It’s 1974 and I’m now a big 12 years old. My parents vacationed in England at the president of Ryerson university’s UK home (my dad was the Dean of Business, and generally well-liked at work).
Can’t remember exactly where they stayed. But it was by the sea, I think.
I remained behind with my elder bros and sis’s keeping an eye on me. But what a time we had. Several weeks alone with no parents!
I’m not sure if other people have this, but I can remember precise locations, going back to childhood, where I hear specific pop songs.
It’s like my soul takes a snapshot of the entire situation and it’s burned in memory. Don’t know if it’s just a physiological thing or if something bigger, more spiritual is happening.
Maybe both. Soul takes the snapshot. Brain writes the file.
Whatever. Life is a mystery and we just try to fit the pieces together as best we can. This is my tune for 1974:
Well, the rain exploded with a mighty crash
As we fell into the sun
I have no idea what that means. It seems a bit sci-fi to me. The lyrics in many McCartney songs paint an entire dramatic picture, rather than just celebrating or lamenting oneself or one’s love.
Mind you, McCartney did that too. But he did it well (“Silly Love Songs”). “Silly Love Songs” was actually a reply to a post-Beatles breakup jab by John Lennon.
John Lennon. He had said dismissively in interviews that all McCartney did was write silly love songs. I could go through McCartney’s entire catalog to disprove this, but won’t, as the charge is simply Lennon being an asshole. It is so utterly untrue that the fact that it stuck baffles me (Barefoot Justine).
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