Last fall--specifically on 22 October, if one wants to scroll through this blog to find it--I posted an Album of the Week "sermon" that I had written the previous fall and had only posted on Facebook ("One From the Vault!"). In it, I talked about what can only be described as a spiritual connection to music as well as to much-loved relatives no longer on this plane of existence. When I randomly hear certain pieces of music, I frequently get the feeling that I'm being haunted by the ghost of a dead relative--in a nice way, as if they're just checking in or as a signal of encouragement. Perhaps they're just letting me know that they are okay. I don't get that feeling if I play those songs intentionally. They have to happen randomly, like on the radio. I have to assume that, in a population of 8,000,000,000 people, I can't be the only person who experiences this.
While having dinner at a pub in Edinburgh, Scotland, in April of 2001, I got the distinct impression that my late grandmother was hanging out. In December of 2016, I felt like my dad, who had died that spring, was checking out Reggie's Rock Club in Chicago just before the Mr. T Experience show. And of course, as I documented, there was that incident with Mom in October of 2023. But recent family events and get togethers, for one reason or another, have caused me to focus on one of these supernatural visits that's had a lasting impression on me... and my taste in music.
Most of my appreciation for and taste in music was acquired from my parents. They were always playing music at home and in the car. And a tremendous variety of it too. Rock, country, folk, classical, opera, jazz, blues, soul--I learned to love it all (even the occasional bit of disco). But I often don't feel like I give enough credit to my late uncle, Frantz, for his contribution to my music listening habits.
Whenever I would visit Aunt Gayle and Uncle Frantz as a teenager, I could invariably be found sitting in front of this elaborate stereo setup under a set of headphones making my own mix-tapes (see enclosed picture of me playing DJ)--I even still have a few of them. Uncle Frantz and I had similar taste in music and he was quick to point out new CDs he'd acquired since the last time we'd seen each other. He introduced me to the likes of ZZ Top, Pink Floyd, Linda Ronstadt, Meat Loaf, and Eric Clapton. He also broadened my appreciation of blues music with some choice selections from the Chicago-based Alligator Records label.
We agreed on most things, but there was one artist on which we disagreed...
"Man, c'mon, I had a rough night, and I hate the fuckin' Eagles, man!"
--Jeff Bridges as Jeffrey "The Dude" Lebowski, The Big Lebowski, 1998
Uncle Frantz, for reasons I never understood when I was in my teens (or my twenties... or even my early thirties, come to think of it), adored the music of The Eagles. I never did. I probably admired them as musicians and songwriters--I do make a distinction between what I like and what I think is good. But, apart from "Take It Easy," I just didn't like their music for one reason or another. Whenever one of their songs came on the radio, especially 1973's "Desperado," I would sometimes violently switch to another station. In hindsight, I can't understand that reaction. I mean, sure, I didn't like it, but it wasn't as bad as Supertramp or that God-awful Jardiance jingle!
When Uncle Frantz died in 2005, I was asked to put together a disc of some of his favourite music to play when everyone was gathered at the house after the memorial service. I actually assembled two discs. I even went so far as to include two Eagles songs--"Desperado" and "Hotel California." I even put Linda Ronstadt's version of "Desperado" on it. In spite of the Elvis SNAFU (which is a long story), I'm still quite proud of those mixes.
After that, I was reminded of him every time I heard one of their songs on the radio. Before too long, I stopped changing the radio station when they would stoop to playing an Eagles song. And every time this happened, I would find myself muttering under my breath, "That crazy old coot's gonna turn me into an Eagles fan yet!"
In 2009, I had what I've described as my second mid-life crisis, left Bloomington, and headed north to less humid climes. At Aunt Gayle's suggestion, I moved into the lower level of her house which for years had served as Uncle Frantz's office. Moving in was a chore and a half. I had rented a moving truck that was too short. Technically speaking, I was between jobs with no money coming in and I was hemorrhaging what little money I had in moving expenses. I was discarding pieces of furniture left and right because of the size of the truck and I was going to have to make another trip to finish the job. I was stressed out, pissed off, and rapidly becoming broke.
While driving north in a too short moving truck, a song came on the radio that just seemed to fit the moment. Of course, it had to be The Eagles and their 1975 hit "Take It to the Limit." With tears streaming down my face, I got the distinct impression that Uncle Frantz was in the truck with me, advising me to do exactly what the song was suggesting and giving me his blessing to move into his old office.
In the years since, I have acquired every studio album they ever recorded, two live albums, and a 2-disc "Best of" compilation. What do you know? That crazy old coot DID turn me into an Eagles fan. I still haven't decided whether or not to forgive him for it. I just hope and pray that the same thing doesn't happen with John Denver.
This week's album is my favourite of The Eagles, primarily because it features "Take It to the Limit." But I actually like the rest of it too. I also think it had the coolest cover art of all their albums. Originally released in 1975 and their last album to feature bandmember Bernie Leadon, this week, please enjoy One of These Nights.
Until next week, stay safe, be good to your neighbours, and please remember that if at first you don't succeed, then skydiving definitely isn't for you.
Yours in peace, love, and rock and roll!
The Reverend Will the Thrill
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