It must have been early in 1968, because Songs of Leonard Cohen was released in December of 1967. I was 15, hunkered down in front of the Philips High Fidelity, listening to the 4 to 6 PM rock ‘n roll program being broadcast by CKYL, the radio station in Peace River, an hour’s drive north of Grande Prairie. CFGP, Grande Prairie’s only station, didn’t play any rock ‘n roll, and so this was my sole daytime opportunity to listen to the music that mattered to me about as much as anything could possibly matter back then.
(As an even younger boy I had lain under the hi fi, my head looking up into the hollow interior of the cabinet, listening to Auntie’s Barbara’s Children’s Hour, if memory serves. I had to hold my head sideways to slide it in to where I could then turn and look upward. I’m not sure why I enjoyed this practice, but I know I’m not the only one who did as, years later, I was delighted to see as much in the background action of a movie directed by Anne Wheeler.)
The DJ for the show was Andy Michaelson, a cantankerous fellow who freely admitted that, “Andy Michaelson shoots his mouth off!” Weeks earlier I had heard Andy confess to probably aggravating listeners with the assertion that, “Herb Alpert is not a great trumpet player! He is a great arranger!” I had no idea why this might be a contentious claim, but it seemed it was, and that was interesting to me.
At any rate, this day Andy intro’ed a song by stating, in his usual obstreperous fashion, that, “This is hip music!” And then he played So Long Marianne…
The horizons of this small town boy’s world proceeded to expand exponentially. I had never heard anything like this. The reedy voice, the ethereal female background voices, and mostly of course, the lyrics. The odd, contrapuntal, redolent lyrics.
Months later, I was to be seen clambering up into the attic of my parents’ home, crawling, hands and knees, across the rafters, dragging a wire that would serve as an aerial for the hi fi, by then relocated to the basement, where I now had the ‘rec room’ as my bedroom. Each night I would carefully twirl the dial in a ongoing effort to tune in fleeting radio signals from afar, always in search of an experience equivalent to first hearing Leonard Cohen. The signals came and went, fading in and out through static like the beckoning northern lights, only from the opposite direction, south, from places like California.
I’d leave the radio on as I got into bed, a cord held in hand and strung over to my bed, so as to pull the plug from there as I finally fell asleep.
Radio ruled music in those days, in a way that it never will again. And within music, rock ‘n roll ruled in a way that I don’t think it ever will again either. 1968 was the year The Beatles released ‘The White Album.’ The Stones released Beggar’s Banquet, for my money the best record they ever did. Led Zeppelin first played together in 1968, billing themselves as ‘The New Yardbirds.’
In David Chase’s (creator of The Sopranos) much under-appreciated semi-autobiographical movie about coming of age as a member of a rock ‘n roll band, Not Fade Away, the protagonist’s younger sister begins and ends the movie by quoting from an essay she’s writing for school. In the final scene, Chase adroitly pulls off a meta moment as she directly addresses the camera and says, “America has given the world two inventions of enormous power. One is nuclear weapons. The other is rock ’n’ roll. Which one is going to win out in the end?”
Then she turns and dances away into the distance, as now are all we boomers who came of age in step with rock ‘n roll. And for at least this listener, the question asked by the younger sister is a no-brainer, because rock ‘n roll changed the world in a good way.
A google search reveals that, as of 2012, Andy Michaelson was living in St. Albert, Alberta, describing himself as a “writer and poet,” contributing a column to the St Albert Gazette and writing a blog.
So here’s to you Andy. You altered my course, undoubtedly for the better.
And so long Leonard. We won’t see your like again.