John Lennon was killed 32 years ago tonight. I saw my first concert, The Eagles, 38 years ago at the then Lock Haven State College. "The Wild, the Innocent and the E Street Shuffle" first hit my turntable 39 years ago, after reading two glorious reviews, one in "Crawdaddy" and another in "Stereo Review." "Moondance" has passed its 42nd anniversary. Forty-eight years have flown by since The Beatles first made my hair stand on end on The Ed Sullivan Show.
The touchstones of my youth seem to be getting further and further away, at least by looking at the calendar. But some still strike major chords with me, and at times more so now than ever.
Take the last couple of hours, for instance. I just spent a good deal of time driving around listening to high art that was recorded more than 40 years ago. At full volume.
No record from the rock era sounds as dense, driven and alive as "Exile on Main Street." It's shot full of vitality, of decadence, of complications. Drenched in the blues, somewhat indecipherable, altogether brilliant and with no small amount of courage, it stands as testament to the power of The Rolling Stones.
When it was released, I listened to it for hours on end driving around on my Torino's 8-track, also at full volume. I had no idea then it would still matter these many years later.
Tonight, it made me feel like there are still possibilities. Still mountains to climb. Still dreams to realize. Still touchstones happening, right now.
If I can only bottle the courage so evident on those 18 tracks.
Got to scrape the shit right off my shoes, indeed.
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