Vinyl

photo credit to The Costumes Institute, The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Long ago, in a basement far, far away, teenaged MC put on an ancient LP to make her conscripted labor pass more quickly. She made a random choice from a pile and was pleasantly surprised to hear perky, big-band saxophones. Imagine her surprise, then, as she watched her mother, the Cranky Sergeant, gasp and drop onto a seat with her hands folded over her bosom. MC looked at Cranky Sergeant expectantly and got this response: "String of Pearls." OK, now we're getting somewhere, thought MC, and she ventured, "Benny Goodman?" Almost disdainful, CS whispered, "Glenn Miller."

In addition to all the other Greatest Generation accomplishments (saving the world, inventing plastic), the taste-makers of the 1940s made some pop-culture choices that have withstood the ravages of time. A torch singer, a good clarinet player, and there you go. It matters somewhat whether Ilsa stays with Rick, but the crucial info is where did Ingrid Bergman get that A-line dress?

In contrast, the taste-makers of MC's glory days have a lot of explaining to do. MC is nudged toward judgments about 70s music because Renaissance Mom is having Vintage Vinyl for her birthday party, and she encourages guests to bring their most meaningful long-playing treasures. In preparation for this geezer-fest, MC hosted a Youtube viewing of "Boogie Wonderland" for C1 and C2. C1 watched with horror as Maurice White gleefully gyrated across the stage in white jumpsuit with a keyhole cutout down to his bellybutton. She answered his grin with a curled lip. C2, however, was smitten by the Emotions' fluttery rainbow capes: she recognized kindred spirits when she saw them. By her second viewing, C1 gave herself over to the kitsch and allowed that, yes, there were some fashion advantages to wearing jeweled belts the size of area rugs.

The morning after, C2 asked if she could hear, again, the music from "the guy who shows his chest." So we did. Again, Maurice gamboled on stage with an entire village of people: an acre of brass players. Another acre of the Emotions and their swoopy capes. People strolling through the frame dressed like Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, if Charlton Heston were African American and his costume were made from gold lame. The effects of high fructose corn syrup were not yet in evidence: these people were skinny, and fashion did not yet require that they be pumped up on steroids. Mostly, though, they were happy. They were not singing an angst-ridden '60s ballad or an angry rap song. They were so happy they twirled their trumpets on their index fingers. So happy they sang the chorus to one another and laughed. So happy they could unselfconsciously sing lyrics like:

Sound fly through the night
I chase my vinyl dreams to boogie wonderland.

What does that mean, really? Obviously, close reading is not the point. Cranky #2 was perhaps the best audience for Earth, Wind, and Fire at 6:30 a.m. Her review? "I like the way they shake their hair. I like them so much that if I listened to them all day I think I would go crazy in my head." She meant crazy in a good way.

MC is confident that she once owned a copy of the 1977 Earth, Wind, and Fire masterpiece All 'N All. If she gains access to the liner notes, she'll give you her thoughts on "Serpentine Fire."
--MC