We hit the road a couple of days ago. The first driving marathon since before the pandemic. I can still do a 12-hour stint, though I don't advise that for anyone. But when the temps in the Central Vally are three digits and there is a good bed awaiting you in the next state over, nice to know it's still doable.
From Portland to the California line is a beautiful stretch. Still very green this time of year, but also showing the scars of last year's awful wildfires in parts. Somewhere between Cottage Grove and Roseburg a melancholy song came on the radio. It was Dinah Washington's version of "I Got It Bad and That Ain't Good." I was reminded of how smooth and distinct her voice was. Katie asked if that was Billie Holiday and I said that while that was certainly a good guess, I thought it was Dinah Washington because there are subtle differences. I wouldn't be surprised if Billie recorded a version of the same tune because it's definitely in her wheelhouse to sing a song about abuse. But Dinah, it was and then I got to thinking. There was, at first, something incongruous about listening to this performance and looking at the beautiful countryside outside my window. It was a very urban song, in a very rural setting. Or was it? It then occurred to me that hearing this recording in the middle of the year 2021 while passing small town after small town in Oregon was a tribute to both the tune and its iconic singer. It suddenly felt great to realize that future generations will stop and wonder about that beautiful and rare voice. Dinah Washington will always be here. Even in smalltown Southern Oregon.
Maybe all this nostalgia is the result of the pandemic or a sign of coming out of it. It reminded me too about that special phenomenon of hearing a particular piece of music in a particular kind of environment. I used to love it when I had Bluegrass music playing in my car and I"d be driving through East Oakland. Or Shubert playing as I exited the high school faculty parking lot. Hank Williams often accompanied me through a Chicano barrio, or some Chicago blues or a Delta blues master wailing as I drove to an alpine lake. We make these soundtracks, and then use them repeatedly to make other meanings.
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