. Too hard. Won't happen. Why bother?
Now I am rethinking. You know I figured out I've already lived over 18,000 days in this lifetime. I pretty much expect to live about another 18,000 and not living them with a sort of waiting for my body to break down and me to die mode. Like my friend, Keith Salender, who has walked most of the Pacific Coast from Seattle to almost San Diego by putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time and my ability to type as fast as I can think, which started with beginner lessons on a manual typewriter; I could start learning to play blues guitar this week.
I could see my self in bed at the young age of 70 pondering how way back in 2009 before I was 50, all I had was a $30 guitar I ordered on-line from Amazon (just in case, I didn't wish to make too much of a financial commitment), a $15 DVD (when I am 70, no doubt DVDs will be dinosaur technology) from the House of Blues (the one in Anaheim part of Downtown Disney) and a desire to metaphorically put one foot in front of the other--one step at a time. As I ponder, even my left hand is on board. I don't have to think of the individual notes. I dream of music yet to be played anticipating the feel of the instrument, the guitar in my hands, as an extension of me. And I must express this music. Even if I am the only one who hears it.
The other alternative is pondering at 70 what I never started. Yet? For this is where I come full circle. No regrets! No complaining! No explaining! I could start at 70 and ponder at 90. These are some of the types of ideas I have gleaned from the book, Excuses Begone!, by Dr. Wayne Dyer.
His words have inspired me to think of 2010 as my first year of really expressing my self as a WHOLE, Divine being. A well-being. NOthing wrong with me. NOthing to heal. NOthing to fix. Now what do I wish to do? Who I am is already taken care of...has already been determined by my Creator. Technically unchangeable. Divine. Spirit. Energy. It got me to thinking that if the book, Excuses Begone!, were to ever have a theme song; it would have to be, "Do What You Want. Be Who You Are" by Hall and Oates. I'd change the title just a smidge by sliding in a word. "Do What You Want. Be (Divine) Who You Are".
Without further ado, I include the Hall and Oates' video from YouTube with the great sax, "Do What You Want. Be Who You Are." Enjoy!
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