Music in my Soul

I was emotionally beaten up and physically drained when I arrived back in Oregon in the spring of 1989. My dreams were shattered and I no longer trusted my gut. Music had always sustained me, and had always provided a safe pathway for me to follow. But I didn't anticipate the follies of humans getting in the way and blocking that path, and worse, destroying the enjoyment of the one thing that filled my life. It was a pretty rough lesson, and I was bruised deeply enough that I needed to retreat to a safe familiar environment to heal and find the magic again.

I rented a cute little 1 bedroom 1 1/2 bath semi-furnished apartment for $175 a month on 4th St. in Corvallis in a rambling old boarding house filled with age and memories of glorious days gone past. The rooms had 12 ft. high ceilings, crown moulding, darling little built in amenities like a breakfast booth, and tall windows that let lots of light in. Plus alot of my friends lived in that building, so I'd have lots of company when and if I needed it.

I became manager at The Beanery, the local coffee shop that made fresh roasted coffee a staple for so many college students and faculty. It was fun, and easy, since I knew the place inside and out after having worked there full time as I was pursuing my B.A.

I started DJing again at KBVR, playing the best of underground punk and garage that I was constantly digging up. It was safe, but fun, and was like a balm to my soul. Whew, I still loved music. It would still sustain me in my time of need.

I remember when I first fell in love with rock n' roll like it was yesterday. I've told this story to close friends, and I shared it with a collegue the other day, who encouraged me to write about it. To know the exact moment when you fell in love with something that would change the course of your life is an indescribable feeling.

I was 7 years old, and the TV was on in the basement room of my parents' house. There was a KTel commercial on for Creedence Clearwater Revival (remember those old commercials?) It was one of those where they are selling a "best of" record for the band, and in-between the songs were live clips of the band playing. The song that they were highlighting was “Traveling Band” and there’s that break where he sings “Playing in a Traveling Band,” and then let’s out that primal scream. I still remember it like it was yesterday, looking at that TV screen frozen forever a moment in time. Electricity bolted through my body, and I was in love. The image was of John Fogerty silhouetted against a backdrop of red stage lights, screaming into the microphone is burned into my soul forever. I was hooked. What the hell was that, and what just happened?

I go back to that moment over and over and over again. Back in 1989, as I was trying to find where my music, my soul was, I would pull up that feeling of electricity as I searched for new records to play on my show. Whenever I got that jolt, I knew it was a record I had to play for my listeners. I had a good job, with decent pay and health benefits, so I was spending all my spare time and money shopping for records when I wasn't hanging out drinking with my friends. It was a healing for me, a soothing of my battered soul, reminding me the magic was still there, even if I had temporarily lost sight of it.