Taxes, Death and Trouble
I don't recollect much music at my grandmother's house, which always contrasted with all the music in the car on the ride from Seattle to Wenatchee. My parents played lots of Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young, Emmylou Harris and Joni Mitchell, oldies and classic rock radio. But the stereo at Grandma's house? I can't hear it in my memory, and certainly can't remember her ever turning it on.
One summer, nearing thirteen, I looked through her music collection for something to listen to. A small collection of cassettes were perfectly arranged on a living room bookshelf, and the sound system was dusted to a gleam that suggested sacred inviolability, not frequent use. I didn't recognize any of the performers then, but I must have registered their names, because years later I would encounter a flash of recognition when I was re-introduced to the likes of Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline.
For my grandmother, the place for music was church -- I can remember trying to hum along as she sang "Nearer My God to Thee" at the local baptist congregation. A stubborn survivor of the twentieth century, she smiled and laughed openly, honestly and often, but I only ever heard her sing hymns and I never got to see her dance -- yet she must have swung with rhythm in her time. My sadness is having missed it.
Towards the end of what promised to be the last ride over the pass to see my grandmother tonight, my mom and I talked about about family history while listening to Gram Parsons. Her hope is to find a bluegrass band for a proper send-off, one which can do justice to standards like "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." The suggestion triggered me to remember George Jones as having appeared most frequently in that neat row of tapes I once perused.
Will the Circle Be Unbroken by George Jones
Thanks, grandma.
One summer, nearing thirteen, I looked through her music collection for something to listen to. A small collection of cassettes were perfectly arranged on a living room bookshelf, and the sound system was dusted to a gleam that suggested sacred inviolability, not frequent use. I didn't recognize any of the performers then, but I must have registered their names, because years later I would encounter a flash of recognition when I was re-introduced to the likes of Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline.
For my grandmother, the place for music was church -- I can remember trying to hum along as she sang "Nearer My God to Thee" at the local baptist congregation. A stubborn survivor of the twentieth century, she smiled and laughed openly, honestly and often, but I only ever heard her sing hymns and I never got to see her dance -- yet she must have swung with rhythm in her time. My sadness is having missed it.
Towards the end of what promised to be the last ride over the pass to see my grandmother tonight, my mom and I talked about about family history while listening to Gram Parsons. Her hope is to find a bluegrass band for a proper send-off, one which can do justice to standards like "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." The suggestion triggered me to remember George Jones as having appeared most frequently in that neat row of tapes I once perused.
Will the Circle Be Unbroken by George Jones
Thanks, grandma.
