Mindful Living: A Preoccupation With Music

During the Christmas holidays of my freshman year at college, I bought my first stereo system. At $100, it was the kind that had the turntable, tuner, and speakers all in one. Still, it was a big deal for me, something that shouted to everyone on my dorm floor - “I’m an adult now!” The purchase also had the effect of narrowing my taste in music from a broad mix of whatever stuff flipped onto on my turntable to an intense involvement with the fusion of classical and rock usually called “early 70’s progressive.” That group included bands like “Yes,” “Emerson, Lake and Palmer,” and “The Moody Blues.”

You might not give a whit about these bands, but the thing is that it’s not about any particular music or musician, it’s about music being a spiritual source. It’s about music being more than background static competing with television and chit chat.

The spring following the big purchase of my stereo, my friend Steve Mehnken invited me to this huge party at his house. Steve was a “Yes” fan too, so we were musical soulmates. He suggested I drive down early and hang about the house. It was a hardwood mansion brushing up against an expanse of shadowed woods. A broad sunny porch circled two sides of the house. With hours until the first wanderers arrived for the party, I lay on a couch in this little kitchen nook and listened to “Yessongs,” a live album of the best of “Yes.” It was the first time I’d heard their live music and it took me with a fire that burns still.

Of course Steve had a “real” stereo, the kind with speakers big enough to sit on, and a thousand little green lights flickering over the equalizer; the kind of stereo that filled the room with desire. When the purples of the evening sky became a shadow against the windows, Steve moved the speakers to strategic spots throughout the house, and switched to a hard dance beat. He lined up the requisite Sambuca liquer bottles along the kitchen counter along with some other liquer for those of less refined taste. Sambuca was the elixir that our buddy Karl called “buca” as he stared down into the bottle, impressing us with the apparent darkness of his soul. In the deep steel sinks, kegs overflowed already with foam and ice and high stacks of paper cups. The rooms downstairs were large with high ceilings, tall narrow windows, and not much furniture. But Steve moved even that little bit out of the way. When all was set, he looked into my eyes and we winked at each other in recognition.

Soon the rooms were filled with voices, dark with magic, and cooled by a spring wind. I danced hard, feeling the vibration of the wood drive through my boots. I flirted hard, with the confidence only belonging to the in-crowd can bring. I drank hard, licking icy foam from my lips with a smile. I gave myself over to music that sucked the marrow out of my bones.

Sometimes I’ll be driving home on a night lit only by a sliver of moon, and one of those songs will come on the radio. In the dark the music steals into my soul and I am 19 again, full of desire and electric blues. I feel the brush of Steve’s lips kissing me goodnight, a cool breeze gliding over the windowsill and over me as I sink into the soft cushions and fall away, dreaming.

Copyright 2000

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