Sparkling In The Sand
Like a last song syndrome badgering my head, I have this most persistent thought bugging me for the past few days. There's this song in my mind, 'Sparkling In The Sand' by the Tower of Power, and I have a nagging need to find out if there's a certain phrase in there that I haven't been singing right all along, after all these years. I haven't heard it in a while now, and Google has to give the answers yet.
One night, a very long time ago, I heard it playing (during one of the ancient stay-in parties of my sisters) just before I went to sleep. Strange and sultry to my hearing, I knew there was no turning back for me when it began. That haunting solo flute, backgrounded by a big band type of horn section, soulful vocalizing of the gibberish lyrics (at least, to a child's hearing back then), made for one super fine song that I instinctively found out later to be very very conducive to love.
I've have been tasked to write the songs that made impact in my life and after digging into memory, that was the one gorgeous that made me realize that my sense of hearing was bound to become the harbinger of one great joy in life -- music. 'Sparkling', after I heard it, left a bittersweet ache in my heart that I could not quite forget. I didn't even know why.
It was in the 70s, I was 7 years old, and growing up along with family members who were mostly musically inclined. They were into different genres then, and everyday I fed on hearing till I began to thrive.
Father was eclectic. He played on the piano every morning, stuff that he listened to. Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, The Beatles, classical, the musicals, Kundiman, and that undying Rey Coniff Christmas album that made me extra fond of that season forever.
My elder sister was a class act. She listened to Astrud Gilberto, Sergio Mendes, Antonio Carlos Jobim and stuff like that. Not the typical beat out of predictable pop, but it was good. And even back in the day, I felt a jolt of sunny whenever I heard those guys in the morning. Bossa nova was something my grade school classmates could not relate to, I'm sure, but made perfect synch with me.
My three other siblings who were of the 60s and 70s grew up together and bonded on the same sounds. Being hip and of their time, they were, naturally, into Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead, Santana, the Rolling Stones and other stoning music of their generation, and I really think they had a great deal of fun.
Elder sister made the most influenece on me, apparently, and I listened and listened and hummed more than I sang. To start with, to appreciate Samba and Brazilian, for a kid, was a fluke. To get the lyrics right despite the accent, if they were not singing Portuguese, was a bit too much to expect.
The habit of humming as opposed to singing got stuck, so much that I conjured different visions to associate with the sound. I saw tropical palm trees swaying to a gentle breeze when I heard something Brazilian -- thinking Girl in Ipanema. And those warm and sticky summer nights, lush with the sweet smell of dama de noche, are brought about by lush violin playing, really A Taste for Passion, by Jean Luc Ponty, this guy, not quite Latin but very fabulous. Hear the carefree looseness of the Beach Girl in that same album and you'll probably know me. And I haven't even started on Acoustic Alchemy, these guys who my rock'n'rolling daughter thinks ho-hum and swears by in putting her to sleep. Yeah right. One day she'll repent of all that noise and come into her senses.
But what am I talking about? You see, it's so easy to get carried away when talking about one's own choice of noise. And mine isn't (noise), mind you. I go for cool, with lightning bolt of passion strikes where you least expect it. Just like my all-time favorite Steely Dan.
All I know is that the music defined the times, and defied it too. You can never know why your own eventually becomes retro to the younger generation, only to become hip and cool again. And what is the music of my life? I don't know, there are too many to count. As it is, I haven't heard nearly half as I wanted to, I'm sure. And that gives me one good thing to get busy with, for the rest of my days.
La lalalah...
Filed Under: Favorite Things
One night, a very long time ago, I heard it playing (during one of the ancient stay-in parties of my sisters) just before I went to sleep. Strange and sultry to my hearing, I knew there was no turning back for me when it began. That haunting solo flute, backgrounded by a big band type of horn section, soulful vocalizing of the gibberish lyrics (at least, to a child's hearing back then), made for one super fine song that I instinctively found out later to be very very conducive to love.
I've have been tasked to write the songs that made impact in my life and after digging into memory, that was the one gorgeous that made me realize that my sense of hearing was bound to become the harbinger of one great joy in life -- music. 'Sparkling', after I heard it, left a bittersweet ache in my heart that I could not quite forget. I didn't even know why.
It was in the 70s, I was 7 years old, and growing up along with family members who were mostly musically inclined. They were into different genres then, and everyday I fed on hearing till I began to thrive.
Father was eclectic. He played on the piano every morning, stuff that he listened to. Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, The Beatles, classical, the musicals, Kundiman, and that undying Rey Coniff Christmas album that made me extra fond of that season forever.
My elder sister was a class act. She listened to Astrud Gilberto, Sergio Mendes, Antonio Carlos Jobim and stuff like that. Not the typical beat out of predictable pop, but it was good. And even back in the day, I felt a jolt of sunny whenever I heard those guys in the morning. Bossa nova was something my grade school classmates could not relate to, I'm sure, but made perfect synch with me.
My three other siblings who were of the 60s and 70s grew up together and bonded on the same sounds. Being hip and of their time, they were, naturally, into Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead, Santana, the Rolling Stones and other stoning music of their generation, and I really think they had a great deal of fun.
Elder sister made the most influenece on me, apparently, and I listened and listened and hummed more than I sang. To start with, to appreciate Samba and Brazilian, for a kid, was a fluke. To get the lyrics right despite the accent, if they were not singing Portuguese, was a bit too much to expect.
The habit of humming as opposed to singing got stuck, so much that I conjured different visions to associate with the sound. I saw tropical palm trees swaying to a gentle breeze when I heard something Brazilian -- thinking Girl in Ipanema. And those warm and sticky summer nights, lush with the sweet smell of dama de noche, are brought about by lush violin playing, really A Taste for Passion, by Jean Luc Ponty, this guy, not quite Latin but very fabulous. Hear the carefree looseness of the Beach Girl in that same album and you'll probably know me. And I haven't even started on Acoustic Alchemy, these guys who my rock'n'rolling daughter thinks ho-hum and swears by in putting her to sleep. Yeah right. One day she'll repent of all that noise and come into her senses.
But what am I talking about? You see, it's so easy to get carried away when talking about one's own choice of noise. And mine isn't (noise), mind you. I go for cool, with lightning bolt of passion strikes where you least expect it. Just like my all-time favorite Steely Dan.
All I know is that the music defined the times, and defied it too. You can never know why your own eventually becomes retro to the younger generation, only to become hip and cool again. And what is the music of my life? I don't know, there are too many to count. As it is, I haven't heard nearly half as I wanted to, I'm sure. And that gives me one good thing to get busy with, for the rest of my days.
La lalalah...
Filed Under: Favorite Things
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