CARLTON FLETCHER: Honoring the music that matters

Look what they’ve done to my song, Ma.

— Melanie

I was riding along the other day, thinking about maybe 254 things at once, when Don Henley’s “End of the Innocence” came on Rock 105, the best radio station this area’s ever had. (Full disclosure: I play a vinyl album each week on the station’s “Saturday Night Rock Show.”)

In the next few what turned out to be glorious minutes, as I pushed those myriad thoughts away and focused on the music, I heard Damien Rice’s “Delicate,” Lucinda Williams’ “Pineola,” Lyle Lovett and His Large Band’s “Nobody Knows Me Like My Baby,” and Disturbed’s amazing cover of Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence.”

(Where else, I pause to ask, would you find a playlist like that?)

As these songs washed over me, relieving me at least momentarily of the concerns that make life hard to bear at times, I came to a realization: We don’t take the time to enjoy, to savor, to appreciate — yes, to honor — the music that’s such a big part of our lives.

I don’t think I know such people, but I’ve heard of individuals who don’t like music, who have no use for it. I just haven’t been able to wrap my mind around that. Sure, we all have our favorite pastimes and activities, but I can’t imagine doing any of the things I love without music. Whether it’s work, outings with friends and family, or just quietly chilling around the house, music is always part of the equation for me.

(An aside: My favorite song all-time is Pearl Jam’s “Black” … after that, there are about 739 next-favorites. I always like knowing others’ top song list and will generally work that question into conversations that last more than 16 minutes.)

There was a simpler time, when about the only way fans were introduced to new music was through radio airplay. I don’t want to turn this into a nostalgia fest, but that was a pretty cool time. Which is rather ironic because today, with the technology available, you can listen to pretty much any song ever recorded on your computer or even on your cellphone.

That kind of access was undreamed-of not so long ago, and it certainly puts any song you want to hear at your fingertips around the clock. But maybe that’s the reason we don’t honor the music that means so much to us now. Perhaps the 24/7 access takes a little of the special out of hearing a song that you maybe haven’t thought of in a long time. (That happened to me a couple of weeks ago when I heard JJ Cale’s “Crazy Mama” for the first time in decades. It was like seeing a beloved old friend after a prolonged absence.)

I believe the biggest problem with radio these days is that most stations are programmed by some bean-counting suit sitting in a corporate office somewhere who has no interest in expanding beyond a playlist of 20 to 50 songs. The bad of such a format is twofold: 1) It denies the opportunity to hear new artists or new material by established artists, and 2) it takes those songs that were once “special” to hear and makes them pretty much mundane, ordinary.

But corporate radio says keep the playlist to a minimum, don’t worry about new stuff and let the “experts” handle the programming. That’s why you hear the same 20-30 songs you hear on most local stations in pretty much any other part of the country you might visit.

What I’ve decided to do, though, is to honor these songs that mean so much to me — Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” Henry Gross’ “Southern Band,” The Beatles “Rain,” Neil Young’s “Requiem for the Rockets,” Aretha Franklin’s “Spanish Harlem,” Dylan’s “Thunder on the Mountain,” Incubus’ “Warmth,” Monroe Brown’s “Sink Low” … to celebrate (I’ll keep that to myself, not out loud … that would be weird) each time I hear them.

Yes, I’ll listen to some of them on YouTube or whatever other option is available, but when I do — to help me get through a moment or to stop things from spinning out of control — I’ll savor the moment. And I’ll silently thank the musicians for their art once again.

Contact Carlton Fletcher at [email protected]. Follow him on Twitter @ABH_Fletcher.