If I could describe the years between 1963 and the summer of 1970, I would call them the “music years” of my life. This period was filled with moments that shaped my connection to music, the songs that lifted me, and the artists who filled my quiet world with sound and meaning. These years weren’t always easy; they held moments of discovery, personal loss, and a deepening love for music that became my private escape and a way to connect with emotions I was only beginning to understand.
Early Discoveries and Musical Beginnings
In 1965, I had a moment that would open my heart to the power of music. Watching The Sound of Music, I was utterly captivated by the opening scene with Julie Andrews. Her voice, the sweeping landscape, and the powerful feeling of that song showed me that music could be more than just a background sound—it could awaken something deep inside. This experience set the tone for my “music years,” sparking a curiosity that led me to try creating music myself.
I started learning to play the piano and trumpet, trying to bring music to life with my hands. Unfortunately, this journey was cut short when a table saw accident left me with injuries to my right hand, permanently stiffening my fingers and ending my ability to play–or, more accurately, require more work and effort than I was willing to apply . Though the accident was devastating, it didn’t diminish my love for music; in fact, it may have strengthened my resolve to keep music as a central part of my life, even if it meant I could only listen rather than create.
The Influence of The Monkees and Top 40 Radio
During those years, like many adolescents, I found myself glued to the radio, tuned into Spokane’s local station KJRB. They played the hits of the time, introducing me to an ever-changing mix of pop, rock, and soul that filled the airwaves. While the Beatles craze swept up many around me, I was more drawn to The Monkees. Their music was catchy, upbeat, and fun,. That resonated with me in a way the Beatles didn’t quite capture. The Monkees felt like friends on my journey, with their playful songs offering a lighthearted contrast to some of the more introspective music I also enjoyed.
My love for The Monkees was just the beginning. This period introduced me to a world of artists who quickly became my favorites. I built a collection of 45s—small, treasured vinyl records that I would stack up and play whenever I wanted to immerse myself in music. My 45s were like old friends; each song held its own memories and emotions, and I could choose a record based on exactly what I needed to feel at that moment.
Finding Solace in Music
I was a quiet, introspective child, not particularly social, and music became my companion in those years. My 45 collection was my sanctuary, a way to access emotions and experiences I struggled to express in other ways. I remember spinning records by The Vogues, captivated by songs like Turn Around, Look at Me, and My Special Angel. These songs spoke to my longing, hope, and, sometimes, the melancholy that crept in as I moved through those adolescent years. The gentle harmonies and heartfelt lyrics felt like they were speaking directly to me, capturing what I felt but couldn’t always put into words.
It wasn’t all introspective, though. I also loved the lively tunes of The Grass Roots, Three Dog Night, and, every once in a while, the raw, dramatic edge of Fire by The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Something was thrilling about Fire—the intensity, the rebellious spirit. It was a song that felt different from the others, almost like a controlled chaos, and listening to it felt like indulging in a small, rebellious act. Each song in my collection offered something unique, allowing me to explore the range of human emotions within the safe space of music.
Music as Connection and Escape
As I look back on those “music years,” I realize they weren’t just about enjoying popular tunes; they were a lifeline, a way to feel connected in a world where I often felt out of place. Music was my constant, the thing I could turn to when I needed to feel something real. Whether it was the innocence of The Sound of Music, the playful joy of The Monkees, or the raw power of songs like Fire, each piece of music I loved gave me something invaluable. It was my way of creating meaning in a time of life filled with uncertainties.
These years, from 1963 to 1970, taught me that music could be more than just entertainment. It could be a mirror, reflecting who I was and what I was feeling, even when I didn’t fully understand those feelings myself. Through the records and radio, I found a sense of identity, comfort, and a foundation that would carry me through the years to come.
As I revisit these songs and memories, I feel myself reconnecting with that younger version of me—the one who sat quietly with a stack of 45s, finding solace and strength in the music that shaped my world.