In NYC one ‘80s summer, I heard a small snippet of some brilliant old rock song and set out to find it beefore nightfall. Starting at 72nd and Broadway, I hummed what I could remember to at least a dozen record store clerks along the way. Ready to give up after a crazy 48 blocks, I made one final stop at a dive in Morningside Heights. The guy there smiled slowly (maybe even a little triumphantly) and proclaimed, “Ah, yes. I’m a flea bitten up monkey.” I walked out happy, with a copy of “Let It Bleed” and memories of (da da dum) The Search for for “Monkey Man.”

“Help me, I’m falling in love, again”

Suite Judy Blue Eyes

Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end…

I had fallen into the routine of letting life get in the way of music, but when my dad passed away a couple of years ago (I was 48 years old then), I made a mix-CD of his music to play at the memorial service reception. Ever since then, I am on fire again to enjoy the stuff I listened to as a teenager (Rickie Lee Jones’ first LP has never grown old). But my soul has also been ignited by discovering Neko Case, the Frames and Glen Hansard, Dwight Yoakam, and many others.

Praise Be to the mp3 player.

Although I can’t play or sing a note, music is just about as important to me as breathing. I am never without it; it’s in my car, my MP3 player, at work, at home, in the LP’s stored in the closet, the CD’s in another closet, on the computer, the iPad…

And it’s true that the music one listens to in their most formative years (i.e. teens) has the biggest impact. Every music lover remembers the album(s) that changed their life. If I had to choose one (which is nearly impossible) it would be “Bat Out of Hell.” It came out a few years before high school, but once I heard it as a 15-year old, there was no turning back. The angst, the wit, the wall of sound and, of course, the VOICE. Even now, 30 years after I first heard it, it’s still my go-to.

Know what I miss? That visceral reaction to the music the first time you hear it. The perfection of David Gilmour’s guitar solo in “Comfortably Numb,” the emotional overload of the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, the plaintiveness of Natalie Merchant’s voice in “Beloved Wife…” I miss it because, in my mid-40’s, I feel like I’ve heard it all. And I miss the joy of discovery.