MINI-VACATION IN THE LA-Z-BOY

I got my love for music from my father. Many nights after a hard day at work, my father would settle down in the recliner in the family room (after dinner, usually, as my mother cooked every single night) and listen to music. His collection of albums was eclectic--he owned vinyl on everything from country to blues to standards to rock and roll. From The Rolling Stones to Little Richard to The Oak Ridge Boys. He had a special fondness, though, for what we would now call “classic rock”—those songs from the late 60s and early 70s that defined their generation. At the time, of course, the songs were at most a few years old or, in some cases, tunes that were currently working their way up the charts.

Sometimes my mother would join him after dinner and they would sit and talk and sometimes (usually when my aunt and uncle came over), they would dance around the family room to The Stones, the Beatles, or old 50s doo wop and early rock and roll by groups with the names of birds and flowers (The Penguins, The Orioles, The Clovers) or common household objects (The Dixie Cups, The Coasters).

But some nights, when my father especially needed to relax, he would put on certain songs, recline the La-Z-Boy, and allow the music to take him away; I mean, he would completely check out; he was gone. As a child, I probably thought he was napping, but over the years I learned that it was a form of meditation. And the song I remember him escaping to most was on the last track on side one of Joe Cocker’s live album Mad Dogs and Englishman and it was called “Bird on The Wire.”

Written by Leonard Cohen (who would eventually become one of my favorite writers) and much less successfully covered years later by Aaron Neville, “Bird on The Wire” was a haunting ballad whose melody started out slow and bluesy, but by the end soared to dizzying heights of emotion and power. It was no wonder my father used it to escape. I still have strong memories of the sound of Joe Cocker’s gravelly voice permeating our house long into the night. Furthermore, it’s no wonder that “Bird on The Wire” recently found it’s way onto my iPod after a thirty second download from iTunes. I use it now the same way my father did. When I’m stressed, depressed, fragemented, or feeling lost, I simply put in my earbuds, dial to Joe Cocker’s emotional masterpiece, put my head back, close my eyes, and the music sends me away. It always reminds me of my father's mini-vacation in the La-Z-Boy.

POST-SCRIPT: Recently, I was visiting my parents in Oregon, where they retired, and I was talking to my dad about how I enjoyed “Bird on The Wire” so much that I wanted to get the entire Mad Dogs and Englishman CD. Before the end of my trip, I walked into the room where I was staying and my father had pulled out the album he’d listened to all those years ago and put it on my bed with a note that said, “Enjoy.” Until you get the CD, he told me later. Now, much like he did over thirty years ago, I use Joe Cocker’s music to take little mini-vacations in my mind.

Like father, like son.