Ch. 14: “Reverend Blue Jeans”
And other cool tunes no self-respecting black man should like this much. Plus my second confession.
Is there anything more powerful in creating memories for a person than the music he grew up with? Music has played a profoundly indelible role in shaping my evolution as an angry black man. And believe it or not, it all goes back to Neil Diamond. Yes. That Neil Diamond.
It was a sunny autumn day when my mom drove my brother and me to Solvang, CA. Solvang is a small, Danish village about 45 minutes north of Santa Barbara along Highway 101. On the drive, she stuck in her “Variety Pack” 8-track tape of hit love songs. (For those of you not old enough to know what an 8-track tape is, imagine a small VHS tape, but for music instead of videos, and with only 8 tracks of music. If you’re too young to know what a VHS tape is, it was what we had before DVDs. Well, technically, they were right before LaserDiscs, and then, came DVDs. Fuck it! They’re old.)
Anyway, the songs of that 8-track tape filled my young, sensitive soul with an effervescent feeling of joy and warmth. Karen Carpenter told me to sing out loud and strong, no matter if it wasn’t good enough for anyone else to hear (I actually still take that advice during most showers). She also helped me understand why Jennifer in the second grade always used to blow me kisses or chase me during recess — she wanted to be close to me.)
Barry Manilow was the first one to write a song. In fact, he WAS music. His songs made the whole world sing (including a certain 9-year-old black boy singing along, no matter what anyone thought.)
Barbra Streisand stole my heart with the scattered pictures of the way we were.
And the aforementioned Neil Diamond played a man named “Blue Jeans” who for some odd reason, loved a woman so much he’d rather be a Reverend. (I never understood why being with a woman would make him want to be a reverend, but man, he was dead serious. As long as he could have her there with him, he’d much rather be Reverend Blue Jeans. I honestly think it was during the writing of this book 40 years later that I figured out he’s actually saying “Forever in Blue Jeans.”)
These songs did more than just help pass the time on the long drive from L.A. to Solvang. They ignited my young imagination with visions of how I would one day win the heart of that beautiful, brown-haired, blue-eyed, fair-skinned girl next door that I saw on TV shows and movies, and one day would meet in real life. I just had to sing, dance, and give her lots and lots of daisies.
And it’s when I’m sharing all of this when I hear…
Sam: You have GOT to be fuckin’ kidding me! Now this is some shit.Well, well, well. Look who decided to drop by again. Uninvited. I wonder what black sin I’ve committed now.
Me: Dammit. Sam. Not now. I’m in the middle of sharing a very important part of the story.Sam: Yeah, man, but Goddamn, Nigga. You can’t be sharing shit like this. What the fuck! What is the point in all of this. You’re just scraping the inside of the Oreo, tossin’ out the cookie, and jugglin’ down the glass of milk all in one shot. There ain’t no way in the world anyone is going to believe a brutha growing up this “white-ified” is now some down, woke, tommie-smith-like fist-pumping hard nigga ready to overthrow the cracker racists running this whole muthafucka.Me: Why not? The most triumphant stories of overcoming oppression come out of humble…Sam: Nigga. Shut the fuck up! Do you even know who Tommie Smith is?Me: Yes, Sam. I know who Tommie Smith is. I’m not that dense.Actually, to my eternal shame, I was that dense. At the time of this writing, I had to Google his name. I obviously knew of the famous photo and circumstances, I just didn’t know the brutha’s name. I know.
Anyway, back to Sam.
Sam: Man, I didn’t come all this way to hear this shit. Neil Diamond? Barbra Streisand? Karen Fuckin’ Carpenter? Are you kidding? Now Elton was cool. I’ll give you a pass on that one.Me: I didn’t mention Elton John.Sam: You sure?Me: Yeah.Sam: I guess it was wishful thinking.Me: But hey, I LOVE “Your Song.” The Ewan McGregor version in “Moulin Rouge” is pretty dope.Sam: Man. Did you just use “dope” to describe an Elton John cover song by a Scottish actor in a flamboyant musical directed by a gay Aussie who fucked up hip-hop with that “Get Down” shit on Netflix?Me: I don’t think Baz Luhrman is gay. He has a wife!Sam: Oh. Excuuuuse me. I didn’t know being married to a woman had the power to negate gayness. The dude is gay.Me: Why? Just because he makes flamboyant musicals, looks amazing for his age, takes care of himself, and… okay. Whatever. Anyway. What’s wrong with “Moulin Rouge”?Sam: Alright. That’s it. Hand it over muthafucka?Me: Hand over what?Sam: Your black card Nigga. I’m pulling the plug on this whole muthafucka! I’m shutting you and this whole shit down.Me: You like to say “muthafucka” a lot don’t you?Sam: No. You just think I do. This is your imagination muthafucka!Me: Hey. That’s right. This is MY imagination. And this is an A and B conversation between me and this fine reader. So why don’t you “C” yourself out of it.Sam: I’m going to leave just for you saying dumb shit like that. But I’ve got my eye on you mutha… I’ll be watching you.Poof. No more Sam. Sorry about that. Now, where was I. Oh yes. Music.
I will give Sam this. I can totally understand his point. When I think back to the music of my youth, I can’t help but think maybe he’s right. I mean come on. Even WHITE people joke about other white people who like Barry Manilow.
But this is me. This is my life. I can’t help the fact that my mom played some of the biggest hits by corny white singers during such an impressionable time in my life. But she did. And so here I am. Sharing some of the deepest memories of my life as they relate to some of the most white-ass pop culture elements in musical history.
My second confession
I take a break to grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen. When I come back, my living room has now transformed into that sound booth from Season 3, Episode of “The Brady Bunch” starring Davy Jones. You know, the one where he records the song “Girl.”
I’m in the Davey Jones spot, earphones on and everything. And there, in the producer’s booth, is the one, the only… Marvin Gaye.
And with that, I find myself transported to yet another confessional. I speak into the microphone.
Me: Mic check, 1,2,3. Check. Hello. Um. Hi. Um. Forgive me Marvin, for I have sinned.Marvin: When was your last confession my brutha?Me: I think a few chapters ago. I’m not quite sure.Marvin: Very well my son. Tell me your sins.Me: Well, I, um, like to sing show tunes.Me: Oh. Like “Don’t Nobody Bring me No Bad News” or “Brand New Day”?Me: No. Well. Yes. I mean. I like those songs too. But I meant more like, you know, “My Favorite Things” or the Ewan McGregor version of “Your Song” from “Moulin Rouge.”Marvin: Well, technically brutha, I don’t think that really counts as a show tune.Me: Okay. But I have other sins too. Like, I used to lip sync to and do the dance moves from “Sunshine”.Me: Excuse me. What is “Sunshine”?Embarrassingly, I answer.
Me: Well. Um. It’s the song the Brady Kids sang on episode 16 of season 4 of “The Brady Bunch.” You know the one where Jan performs another “Jan” move and gets the price wrong for the anniversary gift the kids want to get for their parents, so they enter the Pete Sterne Amateur Hour in hopes of winning the $100 grand prize.
Marvin: Oh. Is that the one where they sing that “Keep On” dancin’ song and perform that corny-ass choreography?Me: Yeah. Yeah. That’s the one.Marvin: Wow. I don’t wanna judge brutha, but you know how some sins are just unforgivable?Me: Is this one?I can practically hear Marvin grimacing.
Marvin: I don’t know man. As far as black sins go, this is pretty bad. I mean that choreography.Me: I know. They may have called themselves “The Silver Platters,” but they definitely weren’t no Sylvers.Marvin: Excuse me. What did you say?Me: I said they definitely weren’t no Sylvers. Oh. Sorry. I thought you knew. The Sylvers were a ’70s disco family music group. Kind of like a wanna be Jacksons.Marvin: Brutha. I know who the Sylvers are. But how does a black man apparently as white as you know the Sylvers?Me: Are you kidding? My brother and I LOVED the Sylvers. “Boogie Fever.” “Hotline.” “Ain’t No doubt about it.” We couldn’t get enough of them. We saw them live at Six Flags in New Jersey.Marvin: Let me ask you something. I gotta hunch. What comes to mind when I say “I’m too cool to swim or dance?”Me: Sir Nose D’voidofFunk, by Parliament.Marvin: Album?Me: Aqua Boogie.Marvin: Well, actually the album was Motor Booty Affair, but I’ll give that to you. Can you tell me the cover art?Me: If I recall. Some freaky cartoon of a giant bird trying to eat Sir Nose. Really weird. Kind of like a black version of Pink Floyd’s “Off the Wall.”Marvin: You mean Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”? “Off the Wall was Michael Jackson?”Me: That’s what I said. “The Wall.”Marvin: No. You said, “Off the…” Nevermind. Who was his arch enemy?Me: The Star Child. Why?Marvin: You okay my brutha. You okay. You just have a few quirks. But I think you gonna be right as rain. I hereby absolve you. Go in peace.Me: …and soooooouuuuul!Marvin: Don’t push your luck.Me: Sorry. Couldn’t resist. Just thought I might get some extra credit. Just call me “Ron Cornelius.”Marvin: Man. If you say another corny-ass joke, I might have to rescind my absolution.Me: Shoot. Sorry. Okay. Thank you Marvin. I mean Mr. Gaye. I mean. Anyway. Bye.I think Marvin is on to something. Perhaps I’m not as lost as I thought I was. So what if I lip-synched Brady Bunch songs as a kid. I also listened to Parliament-Funkadelic and felt bad when Star Child blasted Sir Nose D’voidoffunk with the bop gun and made him dance. In the sixth grade, I danced on Mrs. Hendrick’s Jackson 5 cover band for the school talent show. I jammed to The Emotions’ “Best of My Love” at the Camp Griffo-Hollywood Girls Camp disco dance.
The more I think about it, there is quite a bit of blackness in my musical background than I even remembered. In fact, did I ever tell you about the second time my blackness earned me a standing ovation at my predominantly white high school? No? Well. Remind me to tell you. It’s a hoot.
But, first things first.
Be sure to follow this publication to be notified when the next chapter goes online. Visit Dungeons-n-Durags.com to learn more about the book and ways in which you can get early access to future chapters, and insights into the writing.
Next chapter
Previous chapter