When I was a kid I had great passion for music, horrendous taste in music and a very limited allowance. Thus I had only a few albums and I played them to death.
Mothers, do not let this happen to your children.
In 1970, my record album collection consisted of "Tracy" by The Cufflinks, More of the Monkees (a first communion present in 1967), The Partridge Family's first album and Bobby Sherman's near classic "Here Comes Bobby" and "With Love, Bobby."
Harry Chapin, Joni Mitchell, Crosby Stills Nash & Young, CCR and Jim Croce were just around the corner with an allowance hike, but for much of those three apparently seminal years, one or more of these platters spun on my hi-fi every day.
I also had some Archie's singles cut out from the back of boxes of Sugar Crisp, but their shelf life was mericfully brief (and it probably didn't help that I cut them out with pinking shears).
My collection was a worst of bad music thrown together by hastily assembled studio teams on a one-week turnaround (I found a web site recently explaining that Ron Dante, the voice of the Archies, was also the voice of all the vocals for The Cufflinks and four songs on that album were assembled in one day).
While their investment was minimal, I've been carrying this stuff around in my head now for 35 years now. They dubbed it bubblegum because it sticks.
I may not remember where I parked my car half the time, but not only can I sing every lyric from every one of those albums... they pop in unbidden with full tinny speaker sound and stay longer than a distant counsin at Christmas.
I'm currently attending a conference where the majority of the participants are female, every one of them wearing a nametag and every fourth one with a song about her in that collection.
"Heather ties her hair with golden daff-fo-dils, and her eyes reflect the sunshine of the sea. Heather smiles and tells me that she's feeling fine, but Heather's silent tears are always crying" (Cufflinks)
"Mary, Mary tell me truly, what did I do to make you leave me. Whatever it was I didn't mean to. You know I never would try to hurt you.." (Monkees - I've yet to run into a Grizelda, but Peter Tork's tune pops up nonetheless).
Julies evoke not only Bobby's big question about whether she loved him, but the Cufflinks "When Julie comes around and sings her happy song of summer and lifts my spririts up and fills my foolish mind with wonder. She smiles a gentle smile and suddenly I get that feeling and then -- I'm inside out with love cuz Julie's come around again."
There is not enough Advil in the world.
The only way an earworm leaves is when its replacement arrives, so the battle of the Julies only dispapears when the woman across the table at lunch with a neutral name is from Albequerque evoking David Cassidy's most poignant croon.
"Walked her to the station and kissed away the tears
Knowing I'd remember through all the coming years
Ragdoll on that Greyhound who waved with all her might
Weeped against the window as the bus rolled out of sight
Point me in the direction of Albequerque."
While there is a great deal of music I know and love, this is currently looping on my internal eight-track as the anti-inspiration for this blog.
The conference is done for the day and I'm meeting up with one of my favorite old friends. There are margaritas on the near horizon.
I've never been one to drown my sorrows, but drowning an earworm is a worthy goal.





Copyright 2006 Judi Griggs