There is always a summer movie season and a summer music season and alas and alak, with the days getting shorter along with our attention spans, we gird ourselves for winter. This year's version is coming to a conclusion.
Music, as far as I can tell, is like laughter and tears. It's universal. I am a firm believer that you find out a lot about a person just by checking out what he or she enjoys in the musical sense and let that be your guide as to whether you are going to be compatible or not.
Case in point, when I was a young and reckless 22-year-old, fresh in my first real non-family related job I was "hooked up" with a young lady who the matchmaker told me would be a great date and we'd get along just wonderfully.
I met the great date. We exchanged all the awkward greeting protocols and eventually slipped into some easy general conversation as we made our way toward the restaurant.
"What kind of music do you like?" I queried.
"Oh, my favourite singer is Julius La Rosa," she replied.
My shoulders slumped and I knew right then and there, this was a relationship that was headed directly to the dumpster.
LaRosa, for those who don't recognize the name, was a sort of Perry Como-type singer who wore button up sweaters, pants with creases in the seams, wing-tipped shoes and warbled sort of like a latter day Michael Buble.
At that time I was appreciating the musical offerings of Zeppelin, Johnny Rivers and CCR, so let's say we were worlds apart on that and several other fronts to be perfectly honest.
There was no second date.
A few years later, returning to Saskatchewan where I met the bride, I was heartened to learn that the girl with the huge smile I kinda liked was a Beatles fan and liked Hendrix and Billie Holiday as well as the Regina Symphony Orchestra.
That was more like it. Somebody who was all over the musical map.
By that time I had moved on to worship the likes of the Bee Gees, The Band and Billy Joel. I even had brief musical affairs with Dolly Parton and then Cleo Laine. But at least we were reading from the same book, even if we weren't on the same page.
Now, many years into our marriage, we still enjoy exchanging ideas of what and who we think are the best listening opportunities. She introduces me to Eva Cassidy and I expound on Serena Ryder and we listen to both. We agree 11-year-old Michael Jackson was a better singer than the 38-year-old Michael Jackson, but the 38-year-old was a better dancer. We appreciated getting blown away musically by a mezzo soprano named Carmen while visiting Phoenix a number of years ago and we both lamented the too-sudden passing of the likes of Hendrix, Joplin and Winehouse.
We enjoy the unique voices and love to listen to the up and comers and try to guess if they're going to make it in the big, bad world of musical entertainment, or just buzz around the perimeter for a few years before burning out like so many do.
We marvel at the musical skills of Bachman and Burton and enjoy listening to great trumpet, saxophone and piano players. We know that on the rock scene, there has been no replacement yet for Bruce and the E-Street boys, but there are a lot of contenders. The Band quit but the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac still carry-on in a "sort-of" tradition just like Paul McCartney does without his mates.
And so we go.
Music doesn't make the partnership. We'd never suggest that, but it certainly can enhance it and for that, I thank Julius La Rosa for pointing that out to me those many years ago.
