The 1970s were an interesting time to be a young kid. I was only age 7 when the decade closed, so most of what pass for memories probably more realistically fall into the category of brief, vivid impressions, really… Digging back through the minefield of repression, I remember the omnipresence of olive green-yellow-orange-brown earth tones. Everything seemed dirtier, somehow: sun-soaked in a haze of air pollution; perma-stained a grimy nicotine-maize. The existential crises of the times played out in pop-culture as revisionist romanticism of an idyllic 1950s America (Happy Days; Grease; Sha Na Na) clashed with paranoid fears of technology and the future (Planet of the Apes; Westworld; Logan’s Run). TV played like a dizzying, compressed full history of 20th century pop-culture. Everyone’s hair was at least a little bit longer. Fashions were appallingly tacky. Dr. Seuss, Mego, Lite Brite, Wheaties, Krofft productions, M.A.S.H., Muppets, and Star Wars; John-Boy, The Brady Bunch, schmaltzy variety shows, “The agony of defeat”, Disco, Farrah hair, Kiss, and ABBA.
By the end of the decade, a multitude of ’70s popular culture touchstones would be increasingly (sometimes brutally) rejected as criminally shallow and uncool – but what did I know or care? A kaleidoscopic barrage of disparate sights and sounds were all being processed simultaneously with, as yet, unbiased eyes and ears. I was still too overwhelmed by curiosity and the newness of everything to be much of a cynic about anything.
As the “baby” of the family, my sheltered indoctrination into the world occurred in the pocket universe of my parent’s home, with influences that frequently hailed from the immediately preceding decades. The morning experience was defined by the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, industrial size boxes of Cheerios, and J.P. McCarthy on “The Great Voice of the Great Lakes, “AM 760 WJR – once a lightly conservative mix of news, commentary, and vanilla, awkwardly cropped music. On the cusp of the cable/home video revolution, TV as a popular medium had only functionally existed for around 25 years, so the net effect of fewer outlets producing less original content over that span was that all viewers, for lack of choice, were exposed to the entire history of programming (and of film and music, by extension). Daily viewing routines covered a lot of ground: Sesame Street; The Gong Show; cartoons (Bugs Bunny; Bullwinkle); ’60s reruns (The Munsters; Lost In Space; Leave It to Beaver); Bill Kennedy at the Movies (classics) with Mom; and maybe an hour of family fare like Little House On the Prairie. Being a kid, I was always doing other things while the TV was on, of course… Drawing superheroes (on any available surface), sneaking snacks (shhhhhhh!)… Bouncing up randomly to: pop open a can of spinach; throw on a cape to act out fight scenes (“KAPOW!”); fly (run) full speed through the house (“whooshing” sounds); climb the stairs like Spidey (“thwip”); jump REALLY long distances (“buh buh buh buh na na na na“), and beam down to strange new worlds (“I’m a KID, not BRAIN surgeon!”). Looking back, the best part of threatening the structural integrity of the house with the power of serious play may have been aping the sound-effects and vocalizing the theme music. “Proper” lessons, these were not, to be sure, but through all these shows I was exposed to a world of sound and intuitively learned a lot about tone and dynamics by attempting to mimic the what I heard, developing a decent vocal range and ear for music in the process.
Around the house, I recall Mom singing Teresa Brewer and Doris Day songs while doing ALL the many things that busy house Mom’s do, Dad crooning assorted “big band” era tunes while cleaning up for bowling nights, and my older siblings spinning borrowed Beatles and Beach Boys 45’s on the family hi-fi. At one point, my eldest sister crafted a toy guitar for me from corrugated cardboard and yarn (strings) in the shape of The Monkees logo. My older brother, who liked to tape songs off of the rock & roll “oldies” station (AM 560 “Honey Radio“) would play “Surfin’ Bird” by The Trashmen on repeat just to see me fall down laughing. The semi-weekly ritual of watching countless, mostly disposable, Saturday morning cartoons – almost all of which had theme songs that remain burned into the inner recesses my brain – with the youngest of my two sisters, huddled under an afghan over the living room register for precious heat. Hours and days were spent lounging on the floor listening to Peter Pan brand 45 rpm kiddie story records and LP’s like Rocking Horse Players’ Peter and the Wolf, Lawrence Welk’s Baby Elephant Walk, Herb Alpert’s Whipped Cream and Other Delights, K-tel’s Pure Gold, and the Goldfinger, Saturday Night Fever, Fantasia and Star Wars movie soundtracks; examining every sleeve down to the last detail of each worn corner. I can recall many occasions of being crashed out in the back seat of the blue family wagon (or was it the black Chevy?), meditatively listening as sweetly melodic songs like ELO’s “Evil Woman,” Stevie Wonder’s “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” Dionne Warwick’s Bacharach/David penned “Do You Know the Way to San Jose,” and “Saturday In the Park” by Chicago played on the stereo. Good times.
Speaking again of the age before home video and “on demand,” holiday programming and movies were truly a treat – appearing only once a year (if at all). If missed, that was it. CBS ran Peanuts cartoons like clockwork three times a year. Classic Disney films (Mary Poppins; 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea) were regularly shown on NBC. Christmas time meant Rankin & Bass Claymation specials. ABC fit in a Bond film at least once a month, usually. Networks ran epic Biblical films (The Ten Commandments; The Greatest Story Ever Told) on Easter and Christmas, as they continue to do today. Nearly revered on the level religious events (…to the child mind) were hallowed Hollywood musicals like The Wizard of Oz and Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Singin’ In the Rain, The Sound of Music and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers stand out in memory as well. It didn’t matter what was going on… If it was at all possible to be present somewhere while these films were being aired, my folks typically made sure of it. Additionally, if one discovered that a favored musical act was going to make an appearance, the instinct was to stop the world so as not to accidentally miss it. As I mentioned earlier, these were the “dark times” before YouTube… There were no second chances to see that sort of thing (usually). When Mom told me that Paul McCartney & Wings were going to be on the Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon or Blondie was doing a spot on The Mike Douglas Show, I would keep a keen eye on the clock and make sure I watched the ENTIRE show so as to ensure no mistakes were made. Of course, unless it was Frank Sinatra or some other established heavyweight, musical guests were (are) always held back until the last segment, but the excitement was just too great to take any chances…
Yes, the setting was very conventional (square), but a varied enough array of impactful visual and aural information got through, stimulating my imagination and leaving me wanting more. The building blocks for the future WALL OF TUNES were being laid…
To be continued in…
THE FORMATIVE YEARS, PART II:
THE SWINGING SCINTILLATING DISCOLICIOUS SIGHTS & SOUNDS OF THE LATE ’70S (NOW WITH “FIST FIGHTING” ACTION!)