Gospel is the root of it all.
For me it started as vibrations in the womb. On no day from the point of conception to the day of my birth was I not immersed in it. Every day I attended a concert, melody and rhythm bathing me as much as the amniotic fluid I floated in, blissfully aware of the magic that flowed from the spirit carrying me.
My mother was the director of the tiny gospel choir of Mount Carmel Baptist Church in tiny Canton, Illinois; and had a tiny upright piano in the tiny, tiny house we lived in, right inside the front door, in the living room. She played in the morning and afternoon, crafting astounding visions with her fingers and toes, playing chord after chord with the such conviction it could propel the unsaved who heard it into the forgiving arms of the Lord. Her playing reflected her mood, whether that be sad or hopeful, forlorn or filled with the joy of Grace, but the music came from the same songbook, the root of all modern American music, embedded in the hard granite of slavery, suffering and salvation. Art by its very definition. Gospel.
I learned to read music right along with the alphabet, standing at the end of her piano bench while she pointed to the notes and bars on the sheet unfolded across the music stand built into the instrument’s face. The blessings of melody and harmony, and timbre and tone, the somber combinations of the minor keys that transmuted a beautiful chord into sadness, the energy and gladness of the major chords, the power of precisely sequenced tones to enslave and detach the mind simultaneously. Sorcery embedded in my soul before any other art or science or athletic endeavor could take hold. Those trivialities would come later.
And what a gift to born in 1959, to be ten years old with older siblings at the dawn of the 1970’s, after the well spring of Gospel had branched into The Blues, Folk, and Country, after The Blues was smashed into Classical by Jim Crow to form Jazz, after all those elements were re-fused into Soul, Rock and Roll, and Rhythm and Blues. I was there to witness the greatest decade of American music that ever was and ever will be, the 1970’s. The best Rock and Roll ever created was in the 70’s. The best Soul and R & B music was made in the 70’s. Disco music raged. Funk and Punk music were created. Country Rock twanged. Jazz fusioned. Reggae didn’t let you worry ‘bout a t’ing. James Brown and George Clinton rapped before it was called rap. No matter what you liked, the best of it was made during that decade, and chances are your children and grandchildren like it just as much as you do.
When I was writing my novel, 77 Rules, which tells the tale of a group of high school seniors in 1977, something very important was missing. I had to add a soundtrack. I realized this as I wrote the third draft and used the fourth to add music to most of the scenes. I sent a later draft to my daughter for review, and she advised I needed to add a playlist to the table of contents, so younger people like herself could “Spotify” it and listen while they read. Since I learned long ago to heed the words of people much older or younger than myself, I did it!
The book is currently available on Amazon and Kindle. For those of you who love 70’s music, and would love a very, very humorous trip down memory lane – I describe it as “Animal House” times ten – check it out! The author will consider refunding the money to any buyer who can make it through the book without laughing, but so far no one has made it past the table of contents without cracking up. It’s a challenge!!!!
