Somewhere not far from here is a place where river cruise ships hire tangerine porters with looking glass eyes. Elementary penguins stroll along the deck singing Hari Krishna. When the cruise comes back to port, newspaper taxis appear on the shore, and people climb in the back with their heads in the clouds.
Yes. I came of age in the sixties, but I never partook of the implements of psychedelia. I just loved the imagery of surrealism. (And yes, I know I mixed up the songs and words.)
I loved the band names — Strawberry Alarm Clock, Bubble Puppy, Moby Grape, Electric Prunes, Iron Butterfly, Pink Floyd — and what the heck is a Jefferson Airplane, anyway?
I loved the inventiveness of the wordplay — “I had too much to dream last night,” what a great line! And some of the imagery, surprisingly, makes perfect sense. I just learned today that semolina pilchard is actually a thing.
One of these days I might decide to write a psychedelic novel while sharing time with several species of small furry animals gathered together in a cave and grooving with a pict. It would not have to make sense, except it would have to be true to its own rules, just like a science fiction or fantasy world. That sense of unity is what makes “Revolution 9” a classic of the genre while others are just nonsense.
Not long ago I wrote about “My Last Song,” which is the last song on my new collection of homemade music, Crimson Sky on New Year’s Morn, heading to your favorite streaming and/or downloading service on May 19.
“If this will be my last song, may it be of peace and love; may it be a song of Jesus and blessings from above,” I sang, and I wrote about how we never know if we’re doing something for the last time.
“If this will be my last song — if this will be my last day — if this will be my last blog post — if I treated every venture as if it’s the last — and what do I want to do with it?” I wrote. “Let it be about peace and love, let it call attention to Jesus, let it encourage those who need encouragement and lift their spirits.”
When I posted the post on Facebook, my dear cousin commented, “But what if it could be your first, not last — First song this morning? I get it. I just don’t want you to stop.”
That got me to thinking: When God said, “Let there be music,” what would the first song have sounded like? My pastor friend recently shared the ancient words of Augustine describing Christians: “We are Easter People, and our song is ‘Alleluia.’” Well, of course the first song would be “Alleluia,” or “Praise God.”
I have been leaning pretty hard lately on a familiar chord progression — C, Am, F, G — which appears in so many songs it probably could have been the very first chord progression. It also lends itself to all sorts of classic harmonies.
Toss all those thoughts into a bag and shake gently, and out came this little worship song, or anthem, or however you might want to describe it.
This is my week for learning more about seventies rock. I took to Netflix the last few days to watch Bohemian Rhapsody, the fine docudrama about Freddie Mercury and the rest of Queen, and then Becoming Led Zeppelin, the new documentary about that band’s formative years.
A common denominator in both stories is the value of collaboration and how the contributions of all four band members creates a greater whole. Jimmy Page talked about the importance of being able to hear what everyone is doing as the songs were mixed. Guitarist Page and singer Robert Plant were the “front men,” but Led Zeppelin would never have been Led Zeppelin without bassist John Paul Jones and drummer John Bonham laying down the foundation.
And there’s a key moment in the Queen saga where Freddie goes off as a solo artist and comes back to his friends after it does not go as well as he hoped. He delivers a heartfelt monologue about realizing that he had become FREDDIE MERCURY because of the push-and-pull, the creative friction with his bandmates.
Somewhere in there I heard the observation that great rock bands don’t fail, they break up. These films about two great bands illustrate that dynamic — when everyone contributes as a unit, magic happens, as long as the individuals can keep their egos in check.
These two films tell powerful stories about the power of creative collaboration.
