“I live on C# Street…my friend lives on B-flat Avenue…” -Ntozake Shange
Musical memories play in my ears
Touching my soul in the Holy of Holies
Miklo with his 8-tracks, my Mama with her LPs
And the biggest musical influence in my life,
My sister, Lydia, with her poetry and guitarra
On the other side of the veil
All three of them now dance in the spirit
Like Teena, they live there, somewhere behind the groove
And they can be conjured in a mere matter of notes
I feel them when a car drives by playing their songs
Or a melody wafts over the fence from the neighbor’s casa
The sound calls out to me…and I feel their touch on my heart…
Miklo lives in Miles’ trumpet
And old War, Malo and Tierra 8-tracks
“Kid, if it ain’t Jazz, Classical or Gil Scott-Heron,
Then it don’t mean shit!”
He quips, while writing his nightly poetry,
Downing tequila and smoking his Marlboros…
My Mama, Stella, doesn’t pay him any mind
Because long after he’s passed out,
Her own Friday Night Record Party lasts late into the midnight hour
She is woven into Carole’s “Tapestry” and drinks of Cat’s “Tea for the Tillerman”
And she’s always ready to listen to something new
Especially if it features a saxophone which speaks directly to her soul
Waxing poetic as she sips her vodka and orange juice
She boogies on down to the Stylistics’ “Rock n’ Roll Baby”
And for at least one night, all is right in el barrio…
Lydia, from womb to tomb, is the living, walking, talking definition of cool
She has her poetry, her guitar and her turntable with detachable speakers
She writes her name on every record in la casa
Whether it belongs to her or my Mama or Miklo or anyone else in mi Familia
She washes her records and little ashy fingers are definitely off limits
Janis and Phoebe sing and strum, Elton and Bernie bare their souls
And never forget about Bernie, she chides, “Bernie wrote all the lyrics!”
I listen and learn and I drink it all in
My Mama brings home a little record player for me from Good Will
Lydia enters the room and hands me my first 45, I hold it like the Holy Grail
Miklo plugs the record player in and turns it on
Little red, green and blue lights come to life
Making my Mama laugh, for this is why she picked it out
Lydia takes the record and slaps it on the turntable…drops the needle down
Music permeates the air, lifting the frequency of the vibe higher and higher
Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes, featuring Theodore “Teddy” Pendergrass,
Are suddenly here in my bedroom with me, singing, “Bad Luck”
Like magic, the house comes to life with smiling faces…magic
The magic is still with me today
When I play music on my iPod or on my guitar
When I write about it or talk about it with my friends
Discussing genres and bands…especially indie music
My friend, Georgette, tells me, “Music is for everyone!”
As me and her and Chris chat about folk trying to pigeon-hole you into one genre
I am instantly brought back to that little casa with the flat roof in el barrio
The one with all the neighborhood children playing in the yard
And the music pouring out through the windows all hours of the day
And there were only two types of music back then
The good music, of any genre, that made you sing, smile, cry, laugh, dance
And the bad music, of any genre, that left you feeling flat…quickly returned to the stack…
I fully appreciate how very rich I am to have inherited such a vast array of music
From these three musical influences that still live in my music to this day
Whenever I am down or in need of a friend, I just press play on my iPod
And I sing and smile and cry and laugh and dance with them…again…
