SUMMER’S ALMOST GONE

Summer’s almost gone.  Do you know this song?  From "Waiting For The Sun"?

"Waiting For The Sun" is the forgotten Doors album.  It was the one within
which they couldn’t decide who they were.  Whether they were hitmakers or
iconoclastic outsiders.  The first record had contained the unforeseen hit "Light My
Fire" (EVERYTHING’S unforeseen before you release your first album.)  But
really, that first record is a dark masterpiece.  As if you stumbled into a
German beer hall sat down amongst California hippies and they started telling their
stories.

California had a different image in the late sixties.  A certain darkness. 
But at this distance it’s not clear whether the Doors were part of the milieu
or they CREATED the milieu.  This was not the Beach Boys.  It’s like someone
lifted the carpet and there was this band playing under the rug.  Reporting what
was going on down there.  Not that they were stuck there.  One listen to "The
Crystal Ship" let you know although they might be stationary, the band was
traveling in their minds.  And you wanted to go on this adventure.

The piece de resistance, of course, was "The End".  So different from what
was out there that it’s still fresh today.

But the follow-up, "Strange Days", although not without peaks, seemed to be a
repeat of the formula.  "When The Music’s Over" had the length of "The End",
but only a fraction of its impact.  And there was no hit.

But then there was "Hello, I Love You".  It would be like "System Of A Down"
working with Max Martin.  It was TOO catchy.  It was GOOD, but…

And it seemed that the longest cut on "Waiting For The Sun", the album that
led off with "Hello, I Love You", was EXCISED!  The lyrics were inside the
gatefold, but the song was not on the record.  And there was still a modicum of
darkness, but none of the same existential peaks.  "Waiting For The Sun" was a
return to sales form, but it was an artistic disappointment.  Yet I purchased
it, because I’d bought the first two albums.  I’d had a special experience with
the first record.  Involving a wild afternoon with some girls.  Well, not by
today’s definition of "wild", it was more of a cerebral event.  Which is what
the Doors’ music was at the time anyway.

So I know every note of "Waiting For The Sun".  And three weeks ago when the
weather began changing "Summer’s Almost Gone" started running through my
brain.  I’d walk outside my front door and it would be sunny, it’s always sunny in
Southern California, but I didn’t feel the heat on my skin.  The sun wasn’t at
the same angle.  And there was this briskness in the air.  And the days were
getting shorter.

And then there was the night I woke up cold.  Summer was almost gone.

In the middle of summer you don’t have to rush.  There’s enough time to do
everything.  But, if you don’t get started early in fall, certainly in the
winter, you run out of daylight.  And it’s creepy.  Especially for someone like me,
who is not an early starter.

Not that fall in Southern California is like fall on the east coast, where I
grew up.  Fall in SoCal heralds nothing.  You don’t have to change your
clothing.  Snow is not in the offing.  Maybe occasional rain, but the temperature
only drops ten degrees.  Yet, it’s different.  No one goes to the beach anymore.
Everyone’s back in school.  You feel your life slipping through your
fingers.  Another year dead and gone.  What to do with the remaining time?  Do you grab hold, or just cruise?

EASY ROLLIN’

One could argue that the Young Rascals were the east coast precursors to the
Doors.  They had this certain grittiness.  Their singles held no compromise. 
And they had a certain bit of that Southern California sunniness, the one that
emerged in "Hello, I love You".  "Groovin’" was almost schmaltzy, but you
couldn’t resist it.  You couldn’t resist the first three Young Rascals albums. 
Not the first with "I Ain’t Gonna Eat Out My Heart Anymore", not "Collections"
with "Come On Up", "What Is The Reason", "Too Many Fish In The Sea" and "Love
Is A Beautiful Thing", nor the third, "Groovin’", with not only the title
track but "A Girl Like You" and "How Can I Be Sure".  With that kind of track
record you had to buy the next album as soon as it was released, before you heard
a single note.

And that’s how I gained possession of "Once Upon A Dream".  The album that
cured me of my Rascals addiction.

Yes, they’d changed the name.  They’d grown up.  They had pretensions.  They
were somehow SELF-CONSCIOUS after making this music that seemed to come
directly from their guts rather than their minds.

I kept playing "Once Upon A Dream" waiting for it to reveal itself.  I
fingered the cover, the black inner sleeve, in an era when Atlantic still advertised
other albums on the paper pocket holding the record.

Then I had to give up.  I just didn’t get it.

Oh, I got the marginal hit "It’s Wonderful".  A trifle compared to the hits
that came before.  And I also got "Easy Rollin’".

1968 was the year of transition.  Not only to FM, but to STEREO!

Yes, prior to this we’d played our albums on little boxes.  With heavy
tonearms.  But, like the Internet revolution the stereo revolution swept the
country.  If you had a TURNTABLE and some decent speakers you could hear things in the records, little stuff that made you feel part of a special club, that would
ELATE YOU!

"Easy Rollin’"’s got a great groove.  But what truly puts it over the top is
the SOUND!  You could HEAR the acoustic guitar.  The organ had texture.  And
the BREATHS!  The AHHS!  The MMMS!  The birds in the background.  It was a
whole ENVIRONMENT!  It was MAGICAL!

You’ve got to picture it.  I’m fifteen.  It’s not like I never touched a
girl, never kissed a girl, but I won’t say I lived a life of fulfillment.  I was
not the most popular boy in the class, far from it.  I was not captain of the
football team.  I knew a couple of cheerleaders, but they didn’t/wouldn’t hang
with me.  Oh, I might get a word or two in class, but that was IT!  Although I
was interacting with people all day, really I was living in a bubble.  A rock
and roll bubble.

Easy rollin’, ain’t no need to hurry at all
It’s just a special mornin’ when I wake yawnin’
And sun is shinin’
I feel like I’ve been dreamin’ and freelance schemin’
On colored rainbows

I didn’t get to bed last night until just before the sun came up.  At that
hour EVERYTHING you read seems interesting.

And I finally caught up on a week’s worth of sleep.

But when I woke up…  Much of the day had already passed.

I checked my e-mail and then sat down at the kitchen table for a late
lunch/breakfast.

There was no music playing.  I was reading the New York and Los Angeles
"Times".  There’s a whole world out there.  You kind of forget.  You get wrapped up
in your own life.  Even on the Internet…that’s an alternative universe,
CYBERSPACE, where everybody can afford a computer, where everybody ELSE is
removed from what’s going on.  I’m basking in what sunshine is left, pouring through the dining room windows.  I’m groovin’.  And then a song starts playing in my head.  "Easy Rollin’".

It’s kind of like going to a restaurant.  No longer how good the special
sounds, you’ve got to go with your gut.  Even if you’ve had chicken the night
before, if it feels right now you’ve got to get it, or else you won’t be happy. 
My iPod was on Poco.  But I FORCED myself to dial in "Easy Rollin’".  I knew
something else would sound GOOD, but nothing else would RESONATE!

I’m livin’ a dream a minute, deep down within it
My life’s a flower
I think that I wouldn’t change or rearrange
A single hour

I thought back to high school.  I thought back to who I used to be.

I wasn’t reflecting, it was part of a CONTINUUM.  It was STILL ME!

We grow older, but people only shed their skin.  You take who you are, your
history, EVERYWHERE!

It’s how you square it with reality, what’s happening now.

I want to stop time.  Give summer a few extra months.  I want to go back to
the east coast and not only examine my roots, but live them!  Go back and see
all those people.  Feel that nip in the air.  Stay home all afternoon and read
a book while the thunder cracks and the rain comes pouring down.

You realize at some point you’re closer to the end than the beginning.  The
values you held, your world view, they’ve been usurped by a new reality.  You
want constancy.

You find it in one place.  Those great old records.