Issue Four

My ego just took a serious beating, and I suspect there are others like me. I just read two articles in Traffic East’s January issue: “Prophet for Our Time: Gustav Mahler,” and “Lloyd Cole ‘In His American Circumstance’” by JoAnn Falletta and Jamie Verrico, respectively. Golly, talk about air-you-dite! These writers have exposed me–the only thing more disturbing than my lack of knowledge about good music is my poor taste. I’m culturally bankrupt in the music department. I feel flat out dumb and I suspect that a number of other Traffic East readers were similarly humbled. Fear not reader, you’re probably a Leonard Bernstein or Miles Davis compared to me.

My musical taste has a long and storied history. The first album I ever bought was the soundtrack from Star Wars, followed by Boston’s “Don’t Look Back,” and the soundtrack from Saturday Night Fever. My love of disco may be the truest barometer of my taste. I can, to this day, do a reasonably convincing John Travolta impersonation at weddings (after a couple of hours at the open bar). But I think that what my in-laws originally thought was cute and whimsical in a stupid drunk sort of way, is getting tired and stale–I should probably give it (and my knees) a rest. I know I should probably be ashamed, but can you dance to Lloyd Cole? There’s probably a reason you don’t hear too much jazz at weddings.

My musical experience that makes people with taste cringe the most, however, may be my first concert–Molly Hatchet’s “Flirtin’ With Disaster” tour, or “FWD” for those of us in the know. Jamie Verrico provides excerpts from some supposedly clever Lloyd Cole lyrics in his article (did it bother anyone else that he didn’t even try to rhyme?). But the words to Molly Hatchett’s FWD really set them apart as poets (with great guitar riffs). Consider:

Yeah!! We’re travelin’ down that lonesome road.
Feel like I’m dragging a heavy load.

Don’t try to turn my head away,
I’m flirtin’ with disaster every day.

Flirtin’ with disaster, baby,
Ya’ll know what I mean.

Hm, makes you think, doesn’t it? This stuff rivals the mysticism of William Blake in my book, and in case you were wondering, no, Molly Hatchet is not popular in France.

I was part of the Molly Hatchet experience at the Weedsport Speedway in the Finger Lakes where I grew up. You shouldn’t picture wine country, Canandaigua Arts Center, bucolic Finger Lakes, but Appalachia of the 1950’s without all the charm. (It really was a “speedway” although I doubt Jeff Gordon ever recorded a single lap there.) FWD was a popular tour, and the concert was sold out. However, I think a large part of the crowd attended because the concert was sponsored by Skoal (the mint-flavored chewing tobacco), and free samples were handed out at the gate. One of my fondest memories of high school was kissing a girl (drunk of course–both of us), and noticing how minty her mouth tasted from her chaw. Hey, when’s the last time someone made out at a Gustav Mahler concert?

If you’re like me, then you just “don’t get” jazz. Classical music is much more accessible, and I have an extensive knowledge of and love for the classics–Air Supply, The Knack, Flock of Seagulls and of course the Bay City Rollers are among my favorites. (Didn’t Gustav Mahler do some collaborative work with ZZ Top in the early 1980s?)