The neighborhood kids piled in our Chrysler, front and back, all eyes fixed on the odometer. And on the 5th or 6th trip around the block, there was what we’d come to see: all those zeros rolling up at ten thousand miles–an incomprehensibly large round number. Wow!
It is called “The British Beat Live! and was a gift recently from my wife. On the CD, the stars from the sixties–those who survive and can still stand and sing–do so before a live audience of those who knew their songs as Top 40 hits. They perform some more or less mutated version of their original music (even while the backup bands provided for the event are often decades younger as rock band members of the era probably had rather short performance or life expectancies).
I used to sing those songs and play them on the guitar, so small wonder I had to sing along with my peers (where do those lyrics live in the brain all these decades?) in their noble if not always impeccable efforts to recreate those lived moments from a time long ago. Don’t Let the Sun Catch you Crying. A World Without Love. Groovy Kind of Love.
A thousand gray heads swayed and bobbed in the swirling stage lights to the rough beat as Reg Pressly and one or more Troggs hammered out Wild Thing. You make my heart sing. I had to wonder if that much excitement might make their hearts go into fibrillation. Old people, young hearts, and the deep places that melody and memory live together. Life goes on within us and without us, another British group told us.
I watch the miles add up, having been around the block a time or two myself by now. So adding a six on this particular date to but a single zero is just one more mile, and yet also makes for what seems like an incomprehensibly large number. Wow!
So climb on in, lets see where this thing is headed. And by all means, roll down the windows and let the wind blow what hair your have left; turn on the radio to the Oldies Channel and crank up the travelin’ tunes! Let’s see what kind of music the sixties give us this time ’round the block.