One day last week, I remembered that my 2001 Chicago Blues Festival cap was filthy. This cap is special. It was from my first Chicago visit; first Wrigley Field visit; and first MLB baseball trip with my oldest son and grandson. Not to mention the Cubs got a walk-off win against the Cardinals with Sammy Sosa outdueling Mark McGuire. I also sang with Chuck Berry.
Chuck was that year’s Blues Festival headliner and threw out the first pitch at the game we attended. He threw like a guitar player but was accurate. Then he duckwalked off the mound and later sang Take Me Out to the Ball Game during the seventh inning stretch. That’s when about 47,000 fans, including me, sang with Chuck. I treasure that hat.
I checked YouTube for a possible solution. I found a promising one and saved that clip. I was starting to work on a story when another clip caught my eye. The Association was performing on the Ed Sullivan Show—a quick four-minute video. By the time I regained my senses, I’d lost more than an hour, drifted deep into mid-60s pop and was grinning like a possum eating saw briars, as the old folks used to say.
I’m almost embarrassed to admit to listening to some of those tunes, but those were different times. The ’60s were cool, then evolutionary, then groovy, and then things got really weird. No one knew what secondhand smoke was back then but I’m pretty sure it was affecting everybody, especially songwriters. The best example of this was Elusive Butterfly.
I can play Elusive Butterfly rather easily and remember all the words that sound so silly when spoken. But singing the song rewinds memories of cool lyrics and special times. When it plays while I’m driving I get chills and memories I hadn’t experienced since before I could legally drink. I crave Allman Brothers, Led Zeppelin, Doobie Brothers, and the Stones. But those tunes that seem so cringy now were part of my still developing maturation.
The Memory Lane YouTube visit was like that. The Association harmonized like nothing I’d ever heard. Most of their songs, Cherish, Never My Love, and Wendy, were pop songs, not very relevant today. Much of what followed was similar.
I don’t remember every video. Most of them I hadn’t heard in decades. They aren’t on my current playlists or algorithms. But I kept hitting the play button. And before that one ended I’d spy another and keep going.
See You in September, I’d Like to Get to Know You, Walk Away Renee, Traces, and A Summer Song. I was drooling and lost my sense of time. As The Rain, the Park and Other Things began playing, I became concerned. My finger shook as I reached to stop this madness. Then I noticed Snowbird by Anne Murray.
I must have blacked out after that. I woke up to some cowboy tough guys harassing a stoic Caine and knew a Kung Fu clip had saved me. Later I dreamed about a Glen Yarborough concert. Baby the Rain Must Fall was playing in the background. I’m now fully recovered. No aftereffects.
And my treasured cap is shining like Sister Golden Hair.
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