More music

More Music

Music played such as large role in my life as a camper and staff member. I remembers on of the best things about tennis was the fact you got to ride in a car to Booneville’s High School—next to the runway—and listen to KFRC, “The Big 610” and hear songs, top 40 of course, but music none-the-less. We had quiet time in the canteen, one of my favorite evening activities, listening to records and talking. Nothing too complicated. Just music. Music defined and formed the times: The Doors, “Light My Fire”, Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love”, the Rolling Stones, “Well we all need someone we can dream on...” The Airplane, Bob Dylan, The Association, New Christy Minstrels, there was a long list of albums. Marshall bought most of the dance albums and his musical taste had a strong influence for sure.

One of my roles at camp was to play the records at dances, an early DJ. I really liked the music, loved the role, and appreciated the pace and themes of dances and of the last dance, the only one I would actually dance myself. Put on a really long song, the album version, 5-6 minutes of musical ecstasy and dance.

My early memories, pre-Dramuda, were dances in the Canteen. But these are details that fade. Dramuda appeared as the venue for plays (Drama, Music and Dance) and had a wonderful large floor, logs along the hillside for those who just wanted to sit, and power for the old record player/PA. My love of music blossomed at camp—it’s still there I might add. I wasn’t then a players of anything and showed no talent (I still can’t remember the words to songs, didn’t then pay guitar, could barely carry a tune, and was afraid of getting up in front of audiences.)

But if you went through my CD’s today you’d see these times well presented. Not so much the folk but all the 60”s and early 70’s rock and funk. Paula introduced me to Tower of Power, the good East Bay girl she was, and War. Took me awhile to warm to horns and the funky sound, Sly Stone, it’s so East Bay Grease now in my mind, and a camper whose name I don’t remember (Germanic name, I think) brought to camp some early Pink Floyd, almost scarily unlistenable. And then there was the radio in the canteen—this could barley pull in anything if memory serves.

The one none music sonic memory was, however, another camper and I asking permission to listen on Irv’s radio in the outer office to the landing on the moon in the summer of ’69 during siesta.