On the Radio

I remember Memory Almost Full. With the release, subsequent purchase and the hardly-wait-until-I-can-get-it-out-of-the-stupid-cellophane preview of Paul McCartney’s new album came a torrent of thoughts, emotions, ideas and yes – memories. Memory Almost Full was exactly what I needed from Sir Paul at that juncture of my life. It felt like the Beatles, of course, because to me Paul was the Beatles. I mean, I loved the other Beatles too but Paul was always the Beatle (if there can be such a thing as a singular Beatle). The Christmas before that, I had purchased a Remix of Beatles songs in an album entitled, simply, Love. I wore it out, of course. I cherished everything by the Beatles. But Memory Almost Full was different. It is like the old days. There wasn’t that mixing hand that showed through with Love. Love was everything about the Beatles, but Memory Almost Full took me back. It was au natural.

I don’t think so ma’am. That would only lead to a life of crime. We have to do everything we can while we’re here. No regrets when it’s all over. We don’t want that – that’s for sure.

. . . It’s ten minutes after the hour and up next is our number one tune on the request line for another night. You guessed it – here they are – The Beatles and Hey Jude . . .

I fade back to my Graduation summer when all of us surmised that the end was near for the Fab Four. The music that had gotten us through our grade school years was now waning, sadly. When Hey Jude (the single) was released, it gave us hope. It gave us hope about music and our futures. It gave us hope that we would be together always – even though we didn’t know it at the time – I mean, that we wouldn’t be together always. We sang it. We air-banded. We got down on our knees and serenaded any fortunate or unfortunate friend or soul that happened to be within earshot. We were not proud – or maybe we were. We wanted to be one of them one more time. We knew every word, every change, every harmony bit. We would take turns being George or John on the background stuff and we dashboard drummed along with Ringo but it was always Paul that captured our hearts because he was the voice and the face and the wonder and the power and the glory forever and ever, Amen. We were by no means sophisticated with our musical talents. All we had was AM radio. What came on the radio is what we knew and thus, what we sang.

We sat in our cars without turning off the engines until all the na na nas had faded into the DJ’s glib repartee at the end of the song. That was the one final brush with adolescent play and naivety before we became adults. The Beatles ended at the same time as our innocent youth. Coincidence? I don’t know. Hey Jude was like a graduation song for real life – the song that would usher us into the scary world of jobs and families of our own and payments and real monsters, not the made up ones in the closet or under the bed. We were saying goodbye to friendships it had taken a whole lifetime to make. And we didn’t even know it. Or, at least, I don’t think we knew it. Maybe deep down inside we did understand in a very fundamental and primitive sort of caveman way that this was the end. That’s why we gaggled up like geese in autumn at every available opportunity and venue. That’s why we persevered into the wee small hours just acting crazy and talking about – about – what the hell did we talk about? We knew we didn’t want to say goodbye. We’ll never have friends like that again. These were the real friends that we shared everything with. Those were our first friends – the friends with which we experimented the process of friendship. We learned all the rules of being friends with these people. These were the people that knew our thoughts and that breathed in and out in glorious synchronicity with us and that comforted one another and bared souls together. How many people do you sing in front of now, at the top of your lungs, a mile off key while forgetting half the words or making up your own and still you don’t feel embarrassed because they are singing along with you just as badly or just as well? It was alright to put our arms around each other’s shoulders or simply hang around together and it didn’t mean anything only that we were friends – really good friends.

That was going away and we didn’t even know that we should cherish it. Maybe we did cherish it – that’s why we remember it so well. Even if we knew we probably couldn’t have stopped it. I mean, how does one stop time and stop people from growing up and getting all serious and calculating? When we were young we used to talk about substantial, meaningful, interesting stuff like music and sex and parties and we never got tired of each other. Now we meet each other once in a blue moon and all that’s forgotten because we only talk about boring superficialities like politics and mortgages and money. Money – like how much some of us have and how much some of us don’t have. And, we can’t wait to get back to whatever it is that we do in the real life that we exist in – as if we were somehow proud of the fact that we owe money (or not) and that we are overweight or that we even care about our weight or that we can carry on a truly boring conversation for hours on end. All whacked-out-adult crap. “We’ve become pirates Peter.” Jeez, I wanna puke. What the hell happened? Did we all fall asleep and become content with just staying asleep or waking up and then just moving to the couch?

Hey Jude, don’t be afraid – that was our mantra alright. And we weren’t afraid either, because we didn’t know what to be afraid of. We didn’t know there was anything out there to be afraid of. Because we didn’t know what was about to smack us in the face. Real life was closing in at warp speed and we didn’t have a clue it was coming. We were about to be bushwhacked by Father Time and all his henchmen and we were just going on our merry way. And then we woke up one morning and it was gone –like the last snow in spring. All the shields were carefully erected. The old pathways grew over with the wild foliage that time apart from one another nurtures. We reunionized but we held up only the good report cards to the window. The rest were neatly hidden in the shoe box-filled attics and cellars where they couldn’t be seen or discussed. Why on earth would I hide these things from the friends that held my hand through sexual and emotional and spiritual awakenings and from those who were there for my first toke and from my partners who accompanied me in those vocal-chord-cracking changes in Hey Jude – don’t you know that it’s just cool, Hey Jude you’ll do. The movement you need is on your shoulders? I don’t know. I really don’t. Had I known at the time that things would change the way they do and have, I might have tried something different like – maybe I would have told them that I loved them because I did love them and I still do love them. Maybe I would have given them a time capsule with 24-hour protection or 50-year protection against memories loss so that all subsequent conversations from that point forward would just start up where they left off rendering all new experiences most satisfying and excellent as far as adventures go.

Good memories were phonosynthesized around the car radio back in the day. We took a sad song and made it better. It got sad again for a while but I think we’ve got it right again finally. We were made to go out and get her, or him, or it. And that’s what life is all about isn’t it. Going out and getting it. And . . .

Remember to let (it) into your heart – then you can start

to make it better . . . better, better, better, ooohhhhhhhhhhh

oh wow wow oww oww, na na na, na na na na, na na na na,

Hey Jude, Hey Judie Judie Judie Judie Judie,

na na na, na na na na . . . . . . . ..

. . . and it’s eighteen minutes after the hour and that was the Beatles with Hey Jude. It looks like we’ll have another bright sunshiny day tomorrow. . .

No ma’am, we can’t be sorry about anything after we’ve gone, can we? And, especially after listening to Paul’s advice. God that would be a crime.