Back in the late 90′s I moved to Boston. I was a bachelor. I was a damn good bachelor, too. I lived alone in cool little apartment right near Fenway Park. It was a three room’er: hang-out space, kitchen and bedroom. The bedroom was in a “secret room” hidden by the two sliding mirrored doors that looked like a wall.
If that wasn’t creepy enough for potential female guests…I lived in the basement. It was called a “Garden Level” apartment; a fancy name for “cheaper rent because you barely get sunlight in here and you are close to the trash room”. Nonetheless, it was my own pad and it was cool. I wish I had a few pics, but I was in a “no evidence” mode back then.
I had a good crew of friends that were a phone call away from going out to strike sparks at any moment. I had a good job and a good income. I had the means and the motor to run the streets all weekend long. I wasn’t reckless, but I was certainly restless. That being said, footing the solo Boston rent bill was tough on the wallet at times.
When I did go out, my engine revved high and fuel got burned. Fuel is expensive. When the tank started to run dry, I had to make the decision to go out only one night a weekend to save a bit of cash; most often that was a Saturday night. Friday night was my night to stay in.
Why Friday? Well, we’re going to have to defer to old T-Bone Walker to answer that one: “The eagle flies on Friday. Saturday I go out to play” (“Stormy Monday“). I distinctly remember hearing the lyric and agreeing with the man. “Saturday I go out to play”…damn straight T-bone. Damn Straight.
I didn’t mind staying in on Fridays. In fact, I looked forward to it. Friday was the night I would stay at home and listen to music. I didn’t own a TV then and didn’t care to. All I needed was the music. Friday night was for music: reading about it or listening to it…or both, if I so pleased. TVs?! I didn’t need no stinkin’ TVs!
On Fridays after work I would stop by the local package store and purchase provisions: a twelve pack of ales, a refresher pint of Wild Turkey (if needed) and a couple cans of beer nuts. I would hurry on back to my pad and hunker down for a night of sounds and solitude.
I loved those nights. I learned so much about music and was able to dig deep into my collection. Back then there was no iTunes or streaming; primitive tools only. I had great ONKYO receiver, a decent set of Bose and the “shuffle” of it’s time, a six CD changer. A six CD changer: I don’t even own a CD player anymore. I’d get the vibe on just right: top up a tumbler of WT with plenty of ice, dim the lights, flame up some candles, slip on the cans and push play.
I loved it, but like all good things my Friday sound and solitude nights ended. Why? I had to see about a girl (check it out at 2:22). Once I met my (future) wife my desire to stay in on a Friday night…let alone stay away from her for one night…left me. I still had no money, but I was hooked on her. In fact, in order to take her out…this still pains me…I sold chunks of my CD collection. I can still remember the gut-punch feeling when I sold my “Stax-Volt Complete Singles“ collection (nine CDs of raw soul!). Aw, Hell…it was worth it in the end.
Fast forward just about eleven years later to this past Friday night. I had just returned to London from a work trip to my old bachelor stomping grounds: Boston. My wife and I decided we wanted to stay at home, make some dinner and have a cocktail or two. Just like that, the old music muscle memory kicked in: a perfect Friday night to get the old vibe going again and listen to some tunes.
We got the mood just right and then I hit play. We had a hankering for a country-tinged listening session. I plucked songs from my collection: some of our old fave raves and some new sounds to turn my wife on to. We sang and smiled and drank and danced while the box played on. Hot damn…
While we were having our fun, I thought of the artists. Did they have any idea how much we were enjoying their music at that moment? Did they understand how they were connecting with us…how indelible they had become to us? Did they think that no one gave a shit about music…their music…anymore? The answer was No to all of the above.
I often think about if I were to run into my music heroes…what the hell would I say? There is only one thing to say: thanks. Thanks for all the sounds, turn-ons and being the soundtrack to so many of my life experiences. Whew, that’s a heavy trip to lay on someone, eh? It’s true though, right?.
Because they all couldn’t be there when we had their sounds on, I wanted to say thanks. Thanks for making your music and sharing it with us. There are people out there who are listening to your tunes…over and over and over again…and loving it. Just like my wife and I last Friday night.
So…many, many thanks to Friday Night’s Honor Roll: Elton John, Loretta Lynn, Tammy Wynette, Jamey Johnson, Waylon Jennings, Keith Richards, Willie Nelson, Rolling Stones, Emmy Lou, Gram Parsons, Lucinda Williams, Dawes, Ryan Adams, Ray Lamontagne, CCR and last, but certainly least, Ms. Mavis Staples.
Hey if you really want to connect with your fans and you are in the neighborhood on a Friday night, stop on by. The door is always open, the drinks are always strong and the music is always shit-hot
(click the pic to see the tracks)
Again, I thank you…
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