Music was a huge part of my childhood, and, as a result, plays a crucial role in so many of my memories growing up. Although my immediate family members lacked the natural musical talent that so many inherit, we are passionate about the songs and artists we love. The record player was constantly spinning in the living room. For years, I could not fall asleep without someone crooning in the background. On Saturdays, my mom would coerce Grant and I into doing chores by letting us choose the albums. Some days, we would dust and mop to Led Zeppelin or the Dead. Other times, we made slightly cheesier selections, all the better to dance to! Billy Joel singing about his Uptown Girl or Manhattan Transfer convincing me to fall in love with a fictional boy from New York City...
August 27, 1990, one of my most poignant memories of my dad. Quinn had come to pick Grant and I up from daycare. When we got into the old clunky T-bird, tears were streaming down Quinn's face. This was unusual. I had seen him cry before at funerals, but never in the context of our real life. Stevie Ray Vaughan had been killed in a helicopter crash. I had just turned 10, and I remember feeling confused. Why was my daddy so distressed when he did not even know this man? My parents and their partners in crime (my extended family) had seen Stevie perform countless times at little clubs in Lubbock, Austin, Dallas. Those songs, Stevie's voice, his guitar playing... They were a part of our story, a part of our life soundtrack. To this day, I tear up when I hear Texas Flood. Although I did not grasp the impact fully at the time, Quinn lost a dear friend that day. Whenever I have a visceral response to a song, when it transports me to the past, I remember this moment as the first time I grasped the impact that music can have on life.
Somewhere along my path to adulthood, my beliefs and ideals veered astray. As a result, I've learned it is best not to bring up politics when Quinn and I get together. Although we will never have a civil discussion about gun control or who we voted for in the last election, we can always bond over music. Last night, after returning home from our 4th of July celebration, we spent a few hours comparing notes on newer loves (Old Crow Medicine Show) and debating the merits of old favorites (he posits that Frank Zappa's live version of Whipping Post is the best, but the Allman Brothers will always win my vote). I am forever grateful that we share this common ground.
Well you've heard about love givin' sight to the blind
My baby's lovin' cause the sun to shine
She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy
She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy
-SRV
1 comment:
Lovely post about Quinn & SRV, Erica. Alvin & I never went to see him, but I distinctly remember seeing Quinn one day out on his farm. He invited us to come to Lubbock to see this fantastic guitar player at Stubb's in Lubbock. "He's really good", Quinn said. And, I remember listening to him play and thinking, "I should have seen this guy play because what I hear is amazing. I can only imagine how Quinn felt when Stevie Ray died.
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