I grew up in a family of music. My mother taught it.
My father played it. I listened to it. And I was forced to attempt playing it with the piano,
guitar and flute.
My parents sang
in embarrassing harmony during church services and played their guitars for Boy
Scout gold dinners. Unfortunately,
it went no further as American Idol
didn’t exist in those days.
My sister and I were taken to Pasadena to see Florence
Henderson in the Sound of Music. We went to The Man From La
Mancha, Mame and A Chorus Line at the Schubert Theater in downtown Los Angeles.
When we got our first
“hi-fi” console at Angus Street my father mysteriously disappeared into the
hallway closet that had a secret hatch into the attic space. My sister and I were prudentially
warned NEVER to walk on anything but the beams up there. In a short while my father had carved
out a pretty cool music system by placing speakers into the ceilings of the
bedrooms. Frankly, I was rather
impressed.
And so it was that on varying holidays my sister and I would
be awakened with the appropriate music.
On Halloween, for instance, it was Dans Macabre or Night on Bald Mountain. Much
better than an alarm clock.
One day, sitting in the New
Room, (check out an older post) my dad and I were looking at his collection of
LP records. Amidst the Elaine May
/Mike Nichols and Bob Newhart sketches and a record made by a woman who made
her fame by singing off key (which is surprising difficult if you have a good
“ear”) were his favorite singers. He told me whom he liked and why and, other
than Burl Ives, he was right.
There was Pete Seeger—who my parents took us to see at Idyllwild. I’m sorry to say that all I remember of
that trip was the swimming pool and an old man with a banjo. Patty Paige, Julie London, Ella were
other favorites of my father. HE
went for the sultry.
My mom’s records tended toward Leonard Bernstein…and yes, my
sister and I had to sit through his Young People’s Concerts. (Bernstein always reminded me of my Uncle Max—and
now I know why.) She also liked Matt Munro and anyone singing light opera,
especially Rogers and Hammerstein. There was the sound track to Flower Drum
Song and musicals that I had never
heard of. My mother also had a
thing for tenors.
Fast-forward many years and
this explains why, when driving across the Dolomites in southern Europe with a
(thankfully) long gone boyfriend, I suddenly burst into song:
“High on a hill was a
lonely goatherd- lay odl lay odl lay hee hoo.”
No comments:
Post a Comment