Washington DC, The Blues, Go-Go, and Jim Croce (And why they go together)

It’s around 5:30, I had a pretty good day. Hopefully, you did too. While having a before dinner drink, I heard Otis calling me from the shelf. Asking me to let him sing out the day, and take my thoughts to the lovely sunset that was soon coming.  I picked this album up for the second time about nine months ago, an RSD (Record Store Day) release with the album in stereo and mono, plus a 45.

I grew up in homes filled with music.  My grandad listened to (on repeat) Clarence Carter and Denise LaSale.  My dad loved Janet Jackson, Mary J. Blige, and Chaka Khan. While mom preferred  The O’Jays, Kenny G, and Anita Baker.  My tastes in music have always been eclectic.  My first CD, Dr. Dre – The Chronic; led to some ass whippings.  I learned to appreciate headphones, quickly.

In my teens, I would go to pawn shops and buy CDs with song titles and cover art that spoke to me. This method of shopping led to some pleasant digs, Billy Joel, Journey, Mint Condition, Santana, etc. I went to High School in Washington, DC. My high school had less than one white student, something that never actually crossed my mind during my time there, as my neighborhood was reflective of the same. Music doesn’t know such boundaries, though. I had my first taste of understanding that when Frazier O’Leary shared, Sympathy for The Devil with my AP Literature class. We were asked to interpret the lyrics.

DC has a unique genre of music, Go-Go. Similar to improv hip-hop, but unique with heavy African drums, Rototoms, and was typically covers of popular songs. Leaving DC for Blacksburg, VA was a shock in more ways than one. There weren’t any buildings, bustle, or blacks as the name might have suggested; there was music, though.

The first time I listened to the Blues was at Virgina Tech in 2002. My roommate loved Son House; the recordings were rough, and I couldn’t get past that. The Blues weren’t that famous in my mother’s house, though  my grandfather had a deeper affinity. In Berringer Hall they became everything.  It was the combination of being on my own, underage drinking, and being surrounded by woods. Perhaps the young love I was experiencing…whatever it was, Stevie Ray Vaughn, B.B King, and Muddy Waters found a heavy rotation with me.  Odd for a teen from DC, huh?

I loved real instruments, probably has something to do with my love of Mint Condition.

I’ve been at this post for a while, now I’m listening to:

While living in San Diego, I used to eat at Croce’s pretty regularly. I was walking distance from my Gas Lamp apartment and the jazz drew me right in, but it took about six months to learn this was the man the restaurant was named after. Ingrid Croce opened it in memory of her late husband in 1985, a couple of years after he died in a plane crash.

This album chokes me up, every time and on that note, I think I’m finished writing for the night.

As always, Keep spinning.

Aloha,

Tom