I grew up listening to rock and roll, and later added country music, folk, and classical. I love music of almost every type.
Heck, I still remember a night at the University of Arkansas' Spring Fling where Vertis, my date and soon-to-be wife, and I danced to the music of Chuck Berry as he played "Maybelline," and then when he roared back with "Johnny B. Goode," I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. I couldn't imagine listening to anything but rock and roll.
Things changed after Vertis and I got married and moved to south Texas where I worked for Exxon. We traded the hills and woods of northwest Arkansas for mesquite plains, but little did we know we were also about to have our music preferences changed. We lived in Kingsville and I worked on the King Ranch as a geologist. It wasn't just the land and location that was different, it was the music.
We had just arrived when we found out that famed classical guitarist Carlos Montoya was going to be in concert at the college. Well, my mother had drilled classical music into me by making me go to the community concert series in El Dorado, so we got tickets to hear Carlos Montoya. I still remember being mesmerized by his playing.
Then, a few weeks later, one of the guys I worked with mentioned Earnest Tubb and the Texas Troubadours were going to be playing at Hubert's Danceland in Ricardo, a little town about 20 miles south of Kingsville. With very little else to do and not much money, we decided to go. All I knew was he played something called Texas swing. Shoot, I figured for a $5 cover charge, we could hear a concert. It was just a night out.
Thank goodness we both had on jeans, or we would have really looked out of place in that huge dance hall filled with what looked like the cast of the movie Giant. The big hall looked a little strange because all the tables were around the sides, and there wasn't any seating in the main area. We settled in and about 8 p.m. the Texas Troubadours took the stage, and as Tubb stepped up to the mic, everybody stood up.
I was thinking we were going to give the Troubadours a warm welcome, but that wasn't it at all. As I looked around I could see guys and gals pairing up, and at the very first beat of one of his hits, "I'm Walking the Floor Over You," the entire crowd except for Vertis and me started doing the Texas two-step.
But what I thought was even more remarkable was that the crowd looked as if they were the Radio City Rockettes as they danced and moved counter-clockwise around the dance floor. A continuous flow of dancers passed our table as they circled the floor, and when he finished the set with "Daddy, When is Mommy Coming Home," country music had us hooked.
That introduction to country music sent us to other dance halls around aouth Texas, and as we drove on those flat plains heading for places like Big Bend or Matamoros at 100 mph, it seemed the stations all played some variety of country music. However, as we went to Libya and then returned two years later to Corpus Christi, we were introduced to another brand of it.
A few years after we returned from Libya, I sat up in bed and said to Vertis. "I'm going to run for state representative against Leroy Weiting." That ended up giving us a dose of Latino, Tejano, and Banda dance-hall music because the south Texas district I was trying to represent was heavily Latino and as the race got going, I was endorsed by almost all of the Latino organizations.
On a Friday or Saturday night the dance halls were where large numbers of potential voters congregated, and they played a totally different kind of music. I can still hear some of it, and I think some of my hearing loss comes from that immersion in those music halls where the bands were blaring out heavy on the percussion.
The race was a lot tighter than most folks thought would it be since I was running against a 20-year political veteran. The next morning the final results came in and out of more than 35,000 votes, I had lost by 122.
My next move into music came as I got tired of Vertis going to choir practice every Wednesday night, leaving me home with the kids. I decided to join the church choir. Vertis tried to discourage me, but the choir leader said to give me a tone-deaf test to see if I was choir material.
I passed the test, but it took a few years in the choir for me to stop embarrassing Vertis. Today, if I am standing with a good bass by my side, I can at least contribute. I don't read music per se, but when I see the notes at least I know whether to sing higher or lower.
But over the years, I have realized how much music means to the lives of everyone. Vertis and I have found that after a busy day, sitting on our couch in the living room with something to sip on and listening to music is an excellent way to unwind.
Over the years, after stringing speaker wires all over the house, hooking them up to speakers larger than a small child, and then coughing up the dough to buy CDs, I've found there is a better way to bring quality music to any room or yard in the house or out by the pond where we sit in good weather.
It's technology at its best with a speaker small enough to fit in my pocket as I walk to the living room or outside with my iPad. There are several music Internet music channels you can join, and believe me, it is such a jump from turntables, CDs and speakers that it is hard to believe. One minute we can listen to Joan Baez sing "Hard Times" and when it's Vertis' pick just a touch will bring jazz at Lincoln Center to our backyard.
I was El Dorado's MusicFest chairman for five years and sat through a three-hour production of the full Messiah sung in German in Zurich, Switzerland. In between I took in Charlie Daniels and Joan Jett, and enjoyed every performance. I can't imagine life without music.
Email Richard Mason at richard@gibraltarenergy.com.
Editorial on 09/22/2019