I love rock and roll. The harder, the better. Most people who know me know this. I’m a headbanger, a metalhead. Megadeth, Slayer, Anthrax–I listen to those when I’m in a pissy mood. My tastes in hard rock range from the melodic (think Foo Fighters, Goo Goo Dolls) to “cock rock” (Disturbed, Five Finger Death Punch) to the artistic (Tool, Nine Inch Nails). I also have a soft-spot for 80’s hair bands (Mötley Crüe, Ratt) and blues (Delta blues, specifically, rarely Chicago blues).
What a lot of people don’t know about me is that I also love, love, LOVE doo wop music. I’ve always loved the whole vibe of the 50’s/60’s–from ponytails and bobby socks to poodle skirts and saddle shoes. I can’t think of a better time to grow up than in the 1950’s/60’s. I’d have loved to have been a teen then.
And the cars! Oh my god, the cars! I look around now and I see teens driving little Hondas and Hyundais, with big tires and low carriages, neon lights underneath, tinted windows. They sit at lights and rev their little lawnmower engines, their seats so far back they may as well be sitting in the back seat, leaning over so far to look “cool” that it’s almost like they’re sitting in the middle of the car instead of the driver’s seat.
That ain’t cool. Cool is a ’69 Camaro, a ’65 Mustang, a ’57 Chevy Bel Air. No plastic bodies on those, just sleek styling and a big-ass sound. They don’t make cars like that anymore. My dad had a ’57 Chevy Bel Air coupe (haha, in fact, my parents often told me I was conceived in the backseat;) It was two-tone, turquoise and white. He loved that damn car. I never saw it; he sold it when my mom got pregnant with me and bought a 1963 Mercury Comet. THAT car I remember. It was black with a red interior. I remember the big old steering wheel and the shiny leather seats, the way it smelled and the way it sounded. I don’t remember what year my dad finally got another car, but he was so adamant that nobody else own that car after him that he had it scrapped–and took pictures of the entire process of its demise.
My first car was a maroon red 1975 Mustang that my grandfather gave me as a graduation gift. Granted, a ’75 Mustang wasn’t really anything special, but to me it was everything. To me, it imagined itself to be a 64 1/2 ‘stang, and it gave me the freedom I had been yearning for. I got it with 150,000 miles on it, and I put another 150k on it before I was through with it.
I remember the last time I drove that car–I pulled into the local convenience store, and there were two little boys sitting outside the store, maybe 10 or 11 years old. As I started the car when I was leaving, I heard one of them say, “Man, that car sounds AWESOME!” I smiled a bittersweet grin when I drove away, even though the rumble of the exhaust was really just a hole in the rusting muffler.
They were right, though. That car sounded AWESOME!
Haha, well this post went a bit wonky, didn’t it? From music to muscle cars to memories! I have to say, though, while I would have loved to have grown up in the 50’s/60’s…I would, of course, wish to have modern tech;)