When I was about 15, my mom loved this new song that was played once in a while on the radio. But to say she loved the song is too weak. She really, really loved the song.
When I realized how much she loved the song, I started to get an idea: Her birthday was coming up and I had nothing to give her. I would buy this album on cassette and give it to her. Easy, right? Wrong.
You know the saying about a watched pot never boiling? The same is doubly true in this case. For someone in the 80’s who wanted to know the name of a song they heard on the radio, time moved in super slow motion. First of all, as soon as you realized you liked a song well enough to find out its name, you never heard it again – never – ever – ever again. But if you were really, really patient, it might eventually come on the radio again.
You see, in those days, before the internet, before I tunes, before your car radio scrolled the name of the song on a little LED screen while the music was playing, and even before radio stations gave you the name and artist of every single song right after it was played (brilliant idea, by the way), in those days, if you loved a song, you listened to the radio carefully whenever the song was played – very, very carefully.
You had to listen so carefully because, again, back in those days, DJ’s talked way too fast and often in a very odd, deep, swanky, and/or bravado-filled way that made it almost physically impossible for a normal, English-speaking human being to actually understanding them. So, you sat, poised with your ear against the speaker. You strained your every muscle, you focused your every intention, you directed your every thought to what the DJ might – or might not – say at the end of the song.
Most of the time he or she said nothing between songs. And in fact, they started up the next song while were still listening to the one you wanted the name of. And before you knew it, you were off and listening to the next song, screaming at your radio to please, just tell you the name of the dang song.
But sometimes, like one out of twenty or thirty times, they did mention the name of the song. And sometimes, maybe half the time, you would understand them just well enough to get your point across to the salesperson at the record store. Yes, I said record store. Not that I ever bought a record from a record store (I didn’t start buying my own music until cassette tapes were all the rage.), but that is what the music store was called back then.
To be fair, I should also mention that another way to get the song’s information, was to call the radio station while the song was playing and ask them what it was. While this approach sounds logical, I don’t know of anyone who actually did this. And I, however, was very shy and hated to talk to strangers on the phone so I never got any song information that way. In this case, not calling cost me about two and a half weeks before I had the cassette safely in my hands.
During those long, two and a half weeks, I developed my gift-giving plan to perfection. I would open the packaging, take out the cassette, and cue it up to the right song, which, before the days of skipping ahead to the next song, had to be done manually by pressing fast forward and/or rewind until you got to the spot you wanted. Then, with the cassette still in the player, I wrapped the cassette case in wrapping paper.
The big day finally arrived and the gifts were handed over one at a time. I waited to go last and handed my mom the small wrapped package right after her second husband gave her a big bouquet of roses.
She opened it and looked quizzically at the artwork on the cassette. At that moment, I pushed play and the carefully cued music filled the room. It only took her a second for her to realize what the song was.
You know those videos of girls on the front row of a concert? The ones where the girls are dancing and screaming and jumping around? Booorriiing! My mom was pretty happy about this gift. I actually felt bad for the guy with the roses.
As you can imagine, this song has always reminded me of my mom. This was solidified even more when she turned 60. After her birthday party that year, I handed a CD to each departing guest. This song was one of the sixteen I had chosen to represent my mom’s life in music.
Today, while I was driving along on the freeway, this song came on the radio. I turned it up and dialed my mom’s mobile. The whole intro passed while I waited for her to pick up.
“Hello,” she said on her end. Of course, with caller I.D. she knew who was calling so I didn’t say anything. “Hello,” she asked a few more times.
Then she got quiet. I don’t know if the volume was correct for transmitting over the phone or not. I don’t even know if she could tell what the song was. All I know for sure is she stayed on the line and listened.
I was only going to play a few seconds and then hang up. But when she answered, it was in a part of the song that isn’t as easy to recognize. So I waited. Then the first, easily recognizable, chorus came on. I waited a little longer.
The years and the words and the music washed over me in a flood of memories and a moment with my mom as we both sat and listened. Me in my car, headed north on the freeway, back to the office after a meeting. She, who knows where. Both of us, just sitting and listening. I turned the phone toward me once to see if she was still on the line. The screen was black and I thought for a second she had hung up. I pushed the button to turn the screen back to life and saw we were still connected.
Still connected. That’s probably about the point when I got a little teary-eyed.
I’ve written about songs before in this blog and probably will again. I’ve always loved music and have often marveled at its ability to take me from where I am, to some other place, to some other time.
One of my oldest memories, if not the oldest, and for sure my oldest memory involving music, was a moment in a car, listening to the radio with my mom. The song on the radio ended and I remember looking up at her and telling her I had been singing along. I think it was Diana Ross, or maybe the Pointer Sisters. We were in the old Volkswagen Bug, back when it was still painted blue. I would have been three years old.
She looked down at me and said encouragingly, “I heard you singing. It sounded very nice.”
Because of that moment, I have always sung along to the radio. Because of that moment, Dianna Ross also made it on the 60th birthday CD.
Today as the song played on, I continued to hold the phone out in the air. Eventually, so much of the song had played, I figured I may as well keep her on the line until the very end. I sat and drove and listened to the words as I sang along loudly in my mind. The song wound down and I hung up the phone, without ever having said a word.
