peter

  bonnie   georgia   lisa   kristine   julie rabbit   coming soon

mom

My mother was an angel that walked the earth. She never left me wanting for love or encouragement and, more times than I could count, she shared with me things of great beauty that will nourish me till my dying day. She once told me that, when she was pregnant with me, she feared she was dying. This was because everything struck her as surreally beautiful. Nature, poetry and most of all music, so she said, was almost unbearably moving.

How can a son hear this and not consider himself deeply blessed?

Traditional jazz was her jam and the magnificent Sidney Bechet was a favorite of hers and mine. She and I were together when I came into this world. She and I were together when she left this world and now, for my mom, here's Sidney's masterpiece, Si Tu Vois Ma Mere (If You See My Mother).

 

 

 

dad

My dad taught me many great things, none greater than a love for music. Like my mom, he adored traditional jazz (he called it Dixieland). He was also a fan of hot-club and swing styles and he was a singer. His barbershop quartet, working with his arrangements, even recorded an LP record (now the most treasured disc in my collection).

Seventeen years ago, at the end of his funeral, I found myself directly behind the pallbearers pushing my heartbroken mother down the nave of our church in her wheelchair. The song playing then couldn't have been more apropos or brutal. In a packed church, all eyes were on the flag-draped coffin and my tiny, frail mother. I couldn't, wouldn't and didn't care to stifle my sobs when I heard the first strains of the song. Here again for you, dad is Satchmo singing When The Saints Go Marching In.

 

 

val

I found a rare one and married her. For decades my life with her was magic. Spectacular and daring travel, adventurous art projects and an incredibly rich social life were just some of our magnificent experiences. Over the years we had many songs that we thought spoke to our romance. The most lasting one is the one I've chosen to share now.

Life changes, sometimes tragically. People change. My fairy tale wasn't meant to last. Still, for a while, Val and I believed this song directly reflected who we were and how we connected. This is for you, my dear lost love… Victor and Toddy sing, You And Me.

 

 

aaron

My dear housemate Aaron saved me. When I lost my home he gave me another. When my heart was breaking, his was the shoulder I cried on. In moments of seriousness and moments of frivolity, he is my companion. And when it comes to love of music, he and I are cut from the same cloth. In fact, it was through our shared love of music that he and I became friends roughly thirty years ago.

There are many songs that remind me of Aaron. I might have chosen Sly Stone's version of Que Sera Sera, or maybe the soundtrack from Fellini's film, Amarcord (a house favorite). Another clear choice would have been the jazz standard, Skylark. Instead, I'm drawn to a gorgeous cover of the Beatles, Blackbird.

I arrived in my new home broken. Aaron reminded me that this was my moment to heal, spread my wings and be free once again. Here's Kenny Rankin singing Blackbird.

 

 

marylin

Though she was far younger than most of the other players, Marilyn was a respected member of the civic orchestra in La Crosse, Wisconsin. Her instrument was the flute and her playing was as beautiful as her snow-white hair, alabaster skin and melancholy persona. She seduced me and changed me. She shared with me "new" music, a boundary-blurring extension of classical music. She also embraced my music which was decidedly less high-brow.

Just recently, an old mutual friend helped me reach out to Marilyn after nearly 40 years of disconnect. Alas, I found that her melancholy has grown into more severe mental illness – something that our old friend confirmed. So I've missed my chance to tell Marilyn what she meant to me all those years ago.

Here is a group that I came to know through Marilyn. Like her, this group is hard to define, complex, virtuosic and beautiful. Here's Oregon.

 

 

liz

Liz! Ooo la la, Liz! I was young. Liz was young. We shared what seemed to be insatiable appetites for booze, drugs, dancing and romance. Looking back on our times together, I wish that I could have offered Liz more maturity alongside my youth energy. I could have been a better lover. Still, for a while, we tore shit up, and we never had a falling out. We remained friends as we each went through other romances and marriages in our lives.

It's a pity I don't see much of Liz nowadays, but I sure do savor my memories of her. I may be flattering myself, but I believe this song, from back in the day, was a song that Liz connected to me. She and I sure danced our asses off to it at party after party. Here's Tina and the Tom Toms playing Genius of Love.

 

 

ernie

Ernie's name was Robert, but too many Roberts worked in the University's Archeology Department in La Crosse, where he was employed. So he was dubbed Ernie and it stuck.

Ernie was my roomate in a flop house near the college campus along with Liz and our dear friend, David. Our house had a large front screen porch that we tricked out with scavenged furniture and jungle-like plants. There we'd sit, Ernie and I, smoking from a large hookah and playing game after game of chess as a parade of friends came and went.

Our soundtrack was mostly reggae and afropop and Ernie was particularly fond of Nigeria's King Sunny Ade. So too was I and, to this day the hypnotic grooves of this music take me back to that porch, our chess games and my sweet old friend, Ernie. Here's Sunny Ade playing one of his big hits, Ja Funmi.

More on David, another magnificent character, another time.

 

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