The South Texas sun beat down on me as I doggy paddled around that massive pool that Summer day many years ago. I'm not exactly sure of the year. Had to be in the early 80's. Likely 1980 or 1981 if I were to guess. I cant even recall why I was at that resort. It was not the sort of place my family would frequent.
Still, by some turn of the universal fate, I found myself floating around in a pool and an ocean of suntan oil, red faced kids, intoxicated middle aged executives and their brown skinned bikini clad wives. Me trying to look as though I fit in. Me sort of chubby, bathing suit too tight because it was purchased two Summers ago, needing a hair cut, and baked a painful red, as I was not the kind of kid that exposed his torso to sunshine very often. A recall being a spectator of sorts. A spectator to this other world of weekending and excess that I had never before seen or been a part of. Amid that flotsam of silky, self and and sun worship, I was a castaway. Alone on an island of natives.
Then like the roll of an approaching thunderstorm, a sound so immediately intoxicating and familiar, hit my water soaked ears. The band.
The sea of natives, with their plastic martini glasses raised, their heads rocking to and fro like strutting chickens, all headed towards the far end of the pool.
I was drawn as if pulled by a Siren song. From my vantage point I could see the band under a large sun shade.
I will never forget how the singer's Strat glistened in the Texas sun. Fiesta red! That wonderful Fender color that has transfixed thousands of would be gun slingers. The lead guitar player behind him with another Strat in Lake Placid Blue. Oh how that was a site to see! As I recall, they ripped through Tommy Tutone's Jenny and launched right into Sultans of Swing. As that rich, Stratocaster, switch position #2, tone poured from the edge of the pool, I knew that I had been changed. Well, I probably did not understand it then but as the years progressed, I always recalled that day at the resort when I first heard the magic.
I am a rare bird I guess. My musical journey has never been guided by glitter and lights. For me, the possibility of stardom as a musician is not something that ever occurred to me. Once I saw that little 4 piece band and how they seemed to capture and control that entire pool of holiday heads, I simply wanted to be in a cover band. I wanted to step up to that microphone and perform that magic. However, for me, like musicians that strive for fame, the quest has been no less consuming.
Now 35 years on (or more really) from the realization that I wanted to be on stage, the excitement and anticipation of experiencing the moments of magic is as strong as ever. I suppose that was a calling of sorts. Somehow the universe put me in the right place and the rightest of times. The opening of chord of Sultans still floors me. After singing Jenny's phone number thousands of times, I still get a chill when those weekenders sing along.
I'm a lucky bird really. I have had a Lake Placid Strat and one in Fiesta red as well. My little bands have channelled the magic many times. Today, as I sit and look at one of the Statocasters that is passing through my life, I cant help but think about that kid bobbing around in that pool that day on Padre Island. He is still there, with his arms over the edge of the pool, trying to look as though he belongs, watching and listening, waiting for his next day under that umbrella.
Still, by some turn of the universal fate, I found myself floating around in a pool and an ocean of suntan oil, red faced kids, intoxicated middle aged executives and their brown skinned bikini clad wives. Me trying to look as though I fit in. Me sort of chubby, bathing suit too tight because it was purchased two Summers ago, needing a hair cut, and baked a painful red, as I was not the kind of kid that exposed his torso to sunshine very often. A recall being a spectator of sorts. A spectator to this other world of weekending and excess that I had never before seen or been a part of. Amid that flotsam of silky, self and and sun worship, I was a castaway. Alone on an island of natives.
Then like the roll of an approaching thunderstorm, a sound so immediately intoxicating and familiar, hit my water soaked ears. The band.
The sea of natives, with their plastic martini glasses raised, their heads rocking to and fro like strutting chickens, all headed towards the far end of the pool.
I was drawn as if pulled by a Siren song. From my vantage point I could see the band under a large sun shade.
I will never forget how the singer's Strat glistened in the Texas sun. Fiesta red! That wonderful Fender color that has transfixed thousands of would be gun slingers. The lead guitar player behind him with another Strat in Lake Placid Blue. Oh how that was a site to see! As I recall, they ripped through Tommy Tutone's Jenny and launched right into Sultans of Swing. As that rich, Stratocaster, switch position #2, tone poured from the edge of the pool, I knew that I had been changed. Well, I probably did not understand it then but as the years progressed, I always recalled that day at the resort when I first heard the magic.
I am a rare bird I guess. My musical journey has never been guided by glitter and lights. For me, the possibility of stardom as a musician is not something that ever occurred to me. Once I saw that little 4 piece band and how they seemed to capture and control that entire pool of holiday heads, I simply wanted to be in a cover band. I wanted to step up to that microphone and perform that magic. However, for me, like musicians that strive for fame, the quest has been no less consuming.
Now 35 years on (or more really) from the realization that I wanted to be on stage, the excitement and anticipation of experiencing the moments of magic is as strong as ever. I suppose that was a calling of sorts. Somehow the universe put me in the right place and the rightest of times. The opening of chord of Sultans still floors me. After singing Jenny's phone number thousands of times, I still get a chill when those weekenders sing along.
I'm a lucky bird really. I have had a Lake Placid Strat and one in Fiesta red as well. My little bands have channelled the magic many times. Today, as I sit and look at one of the Statocasters that is passing through my life, I cant help but think about that kid bobbing around in that pool that day on Padre Island. He is still there, with his arms over the edge of the pool, trying to look as though he belongs, watching and listening, waiting for his next day under that umbrella.
