Welcome to our Music Issue.
With our feature story on, and incredible photography by, long-time Cleveland rock-and-roll photographer Janet Macoska, we’re honoring the region’s role in rock history. She’s got tales — plenty of them — and she shares a few in our music section that starts on page 30
We also know that music covers many genres. We’ve put together a list of places to enjoy for free, or mostly free, outdoor music. From folk artists to opera singers, one of the best places to listen to music is outdoors, in a park or sitting around a community bandstand, letting a warm breeze push the notes through the summer air.
Many of us indulge our love of music later in life. We’ve got profiles of several Northeast Ohio residents who’ve rekindled their passion and reframed it for the second stage of their lives, sharing it with others along the way.
And our music issue wouldn’t be complete without our pop culture columnist Mike Olszewski weighing in. He talks about NEO’s music venues and the personalities who performed there. We’re also happy to print an excerpt of his latest book, co-written with his wife, Janice, “Smoky, Sweaty, Rowdy, and Loud: Tales of Cleveland’s Legendary Rock & Roll Landmarks.”
Don’t Judge
Some people can’t imagine life without music. I’m not one of them, or at least I don’t think I am. As the first of four kids, I didn’t have older siblings to influence my musical development. The best we had was a console stereo and hand-me-down albums from my bachelor/ cool, Uncle Don. He owned a Corvette. I remember a Marty Robbins album with the song “A White Sportcoat and a Pink Carnation” — and that’s it; a sorry foundation for a ‘70s teen.
A high school friend — an enviable only child — introduced me to The Beatles. On Friday nights, we’d make Chef Boyardee Pizza from a box and retreat to her room for my informal music lesson. Stretched across her trundle bed just inches from the floor, we’d listen to her albums for hours on her record player. It was a world away from the living room console, siblings and ‘50s records at my noisy house.
My next memorable music experience was an Eric Carmen concert — my first — at Akron Civic Theatre. I slathered on Lip Smackers (Dr. Pepper) and splurged on Lemon Up conditioner to tame my frizzy hair on the chance he might see me. Eric — I think I’ve earned the right to call him by his first name — was terrific, but I was just another teen in the crowd. He clearly didn’t deserve me.
In college, I mooched music from friends who arrived with impressive record collections and stereo systems. Disco was hitting its stride, and I also recall a few Dire Straights and Steely Dan albums. I went to a couple of terrific Jimmy Buffett concerts, but my journey to Margaritaville did little to bolster my thin music resume.
Today, my iTunes account has 44 songs divided into categories ranging from Driving Fast Music (“Hot Blooded” by Foreigner is in that one) to High School Music. “Hold the Line” by Toto is in there. Under Sing Along Songs, I’ve got “Love Shack” by The B-52’s. It closed my pregnancy exercise class. The baby turns 29 in June.
That’s my music story. Like with people who quote Bible passages or understand the metric system, I stumble to find a connection with music folks. Don’t judge. People like me make people like you seem cool. Enjoy it. I’ll keep listening to my 44 iTunes songs and the ‘70s playlist on Spotify.
Marie
