Chapter 9: What things do you think you cannot live without?

Originally written February 15, 2021

Baby, it’s The Shirelles!

To get all smart-ass and literal, the answer would be oxygen, nutrition and water. These things are important. Adequate shelter is nice too, as is human contact — though this past year of plague and quarantine has shown me that I can survive with a lot less human contact than I ever thought that I could.

So here’s an answer that those who know and love me will surely find obvious: music.

One Velvet Underground song I immediately related to was “Rock & Roll” from the group’s 1970 album Loaded.

Jenny said, when she was just five years old

There was nothin' happening at all

Every time she puts on the radio

There was nothin' goin' down at all, not at all

Then, one fine mornin', she puts on a New York station

They know, she don't believe what she heard at all

She started shakin' to that fine, fine music

You know, her life was saved by rock 'n' roll …

I’ve often said my “Little Jenny” moment, when my life was saved by rock ’n’ roll, came in March 1962, when I was in third grade and I had to stay home from school for at least a week because I’d caught the measles. During those sick days I became obsessed with my little transistor radio, which I believe I'd received as a Christmas gift a couple of months before. It was about the size of an iPhone, but thicker and with a little earplug that within a few months would become disgusting with ear wax.

But it wasn’t the radio itself that captured my soul. It was the strange wild sounds that came out of it at night. I might have been sick in bed with the lights out, but every night there was a party in my head coming in through that little ear plug attached to my radio. It wasn’t a New York station. It was WKY, an AM station in Oklahoma City. I became obsessed, wanting to know more about these singers who promised a mysterious, magical -- and sometimes a little dangerous world. I wanted to hear what other songs they'd sung and the musicians who'd inspired them, to find out where they came from.

Actually I’d been aware of rock ’n’ roll for many years at that point. I already discussed my pre-school obsession with Buddy Holly’s “Peggy Sue” in a previous chapter in this project. I also have a distinct memory of watching The Coasters sing “Charlie Brown” on TV. I already was an Elvis fan back then, finding the concept of a Heartbreak Hotel on Lonely Street fascinating and a little frightening. I’ve written about a summer night in the early ‘90s, when I was driving around in the rain, brooding about my crumbling marriage when “I Only Have Eyes for You” by The Flamingos and I had a flashback to being a kid looking out of the window with rain outside as that song played on the radio.

But I didn’t truly become a music freak until that week with the measles and my new transistor radio. No, I didn’t mark it on my calendar. I don't remember the exact date of my measles. But I remember the song that was number one on WKY at the time. It was "Hey Baby" by Bruce Channel, who was backed up by a harmonica player named Delbert McClinton. According to Billboard, that song was number one nationally for three weeks beginning March 10, 1962.

But “Hey Baby” wasn’t even my favorite song during that time of discovery. There was "Let Me In,” by a group called The Sensations. I could identify with what the singer, Yvonne Baker, was saying. I could hear the music, I could hear the party. And I demanded to be let in!

There was “Norman” by Sue Thompson. She was already pushing 40 when she had this hit, but she still sounded cool and sexy beyond words to my young ears.

There was “Peppermint Twist” by Joey Dee & The Starliters, which made me believe The Peppermint Lounge in New York City must be the coolest place on Earth.

There was “Walk on the Wild Side” by Brook Benton, (“You walk on the wild side, the devil is waiting, he’s waiting to take your hand …”), which I still like even more than Lou Reed’s later song of the same title.

There was Ketty Lester’s “Love Letters,” which had spooky overtones that David Lynch recognized as well (see Blue Velvet).

And probably my favorite discovery of that time was “Baby It’s You” by The Shirelles. As I wrote on my music blog a few years ago, “I still get chills when I hear this song late at night, just like the first time I heard it … The organ solo is downright other-dimensional!” The Beatles would later cover that song, but their version didn’t touch The Shirelles’.

Even after my measles were over and I went back to school, I was still a little music fanatic. Speaking of The Beatles, because of my devotion to the radio, I’d already heard “I Saw Her Standing There” at least a couple of weeks before John, Paul, George & Ringo appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show. My biggest surprise when I saw them on TV was that they were white. I’d assumed they were a Black R&B group.

That’s the thing about Top 40 radio back then. Even in a racist town like Oklahoma City, Black artists on the radio got respected. Ray Charles and Sam Cooke both were early heroes of mine. And while rock ’n’ roll was my rock, AM radio back then offered far more than a single genre. That’s where I discovered country stars like Buck Owens, Johnny Cash and Okie hero Roger Miller; bluesmen Jimmy Reed and Tommy Tucker; jazz players like Cannonball Adderley and Ramsey Lewis; and pop stars of my parents’ generation like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.

When The Beatles hit in 1964, suddenly all my friends became music fanatics. I felt a little less like a weirdo. Most folks outgrew their Beatles-inspired music obsession. As my cousin Charlie once told me, most people basically just like the music that was popular when they were in high school.

But I never did outgrow it. I still get excited when I discover a band I haven’t heard before or an old favorite releases something great. I love sharing music as a disc jockey. And I can’t wait until the pandemic is over and I can start going to concerts again.

In the meantime, hey Babe, take a Walk on the Wild Side!