Music of the Day, 16 August 2023

they make me feel much better

In many respects, I had a pretty good childhood. One thing that meant a lot to me was having natural places to escape to and explore. My small hometown had a couple of creeks within walking distance of our house. My maternal grandparents lived not far away; their property was rural and heavily wooded, and I was allowed to explore as I wished at an age that would shock most young parents today. (I won’t mention the venomous critters that called it home.)

Over the years, I’ve discovered that my happiness in a place is inversely correlated with the amount of asphalt and concrete it has. Columbus and Cincinnati were made bearable by living far enough out that there was green space around us which supported a bit of wildlife. That wasn’t possible when I lived in the Chicago suburbs, and I was miserable that entire year.

Our last move was also a transition of climatic extremes: from the Pacific Northwest (PNW) to the desert Southwest. The small PNW city we lived in retained enough of a small-town feel to be enjoyable; it also helped that we lived in one of the original neighborhoods close to downtown, so walking and biking were encouraged and easy. Many very tall evergreens dotted the neighborhood, and we saw lots of interesting birds during their migrations. A short drive got us into wilder territory, where cougars and bears were infrequently seen, along with more typical wildlife. It was an ideal blend for us.

We now live in a neighborhood bounded on two sides by an abandoned golf course; if not for that, it would be suburbia at its worst. Over the past few years, avian flu has severely diminished the number and variety of birds here; one summer, even the pigeons were so sparse that I could go an hour or longer without hearing any birdsong. We finally have at least one great horned owl back; I’m hoping to hear its calls with potential mates this winter.

It’s now monsoon season, and we really need the rain. But the weather has been teasing us: clouds build up, only to pass farther south before spilling their rain. As that’s happening yet again today, I realized how much I miss varying weather, and tall trees, and the diversity of life in the forest I was fortunate enough to revel in as a child. And right on cue, the radio station in my mind served up the perfect song: Jethro Tull’s “Songs From the Wood,” from the 1977 album of the same name.

Songs From the Wood¹ was the first Jethro Tull album I owned; I think it was a gift … and a safe bet, since I was a flautist in high school. I had heard several of Tull’s older songs on the radio, and was more taken by the lyrics than Ian Anderson’s antics with the flute. I’m embarrassed now to reveal that back then, I thought him a showboat who had technical skills, but not a clean enough sound for my prissy, uninformed taste. “Ring Out, Solstice Bells” showed me how wrong I was; and I probably drove my family crazy playing the entire album through almost daily.

These days, I have a fuller appreciation of the entire band’s skills—and their prog prowess. I laughed for days when Jethro Tull (Crest of a Knave) beat heavy favorites Metallica (…And Justice for All) for the 1989 Grammy for best hard rock/metal performance. I found a photo of their Billboard ad thanking the Grammies for the win:

Photo credit: The Jethro Tull Archive

My music library includes many Jethro Tull albums now. Sometimes I’ll play Original Masters, as it’s the closest thing to a greatest hits collection that I have. More often than not, though, I’ll queue up Songs From the Wood and then Heavy Horses, which was released in 1978. Both speak to the deep love of nature I have … and my respect for Ian Anderson’s creativity and virtuosity.

1. You may have noticed that the video is not from Songs From the Wood, but rather Original Masters. That’s because I couldn’t find any versions that feature the Songs cover that aren’t remastered.