Skip to main content

Godspeed, Donna Summer and Robin Gibb: How Do You Mend a Middle-Aged Broken Heart?

I feel like the remnants of my adolescence are slowly dying away.

You see, I was a teenager during the '70's.  I never thought disco sucked.  I loved disco, so much so that I threw a tantrum in my junior high school orchestra class demanding that we be allowed to play disco instead of Beethoven.  Why not?  Disco was heavy on strings.  We were string players.  Heck, Barry White had an entire freakin' orchestra to himself!  My junior high school orchestra teacher, Mr. Douglas, rolled his eyes at my insouciance and told me I had a lot more of the basics to learn before I'd be prepared to play disco or anything else written for strings for that matter.  He did make sure that I auditioned for all-city orchestra, though. 

So you can imagine that I was saddened by the loss of Donna Summer and Robin Gibb, within a week, no less.  My introduction to Donna Summer was, like most folks, the seventeen minute track, "Love to Love You, Baby."  It was also my first introduction to sex.  Sure, I knew about the birds and the bees, but I didn't know what they sounded like.  All I could think was that whatever Donna had been doing the studio, it must have felt pretty darn good to sound like that.  It would not surprise me if Donna Summer had been responsible for her own little baby boom just because of that song.

My introduction to Robin Gibb and the Bee Gees was, like most folks, the soundtrack to the movie "Saturday Night Fever."  Oh, the angst of Tony Manero, and the joy of the music that lifted him out of it -- "You Should Be Dancing," "Night Fever," "How Deep is Your Love."  Tony Manero was my generation's Holden Caulfield, or at least we thought he was, but without the mental illness.  I was in junior high school when "Saturday Night Fever" came out, and after that, my girlfriends and I were not only hooked on the Bee Gees, but on Andy Gibb as well.  We started backtracking through the Bee Gee's '60's catalog looking for meaning as deep as what we perceived to have been captured in the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack.  To this day, my favorite Bee Gees song isn't anything from the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack; it's "How Do You Mend a Broken Heart."  Deep meaning, indeed.  The Brothers Gibb were gifted songwriters, a gift that I would suppose sustained them long after disco died.

To me, Donna Summer was the queen of disco only because we never allowed her to be more.  My favorite Donna Summer song isn't a disco song at all; it's her performance of "O, Holy Night," that she gave on a television special long ago.  It's my favorite Christmas carol because of her performance of it, and because of her performance alone.  She sang it with so much feeling.  It wasn't until later that I realized why -- she had grown up singing in the church, as many of our Black singing divas have (Whitney Houston, for example.)  She probably really did feel it.  I also loved her song, "State of Independence."  And boy, did I ever feel like a "Bad Girl" when I chanted the chorus, "Toot Toot! . . . Hey ... Beep Beep!"  Even my mom was a fan, identifying with the song, "She Works Hard for The Money," as did most working women at the time.

With the loss of Donna Summer and Robin Gibb goes a part of my adolescence, a part of my life when the music that made me want to dance also made me feel good, something that a lot of today's music doesn't do for me on either count.  I am thankful for having walked the planet at the same time as Donna Summer and Robin Gibb, and for having shared in the experience of their talent.  But I'm still saddened by their loss.

So . . . how do you mend a middle-aged broken heart?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hillary Clinton Can Stop Trump -- If She Releases Her Electors

Hillary Clinton isn't going to be President of the United States.  At least not yet.  And not in 2017.

But she can possibly stop Donald Trump from being President by releasing her pledged electors  in the Electoral College to vote for a compromise Republican candidate.

This is part of the strategy of the Hamilton Electors, members of the Electoral College who see that Donald Trump is not qualified to be President.  They argue that the Electoral College's role is not to rubber-stamp the popular vote -- which, in this case, would belong to Clinton -- but to serve as a check on the popular vote to make sure that no one who is unfit assumes the office of President.

According to the Hamilton Electors, named for Founding Father Alexander Hamilton (Yes, he of the very popular musical for which I can't get tickets) Hamilton stated that the Electoral College's test for fitness to be the President was as follows (and I'm quoting):

Election of a Qualified Person: As Hamilton s…

Retired Man Walking: Too Young to Retire, Too Old to Take Shit

A while back I ran into a friend and fellow professional employed by the State of California, and he offered me his perspective on State employment as a tail-end Baby Boomer like myself -- someone who can't retire because he lacks the requisite age or years of service, but, unlike myself, is tired of taking shit from superiors who don't know what to do with you.

Although my friend gave his permission for me to use his name in this blog entry, I decline to do so because what he does is so specialized that it would not be hard for anyone to identify him as one of the few African American men, if not the only African-American man, in California state civil service who does what he does. For purposes of this blog entry, I will refer to him as he now refers to himself:  Retired Man Walking.

Retired Man Walking, or RMW, has an interesting philosophy he applies to working for the State as a professional who isn't old enough to retire but has been around long enough to know the s…

My Prayer and Mantra for 2017 -- Do Not Waste Time on People and Things That Don't Matter

In this era of fake news, fake political candidates, and fake people all around, my prayer and mantra for 2017 is simple:  Do not waste time on people and things that don't matter.

In 2016, I spent too much time and money on things and people who didn't matter.  I allowed myself to become distracted by stuff that, for me and Black Man Not Blogging, didn't really matter for our happiness.  These distractions not only didn't improve the quality of our life together; they decreased it with additional and unnecessary stress.

The good news is that, for the most part, we're okay.  Yeah, Trump and his ilk really suck, but instead of a lot of hand wringing and commiserating, I'm going to do the one thing my late mother She Who  Is Exalted (SWIE) did better than anyone I know:  Play the hand you've been dealt.  My mother was a black female without a college education and with six kids, so playing the hand she was dealt was her survival skill.  Now it will be mine.

S…