a 70's vibe and golden years remixed

“The artist is still a little like the old court jester. He's supposed to speak his vicious paradoxes with some sense in them, but he isn't part of whatever the fabric is that makes a nation.”.... william faulkner

“The artist is still a little like the old court jester. He’s supposed to speak his vicious paradoxes with some sense in them, but he isn’t part of whatever the fabric is that makes a nation.”…. william faulkner

i started to name this post “that 70’s vibe” and then i realized i didn’t want to tailgate on “that 70’s show” so i engaged in pentimento.

i remember the 1970’s from a middle america perspective. i grew up in a small town in illinois then moved to suburban chicago in 1972. i had already unleashed some demons within, if only to keep from going completely crazy from the inside out. i had to grow up long before a 12 year old should and did the very best i could to rage against every machine i encountered because of it. i was different, i was picked on, i was the butt of jokes, and i was damned if anybody was gonna know that it hurt like hell.

with the move to chicago, came the freedom to get lost in the crowd which also afforded me the luxury of testing all sorts of boundaries and saying “yes” to pleasure as often as i could. over use and addiction were almost an antidote to the unspeakable  and immeasurable malcontent that oozed from every fiber of my being, all the while i was wrapped in a teenage colored celophane which crinkled loudly whenever jostled and was distorted in transparency. in other words- prolly borderline.

i didn't choose the beginning of my journey- it chose me.. but these later years, these golden years have made it all worthwhile... rod rushing

i didn’t choose the beginning of my journey- it chose me..
but these later years, these golden years have made it all worthwhile… rod rushing

i steeped in the psychedelic  joie de vivre and mirror ball-ed laissez-faire of that decade. high waisted double pleated baggies, low-rise hip huggers, nik nik shirts, nylon everything, platform shoes, the beginnings of integration, the newness of gay liberation, the onset of disco, the burgeoning fanfare of punk, the smooth slick sound of rhythm and blues and soul, the electronic bubble thoughts that disco helped us dream, the techno tryst of kraftwerk , the re-awakening of art deco and art nouveau, and the sexual liberation of america as exampled by the new york dolls, warhol, the velvet underground,  david bowie, elton john, liza, and peter allen . for me that time was bold and rich and fragrant, peppered with glitter and guitars, with the perfect balance of resistance and acceptance which shook the foundation of the board rooms and city councils to their core.

i was lost and had no idea where i was, much like alice must have been after she slipped down the rabbit hole. i don’t regret it. i don’t covet it either. i am incredibly grateful for the best of times which led to the worst of times that indeed followed. and just like the timeless dickens novel that opens with the same words as this sentence, my time here has become more value-filled as it ages, while the naivete of youth laces my story with unfettered curiousity and a fearless search for freedom.  and in keeping with that classic tale, many many trials and tribulations stormed the neighborhood before any semblance of peace would be tasted.

bowie images borrowed from bowie oap bus pass blog

bowie images borrowed from bowie oap bus pass blog

again, many thanks to the universe for believing in me when i couldn’t nor wouldn’t do such a thing for myself. these are no doubt the golden years now.

“Golden Years”

Golden years, gold, whop, whop, whop
Golden years, gold, whop, whop, whop
Golden years, gold, whop, whop, whop Don’t let me hear you say life’s
taking you nowhere,
angelCome get up my baby
Look at that sky, life’s begun
Nights are warm and the days are young
Come get up my babyThere’s my baby lost that’s all
Once I’m begging
you save her little soul
Golden years, gold, whop, whop, whop
Come get up my baby

Last night they loved you,
opening doors
and pulling some strings, angel
Come get up my baby
In walked luck and you looked in time
Never look back, walk tall,
act fine
Come get up my baby

I’ll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop
Come get up my baby

Some of these days, and it won’t be long
Gonna drive back down
where you once belonged
In the back of a dream car
twenty foot long
Don’t cry my sweet,
don’t break my heart
Doing all right,
but you gotta get smart
Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day, I believe oh lord
I believe all the way
Come get up my baby

Don’t let me hear you say life’s
taking you nowhere,
angel

Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows
Run for the shadows in these golden years

I’ll stick with you baby for a thousand years
Nothing’s gonna touch you in these golden years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop 

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