Tahoe Pine Nuts: The visceral impact of listening to live music
Special to the Sun
I’m not a doctor, but I can tell you — live music will cure whatever ails you, be it the botch, the emrods or the erysipelas.
I was reminded of this truism last Saturday while celebrating the 150th birthday of the Nevada Appeal, the oldest continuously operating business in Nevada — if you don’t count brothels.
I was nursing a little hangover from the night before and was feeling rather flat when the Naughty Team Mistresses of Nevada started singing their praises, and with a rush and a whir, my heart flew aloft and settled comfortably back into my chest where it belongs, instead of in my stomach.
I’m here to tell you, my friend, live music is the best medicine on the shelf, and I’m not asking you to take it just from me.
Recent research has discovered that live music promotes a state of quiet alertness in infants that is beneficial to development.
Live music can quicken the heartbeat, deepen breathing and provide a complete makeover of the libido.
Of course we all know that live music can make those of us who don’t know how to dance, think we can.
Just yesterday I received an epistle from a dear friend who commented, “Those who criticize your writing never saw you dance.”
Let’s face it — we all have one song from the past that will stop time for us when we hear it.
I confess, when Percy Faith’s, “Theme from a Summer Place” comes on the car radio I have to pull off to the side of the road, sit there, and fight back the tears of love lost.
It’s embarrassing, especially when I have passengers in the car.
Then there are new songs that catch your ear and you can’t get them out of your head for weeks.
Also at the Nevada Appeal Sesquicentennial, I stood and listened to an exemplary barbershop quarter sing, “Don’t Go Through the Screen Door, Grandma, You Might Get Strained.”
And that song is in my head yet. I wish I could sing it to you so you might have it, and I could be done with it.
I suppose, because I saw Elvis live at the Oakland Auditorium in 1956, I am now looked upon as something approaching a National Landmark, or at least a curiosity.
I can only marvel today at the inspired musical groups that appear at the Lake of the Sky, “Dead Winter Carpenters” being one of my favorites. When they sing, “One Foot in the Gutter,” well, it brings a tear.
Of course everybody loves “Shiloh.” Shiloh’s rendition of “My Baby Thinks He’s a Twain” is live music that will cause a body’s very liver to curl with enjoyment. It knocks the spots out of any music I ever heard.
Finally, in closing, if you have trouble sleeping at night, try asking your wife or husband or partner if they might sing this song as you turn out the lights, “Get Your Biscuits into the Oven and Your Buns into Bed.”
No, if live music does not cure whatever ails you, I’ll bury you at my own expense.
Learn more about McAvoy Layne at http://www.ghostoftwain.com.
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