September in 33 RPM

Records for September

In an effort to be slightly more positive than my last two rather intense posts (my apologies there) (I blame the cold), I decided today we were going to start a new tradition. I wanted to do an August in Review but August was horribly busy and I felt entirely overwhelmed, so we’re going to take it easy in September and play some vinyls.

September is a month of new and old, a welcoming of the familiar spirit of Back To School that is at once in our past and tied to our futures and inescapable. I find myself eager to buy school supplies even though I haven’t been in school in over ten years. I never even went to college, so I can’t imagine how September might feel different.

September is the welcoming of academia, the hope of learning and growing. The mornings are crisp, teasing at a fall that never truly comes in my neck of the woods, but is a tantalizing beauty in my beloved Philadelphia. But what are we putting on the record player?

Here are my picks for September. Rather than talking about music, because frankly outside of jazz history I know very little, I included little snippets. Little bits of flash fiction inspired by each album. I hope they put you in the right mindset.

Every Picture Tells a Story - Rod Stewart

A voice crisp for autumn lulls you in. Something about this time makes us all thing of the 70s. Maybe the 70s was meant for autumn fashion. Maybe it’s meant for witches. Maggie May is calling, and we should all really be back in school. Maggie May is our summer, dragging us in and promising warmth and sunshine and happiness. But there comes a time then we all must let go, even to Maggie May.

Tapestry by Carole King

When we find ourselves alone in a morning that’s shifting seasons and drinking a cup of tea, we’re just doing what Carole King would want of us. Music can be something like a warm blanket, forming to us. Our rusty morning voices recall a past love that it’s too late for, though we really did try to make it. The leaves are going to die, but some things aren’t worth fighting anymore.

Baby I’m = A Wait You by Bread

Am I too old for this? Am I too old for puppy love? I want to believe I can still feel that sort of young love again, that I’m not too pragmatic. But when the right song hits, suddenly I’m young and naive and I believe I would give anything for love. I believe in the brown eyed boy with messy hair, and in my own gentle heart. When the right song hits, I have something to believe in.

The Stranger by Billy Joel

My best friend is coming to town. We haven’t seen each other in over a year. For a day, we’ll be young roommates again, sharing pho, talking about boys, squealing over The Mummy, and discussing books. We’ll promise that this time, this time, we’ll finally visit Vienna. We’ll be sassy and snippy, the way only old time friends can be. Maybe it’s been years, but it’ll feel like just yesterday, like a song you’ve known your whole life to the point that it’s become your DNA.

Lee Wiley Early Recordings 1931-1937

You think you must have heard her before, but then, you can’t be sure. She’s singing for a time we like to forget in history, the ugly mess that built up to an uglier mess. But she’s there, honest and real. There’s so much mystery to her voice. What are her secrets? What is she hiding? You’ve never heard of her, and there’s not much online. So she’s only a treasure you can stumble upon in a second hand shop, something you grab out of sheer curiosity. She’s not a known treat, but a pleasant surprise you took a chance on. She’s the reminder of why you shop second hand.

Heart Like A Wheel by Linda Rondstadt

I’m always heartbroken at the start of September. Every man leaves me when autumn rolls around. The last one told me he loved Christmas, I told him I loved Halloween and hated Christmas. I’m a January birthday. I can’t help it. Child me resents Christmas. The last ones gone, but I have my Linda Rondstadt vinyl. Her voice is always calling for attention, but especially in September. I’m just always heartbroken at the start of September.

Diamonds & Rust by Joan Baez

My siblings and I sit and listen carefully. So this song’s about Bob Dylan right? No, no, she said in her album Blowin’ Away that people always ask that and it annoys her. But this was before that one right? And Bob Dylan said this was his favorite song! Yeah but.. I mean come on she sings with Joni Mitchell. We’re quiet as we listen. Has there ever been a voice as classic as Joan’s? What do you think she’s really saying here? I think she’s just in a lot of pain. We’re quiet again. Joan sings about the Korean War. When was that? The fifties. Didn't we have a family member who fought in that? Yeah, he won a Purple Heart. Huh. Did you know they call it the Forgotten War? Makes sense. Joan beckons us to silence, to listen carefully.

You’ll Never Walk Alone by Roy Hamilton

I had a pair of saddle shoes. When I wore them with my vintage dresses, people asked me if I went to Catholic School. There’s one Catholic School in every town in the Philadelphia area. A woman told me my look suited me, my shoulder length curls with my 50s vintage dress and saddle shoes. I listened to jazz and 50s music. It’s just the style I prefer, I tried to explain. I’ll paint my nails red while Roy Hamilton’s voice like butter plays on my record player in the background. Beside me I’ll write a short story on my vintage typewriter. It’s Tiffany blue because I love Audrey Hepburn. Quietly I’ll listen, thinking about the story of Roy Hamilton, and wondering when life felt so short.

Romeo & Juliet by Sergei Prokofiev

You’re in school now! Time to pull out the Shakespeare. Time to debate over whether or not Romeo & Juliet is even a love story to begin with (of course it is. Even stupid love is still love sillies). The weather is turning just in time to pull on your vintage blazer and discuss Shakespeare. Which classical rendition do you prefer? Prokofiev or Tchaikovsky? Listen, as long as the answer is Russian you’re correct. Soon you’ll pair the perfect turtleneck with your blazer, chuckle at ink smudges on your fingers, and find yourself itching for tea. If Henry Winter liked Shakespeare ballets, Prokofiev would be his favorite.

Rumors by Fleetwood Mac

Oh no, not happening. This album tells it’s own story.