Giving Thanks

by editor Michele Catalano

It’s 3am and I can’t sleep. I can never sleep. Instead, I’m up listening to the Shawshank Redemption soundtrack because it’s good background music while I write. 

I have this image in my head and I know that while it is based on true events, it is a composite sketch of listening to music in my childhood. I’m standing in front of the stereo cabinet - a piece of furniture that contained the turntable, AM/FM receiver and, behind the doors of the oak cabinet, a television. I didn’t care about the tv. I only cared about that turntable and the collection of records my mother had. I pick out a record – here it’s the soundtrack to Jesus Christ, Superstar – and take it out of its sleeve. I stare at the disc, marvel at it, turn it over. I look at the grooves in awe; how can those etched lines hold all that music? I then put it on the turntable – lovingly, carefully – and put the needle down. The overture fills the room and I am mesmerized, fully enveloped in the sound coming from that unwieldy piece of furniture. My mother is nearby and when “Heaven on Their Minds” starts she sings, loud and confident, and I join her. 

It’s a fond memory, even if it’s one that is sort of piecemeal, taken from all the memories I have of standing in front of that stereo cabinet, choosing albums, singing along, learning about various genres of music and the different emotions each album, each song, brought.

I started on my music journey early, thanks to my mother. I am thankful there was always music playing in my house during my formative years, thankful to my mom for instilling that love of records in my heart and soul, for making sure I listened to all kinds of music. Broadway tunes, rock and roll, classical, Doo Wop, those weird song from the 70s about tragedies, movie soundtracks. She loves it all, from the Beatles and Pink Floyd to the Andrew Sisters and in between. I get not only my love of music from her, but my curiosity about it as well. Thanks, mom.

My older cousins would often let me in their room to go through their records. Al introduced me to the Grateful Dead this way, when I found a copy of Steal Your Face that intrigued me. Michael gave me The Who’s Tommy, Stan fostered my love of comedy records, especially Cheech & Chong. Steven steered me towards Black Sabbath. I had a treasure trove of albums to choose from between those cousins, and they were all integral parts of my upbringing. Thank you, Al and Michael, Stan and Steve. 

There was Eddie, who teased me endlessly about my passion for music, but whose older sister Gloria befriended me and turned me on to Todd Rundgren and whose brother Mike turned me onto Led Zeppelin, a momentous occasion in my musical education. I devoured all the Zeppelin albums available; they became a mainstay in my life then and now. Thanks Eddie and Gloria and Mike.

Then we had high school, where my best friend Kevin taught me so much –  knowledge passed down from his brother Charlie – about prog rock. We consumed so much Yes and ELP and Genesis and acted pretentious about it. While my fellow students were discovering Springsteen and early rumbling of punk, I was listening to the entirety of “Supper’s Ready” and reciting nonsense Yes lyrics. ELP turned me toward some classical music I hadn’t listened to before. My eyes and ears really opened up in high school, discovering music that was out of my reach before then. Thank you Kevin and Charlie.

There was Ed, my manager at Record World, who put me in charge of the import section, where I discovered the emerging world of new wave, a genre that changed my life. There were Mike and Patrick, members of the Long Island punk band Dead Virgins and record store coworkers, who turned me onto The Jam and New Order and DIY punk. Thanks, guys. 

Later, there were other people who turned me onto good music, but by that time I had my own place, my own stereo – not as fancy as my mother’s cabinet – my own records. I read Rolling Stone and Creem and the Tower Records magazine to find out about new music. I remember reading about Radiohead in that magazine. I remember falling in love with Springsteen after reading about him in Time magazine, and I remember falling in love with Bobby (at 15) after he made me a mixtape that was pure rock and roll except for “A Lover’s Concerto” at the very end. So many people contributed to my lifelong quest for music discovery and I am thankful for all of them, for Uncle Phil at Uncle Phil’s records who convinced me to buy a Dead Milkmen album, and Gary at Mr. Cheapo’s who always had CDs and records put away for me because he knew what I liked. My brother in law Matt, who taught me all things Zappa (and turned me on to the Shawshank soundtrack), and my kids, for sharing bands like Taking Back Sunday and artists like Alex G with me. And I’d be a different person without WHPC college radio station who had a metal program in the late 90s that introduced me to System of a Down and Sepultura and Incubus. 

And here we are in the future, where algorithms and online friends help me discover new music. I have conversations every day online about my favorite records, about new albums, about rediscovering the classics. I’m thankful to anyone who has recommended artists to me, who opened the door in the past few years to discovery of bands like Wednesday and Snocaps (two of my top five records this year). 

I’m thankful for so much when it comes to music. It’s the most important thing in my life aside from family, and I always want to remember and treasure the songs and records I discovered through all of these people and places. Music truly holds a special place in my heart, and this Thanksgiving I am giving thanks to all those who made it possible to fill my world with amazing songs and albums, who taught me to look beyond what was in my little corner of the world. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I am truly grateful to you for reading this site.