A musical memoir for this Father’s Day.
My youth is drenched in the blues-inspired guitar rock that was in constant rotation in my dad’s car and at home. Artists like Stevie Ray Vaughn, Jimi Hendrix, Albert King, Eric Clapton and ZZ Top can give a rough outline of his musical tastes from the 80s to late 90s. Classic rock staples like The Beatles, The Who, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd were strictly forbidden, as they were deemed “too poppy” by Dad. As all young children do, I blindly agreed with Dad’s position. The British Invasion and soul music would have to wait for me until my late teens when I moved out on my own.
Despite this, I still remember being exposed to a variety of good music living at home. Rock, blues, country and everything in between was played. But it was Dad’s passion for the guitar solo that affected me in such a way that led to my pursuit for finding (and critically listening to) the perfect instrumental performance. Before I ever began to study music, I remember listening to SRV’s Texas Flood endlessly, memorizing each note of every solo and the way it sounded. I would often sing it back trying to mimic with the right articulation. Anything was fair game because I was learning: Santana’s “Oye Como Va”, Clapton’s “Layla”, Hendrix’s “Fire” and even (the forbidden) Jimmy Page’s solo on “Heartbreaker”. It was the kind of active listening that is required of any serious music student, and I can still sing most of these solos verbatim today.
I strongly recall evenings listening together with Dad to his old LPs and discovering all the cool music that he listened to in high school and college. I remember my excitement when I first heard Jimi Hendrix’s “Gypsy Eyes” for the first time and my initial puzzlement at Buddy Guy’s guitar style. There were also occasions when we took a timeout while woodworking in the garage to hear Albert King deliver another furious guitar solo (“Crosscut Saw” was always my favorite). These are memories that I still treasure and these days, I understand how great it must be to experience those moments with your son.
Dad’s passion for music was always there, and it’s proven to be a strong bond between us still. There are so many lessons and skills that the man taught me over the years, but I think this was the one that he never planned out. When I think of all the times I was chauffeured to and from band rehearsals or lessons or gigs or whatever else, Dad was more than happy to be there. Mom and Dad both were, really. I can’t neglect my mom’s constant support of my musical path. They loved to hear what I was doing even when they didn’t like or understand the music I was pursuing in the same way that I did.
I’m sure that he was eventually won over (even just a little) by my involvement in jazz, ska and reggae music, too. Dad always had an open ear and an opinion of my practice sessions, recordings and live shows, for better or worse. That kind of communication meant a lot in those formative days, because he was my first critic of content and taste. It’s because of my dad that I was able to find the path that I’ve been on for as long as I can remember.
Thanks Dad. I’m eternally grateful.