We all have soundtracks in our lives. Like all soundtracks, some are just more dynamic and memorable than others. In the sixties, the folk-rock music scene clearly dominated. Beatles and Stones are cliches we embrace, passing them down as short-hand, to our children. In my college years, the singer-songwriters were the tunes we went to classes with: Joni Mitchell, Carol King, Paul Simon, James Taylor. Hard rock tenderized us and the folk-rock writers took us to school.
In L.A., I moved between two eras of sound: punk rockers in torn leathers and gliterry disco citizens. Any weekend might find me switching "costumes" as I travelled Sunset to Silver Lake, or attended a slinky party in the West Hollywood and Hollywood Hills environs. I might be moshing in a pit with sweaty kids my own age (or younger), the sheer tribal cacophony its own pulse-pound; then the next evening, I would be tearing up a disco dance floor, in a white linen three- piece suit and platform shoes, surrounded by "beautiful people", designer drinks and imported cigarettes on every table. Somehow, I felt at home in both environments. I had friends who were eclectic artists and radical politicos. I worked for all non-profit agencies and drove a 1959 Volkswagen Beetle with kudzu painted across its hood. I lived in a multi-level house on stilts on the side of a ravine, with a group of other artist-friends. We breathed music.
The women's music scene was the third alternative--sometimes visited by the likes of Bonnie Raitt and Joan Baez--but more likely populated by Ferron and the ladies of Redwood Records. Politics, environmental issues, women's concerns, these were subjects showing up in the lyrics of the third choice of soundscape in my life . (It probably helped that the owner/founder of the music production company, WOMEN ON WHEELS, was also my landlord.. and that every other woman I met in California, at the time, belonged to a start-up band...but it was REAL.)
I began to lose touch with huge musical movements, of single singers, right after that. My life became more focused, more mainstream, more insular. Opera, classical music, serious chamber concerts, the ballet began to fill my off-duty hours, replacing the rowdier and more visceral beats. However, if I needed to remember where I'd come from, one old l.p. or tape, popped in, and I was back there, like a time machine.
Today, hearing of Donna Summer's passing...well...what's to say? She was a bridge over all those periods of my life. So many of the diverse communities I lived with, lived in, listened to her, loved her. She connected us and allowed us to enjoy the joy of each other. Never too heavy; never too serious--and yet, what is more serious than allowing diverse sociological groups access to each others imaginations? Each others hearts?
You may moon over Mick or cry with Joni; you may scream yourself dry with Xenene and the Pistols; James can fill your broken heart with velvet and Criss may take you over a waterfall; but Donna Summer would always increase your heartbeat; pick up your pulse; introduce you to your neighbor and leave you flying high!
East L.A. to Inglewood; North Hollywood to Malibu; San Diego to San Francisco--when you heard Donna, you knew there was a party going on--you knew you would be welcomed inside. I might attend "Madame Butterfly" and cry my eyes out...but dancing under a diamond-flashing ball with Summer belting in the background was how I desired to end my evening.For me, Donna WAS Los Angeles big city nightlife for almost forty years.
So, please, Angels and God, take her to Heaven and give her a disco to dominate. (Keep it open till the rest of us arrive.)
Vaya con Dios, Amiga. Gracias.
Mucho, mucho gracias.
In L.A., I moved between two eras of sound: punk rockers in torn leathers and gliterry disco citizens. Any weekend might find me switching "costumes" as I travelled Sunset to Silver Lake, or attended a slinky party in the West Hollywood and Hollywood Hills environs. I might be moshing in a pit with sweaty kids my own age (or younger), the sheer tribal cacophony its own pulse-pound; then the next evening, I would be tearing up a disco dance floor, in a white linen three- piece suit and platform shoes, surrounded by "beautiful people", designer drinks and imported cigarettes on every table. Somehow, I felt at home in both environments. I had friends who were eclectic artists and radical politicos. I worked for all non-profit agencies and drove a 1959 Volkswagen Beetle with kudzu painted across its hood. I lived in a multi-level house on stilts on the side of a ravine, with a group of other artist-friends. We breathed music.
The women's music scene was the third alternative--sometimes visited by the likes of Bonnie Raitt and Joan Baez--but more likely populated by Ferron and the ladies of Redwood Records. Politics, environmental issues, women's concerns, these were subjects showing up in the lyrics of the third choice of soundscape in my life . (It probably helped that the owner/founder of the music production company, WOMEN ON WHEELS, was also my landlord.. and that every other woman I met in California, at the time, belonged to a start-up band...but it was REAL.)
I began to lose touch with huge musical movements, of single singers, right after that. My life became more focused, more mainstream, more insular. Opera, classical music, serious chamber concerts, the ballet began to fill my off-duty hours, replacing the rowdier and more visceral beats. However, if I needed to remember where I'd come from, one old l.p. or tape, popped in, and I was back there, like a time machine.
Today, hearing of Donna Summer's passing...well...what's to say? She was a bridge over all those periods of my life. So many of the diverse communities I lived with, lived in, listened to her, loved her. She connected us and allowed us to enjoy the joy of each other. Never too heavy; never too serious--and yet, what is more serious than allowing diverse sociological groups access to each others imaginations? Each others hearts?
You may moon over Mick or cry with Joni; you may scream yourself dry with Xenene and the Pistols; James can fill your broken heart with velvet and Criss may take you over a waterfall; but Donna Summer would always increase your heartbeat; pick up your pulse; introduce you to your neighbor and leave you flying high!
East L.A. to Inglewood; North Hollywood to Malibu; San Diego to San Francisco--when you heard Donna, you knew there was a party going on--you knew you would be welcomed inside. I might attend "Madame Butterfly" and cry my eyes out...but dancing under a diamond-flashing ball with Summer belting in the background was how I desired to end my evening.For me, Donna WAS Los Angeles big city nightlife for almost forty years.
So, please, Angels and God, take her to Heaven and give her a disco to dominate. (Keep it open till the rest of us arrive.)
Vaya con Dios, Amiga. Gracias.
Mucho, mucho gracias.
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