AUDREYS MUSICAL JOURNEY - PART EIGHT: RUPERT HOLMES TERMINAL One thing that for certain that you can say about my beloved Audrey is that she never did anything in a half hearted manner. When she found a cause, a mission or a new interest, she plunged in head first with one hundred and fifty percent effort (and to that effect, if the unorthodox circumstances outlined in Part Seven of this series were what it took for her to join me as part of the Dodgers faithful, so be it). In part, that is why we hit it off so well in the early stages of our relationship. Throughout 1994, I was entering the final semesters of my studies towards my second degree in Pastoral Ministery at LIFE Pacific University in San Dimas. Although Audrey (who tragically passed away on the 30th of October 2014 after suffering a major stroke and brain hemorrhage a week earlier) was still relatively a baby Christian at that point, that would change soon enough. But more on that in a subsequent installment. During out first few dates, we would playfully ask each other, Are we going to be soul mates? Well, I steadfastly maintain that such distinctions are essential in a marriage. But at that time, we were still in the early stages of what used to be known as courtin and sparkin. Being soul mates was still a few steps away. Still, a key step towards the coveted distinction of being one anothers soul mate has much to do with mutual (in the Biblical vernacular) agape love. But it also is fueled in no small part by shared interests. To be certain, many a couple of our acquaintance somehow tended to overlook this essential step in their own relationships. More often than not, one partner tolerated the others hobbies, and friction often entered the picture as a byproduct of perceived neglect in favor of the others pursuit of preference. Almost from the onset, Audrey and I talked at length about anything and everything that came to mind (irrefutably putting to rest the assertion from some family members and friends that she was shy and reserved; Could someone shy and reserved participate in the overthrow of a political dictatorship as Audrey did? But I digress....). And inevitably, there were some areas of disagreement. To wit, I didnt share the enthusiasm that Audrey had for some of the dishes that had been a key component of her diet for most of her life, which was exacerbated by her assertion that her cooking skills were modest. Thankfully, she proved herself to be more than wrong on that count. For my money, Audrey developed her culinary talents to the point of being on the top of the heap as a world class chef (and again I digress). She also was a bit taken aback at first by the fact that at the time I shared my San Fernando Valley living quarters with my dog, Peeps and my two cats, Doctor and Lee. However, her reservations about those living arrangements changed abruptly when we discovered that, as we were preparing to go out one evening, Lee had relieved himself on the brand new suit that I had bought for the occasion earlier that day. Lets just say that Audrey found Lees choice of washroom far more humorous than I did, and from that point on, she warmed up to the three of them to the point of being Mommy to them. However, such differences in perspective were very much minimal between us. On the issues that mattered, we were indeed well on our way to becoming soul mates. Not just in our mutual enthusiasm for the Dodgers, but in that we shared strong passions for history, popular culture, the arts, classic cinema, classic television and (most of all) music. Audrey was fully aware of my outspoken distaste for jingoism. And while she in matter of fact manner brought me up to speed on some of the artists whose music she had appreciated prior to her move to California three years earlier, she astutely did so without inexorably linking it to extreme nationalism, as some have been wont to do. In other words, art for arts sake, as it should be. Since by virtue of geography much of what I considered essential musically had previously escaped her attention, she became a rabid student. She absorbed much of what she had missed, all the way back to the dawn of the recording industry in the 1880s. While driving along to various destinations on dates, family gatherings, church and the like, we would ask one another, Do you like this artist?, Do you like that song? and such. Although much of what I considered essential musically at the time was largely still unfamiliar territory to her, we did agree on almost everything. The lone exceptions seemed to be legendary saxophonist John Coltrane. I love Coltranes work with a passion, and have about fifty of his albums. On the other hand, Coltrane remained the one artist whose music would prompt Audrey to walk out of a room in disgust! So we made a deal. I told her that I would not play John Coltranes music around her, if she would not play any Roberta Flack around me (sorry, Flacks desecration of a perfectly good Ewan McColl/Kingston Trio song still grates on my ears more than four decades after the fact). Interestingly enough, Audrey kept her end of the bargain for the rest of our days together, although suffice to say I had a tough time holding up my end of it. There was one other artist whose work I had tremendous respect and enthusiasm for, yet whose work did not exactly brighten Audreys day. That was the legendary folk rock and blues pioneer, Huddie William Leadbelly Ledbetter, who passed away in December 1949 and left an enormous body of work that continues to influence many a musician to the present day. At first, Audrey thought Leadbellys music was a bit creepy, to put it mildly. I filled her in on some of the highlights of his most fascinating life, which actually served to strengthen her resolve. But in a classic fulfillment of Chuck Berrys proclamation of You Never Can Tell, I sat Audrey down in my living room one evening, with a VHS video tape in my hand. I told her, Youve got to see this, as I fired up the VCR. On that VHS tape was the 1945 Pete Seeger-produced, full color documentary, Three Songs By Leadbelly, in which the good Professor Ledbetter hums and strums an instrumental version of his In The Pines over the credits. He then is depicted live in concert, performing Pick A Bale Of Cotton, Grey Goose and Take This Hammer. I told Audrey, This is life changing, which was indeed the reaction of many who had viewed the film before. Little did I know. Although she cringed initially when she read the opening credits, when Leadbelly himself came on in full fury, swinging his twelve-string guitar and picking it at blurring speed like the virtuoso that he was (while slightly increasing the tempo with each successive verse), Audrey was suddenly mesmerized. Sure enough, sheer talent and musical ability had won out over any reservations that she may have had. So much so, that for weeks to follow, as we drove along from place to place in the car, she would start singing, Great God almighty, I can Pick A Bale Of Cotton and urge me to do it in call and response fashion with her. Right now, some of you may be thinking of a certain cut on Elvis Presleys 1956 debut album (well, at least the record collectors among you are, anyway), One Sided Love Affair. So far, Audrey was coming around to my way of thinking (with the exception of country music, which at that point she did not yet appreciate, with the exception of Keith Whitley; that, too would change radically in the coming months, which we shall see in a future installment). But what about Audreys point of view? So glad that you asked. Those who have known me for any length of time know of my rabid passion for music (which of course goes with the territory as the publisher of an academically-inclined magazine for musicologists and record collectors). And while I have long and steadfastly maintained that such periphery as chronology and geography have no bearing whatsoever on the aesthetic merit of a given musical work, there have nonetheless been eras of music in which I found the overall percentage of worthwhile new releases was either higher or lower during that particular time. In Audreys case, being raised in an environment where much of what I considered essential simply was not available to her at the time meant that she had a unique perspective with respect to certain artists and genres as the result of such circumstances. In a previous installment of this series, we learned of Audreys lifelong enthusiasm for the music of Barry Manilow. Before meeting her, I also enjoyed his work. But then again, I tend to look at a given artists overall repertoire, rather than just that which may define them from a mainstream perspective. So in Manilows case, if all I knew by him were the long string of ballads that established him before the masses, I probably would not have held his work in as high esteem as she did. But in listening to his albums, there was much more to him than balladry, including experiments in rockabilly (Oh Julie), jazz (Cloudburst) and some well written musical mini dramas, the likes of which are peppered throughout his albums. In other words, Audreys refreshing way of viewing an artists accomplishments was like answered prayer to an unrepentant record collector. Suffice to say that within the demographic, such attributes remain rare. All of which led to what finally answered the question within my own mind of whether or not Audrey and I were going to be soul mates. For quite some time, we had intended to take a trip up to Solvang, a Danish-themed town about 130 miles west of the San Fernando Valley. In Solvang, you can sample unique food, rent and ride a bicycle built for two, explore thrift shops (which in and of itself is good enough for me), learn about a fascinating culture and wrap up the day with a stop at Andersons Pea Soup Restaurant for the Travelers Special, which is an endless supply of their signature pea soup and pumpernickel bread. After much deliberation and schedule juggling, it became apparent to us that Solvang could not be appreciated in one day. We would have to stop at a hotel and spend the night there, making it a two-day trip. At this point, sorry to disappoint those with raised eyebrows. As committed Christians who were not yet blessed with the benefits of marriage, sharing a hotel room was definitely out of the question from both of our points of view. So I called one of the state of the art hotels in Solvang and made reservations....for two rooms. This news did much to reassure Audreys mother, Lita, although there were some who marveled that there were actually two people who still thought that way in 1994. Well, we did, and no regrets. Anyway, as was always the case with a road trip, we made sure that we had plenty of music for the journey. At that time, the car I was driving (a 1988 Honda Accord) was equipped only with an AM/FM radio and cassette deck. So as it was on other such journeys, a few boxes of cassettes made their way up to Solvang with us. As we drove along, the music fueled much of our dialogue, which as usual turned from one artist to another. In the course of the conversation, the subject came up of Rupert Holmes, whose work Audrey held in very high esteem. She was aware to a degree of some of the earlier projects he was involved in, such as the 1970 Jennifer Tomkins single by the Street People. And of course just a few years earlier, Holmes had made a name for himself commercially at last with a trio of singles along similar inventive themes: Escape, Him and Answering Machine. As the publisher of a music magazine, I routinely received promo copies of albums and CDs in the mail for consideration for review. I had mentioned to Audrey during that conversation that one of the promo CDs that found its way into Blitz Magazines mailbox over the past few days was a Rupert Holmes anthology, The Epoch Collection on the Varese Sarabande label. Comprised of highlights of the three albums that Holmes released for Epic Records from 1974 to 1976, the material therein was largely unknown to a mainstream audience in the United States. But then again, as we have established, my beloved Audrey was anything but mainstream. She asked me what was on that CD, and I rattled off a few titles from memory: Second Saxophone, Studio Musician, Weekend Lover, Terminal..... Terminal?!?!?! she said, recalling the enthusiasm that she expressed upon meeting Dodgers first baseman Eric Karros a few scant weeks earlier. She went on to point out that Terminal was high in the upper echelons of her all time favorite records before she moved to the United States. She had a copy of the vinyl record, which was left behind in the hectic and tragic circumstances that necessitated her move. I had played the Varese Sarabande anthology CD a few times, and I agreed that it was pretty good. However, my obsession with the track was not anywhere as near as intense as Audreys was. Which only goes to show again that You Never Can Tell. In a manner not unlike that which I previously had explained to her the merits of Dodgers baseball, Leadbellys music and the like, Audrey went on to articulate in great detail the finer aesthetic points of both the song Terminal and Holmes work in general. And while it did not take too much convincing on my part to agree with her, suffice to say that even an outspoken critic of Holmes music would have had a tough time disagreeing with her. She made her point and she made it well. And that brief exchange really made me think. Audrey had it all: compassion, intelligence and a mutual enthusiasm for much of what I considered essential. Not only that, but those next to impossible to come by feelings of agape love were growing as a result. To be sure, it looked to me like we were indeed soul mates. Nonetheless, I held my peace in that respect for the moment. Yet once again, God had other plans. In the late summer of 1994, not long after we had returned from that road trip to Solvang, I found myself having to head out to San Dimas to complete the registration process for the fall semester at LIFE Pacific College. Interestingly enough, Audrey had a break that day in her schedule at the junior high school where she served as Assistant Finance Manager. So she was able to accompany me out to San Dimas (an hours drive east of the San Fernando Valley) to see the campus for her first time. After the registration process, we had intended to make another short trek over to Pomona to enjoy dinner at Vinces House Of Spaghetti, a long time favorite eatery. But something happened during the San Dimas portion of the trip that nearly killed my appetite. After completing the registration process, I ran into an individual who was a casual acquaintance. Actually, I didnt really know him all that well, but I did know a relative of his several years earlier. Since my communication with this individual had heretofore been minimal, I was surprised that he apparently knew as much about me (and Audrey, for that matter), as he did. I was even more surprised when, without any solicitation on my part, this individual decided that he was going to tell me exactly what he thought of not only Audrey, but of the fact that we were very much in a relationship at that point. I could only speculate why the subject was of such interest to him (and Audrey had never met him before, nor had she ever met his aforementioned relative). Suffice to say, his comments were not charitable. They were not only very much unsolicited, but most unwelcome, as well. He inferred that someone in my position had no business with someone like that. Given the setting, I did not respond as I might have otherwise. In fact, I was so taken aback by the attack, that I was speechless for a moment. Audrey held her peace until we returned to the car, at which time she began crying. That for me was enough. This individuals actions were way out of line, and the fact that he had upset Audrey to that point was unacceptable. Venue or not, he had some explaining to do. So I headed back to the location where we had first encountered him. But by the time I got back there, he was gone. And for what its worth, I never saw him again. However, whether he knew it or not, that individual ultimately did Audrey and me a big favor. In the weeks following our return from Solvang, that lively musical conversation in which Audrey held my attention replayed in my mind a number of times. But after that unlikely encounter in San Dimas, when it seemed like the best thing that ever happened to me was coming under fire, it firmly put to rest any doubts, reservations or second thoughts that I may have had. In other words, at that point, it finally became obvious to me. Audrey and I were indeed soul mates. And as the afternoon gradually improved after the stop at Vinces House Of Spaghetti, I had made up in my own mind what I had previously speculated. Audrey was the one, no two ways about it. I was going to ask her to marry me. But as a committed Christian, I had firmly resolved to not act on such matters of utmost importance without first and foremost seeking the will of the Lord. So during that ride home, and without saying a word of what I was thinking to Audrey, I made up my mind to pray about it for the next ninety days. Then, if indeed the Lord was leading us in that direction, I would pop the question to Audrey. So what happened ninety days later? We will revisit that whole adventure in Part Nine of Audreys Musical Journey. In the meantime, heres the track originally released on his 1974 Widescreen album that helped fuel answered prayer, Rupert Holmes self-penned Terminal: https://youtube/watch?v=ODNnyQby8ws
Posted on: Mon, 05 Jan 2015 02:54:52 +0000
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