I used to wince growing up as my family watched TV and my dad would point to the old black and white TV and say, “That movie is full of dead people!” He was raised in the 1930s and 40s, and all of his movie heroes were getting up in age by the 1960s. He’d also look at old photos like Lincoln’s 2nd inauguration and say something similar. The eerie thing about Lincoln’s photo is that every single person walking and breathing in that picture is truly dead–no exaggeration!

Yesterday I saw that Clarence Clemons, the iconic sax player for Bruce Springsteen, succumbed to a massive stroke over the weekend. He was 69. The beginning of June carried some sad news to many, myself included, that singer/songwriter Andrew Gold, 59, died of a heart attack in his sleep. Gold was a musical hero of mine and is best known for writing “Lonely Boy.” I followed him years before as he became the wunderkind multi-instrumentalist and vocalist for Linda Ronstadt’s band in the 70s. Just a few years ago another personal hero, Dan Fogelberg, passed away too soon at 56 from complications relating to prostate cancer–an illness he had been battling for some time. I am understanding my father more and more lately as I witness the demise of folks from my generation.

It makes one think about mortality and the promises we heard in school like “we can be all we want to be.” The sad thing is most of the folks who pass away relatively young probably weren’t ready to go; they had more dreams to fulfill and more songs and records to record. One thing I know for sure, we are never promised tomorrow. Some of us, like my dad, are blessed to live long lives (85 this year!). My grandmother lived to be almost 100. Sadly, my mother passed away at the young age of 67. No one knows the day or the time.

Life is finite…at least here on earth. I believe in eternal life after death, though–that God exists and a real heaven awaits those who are redeemed in Christ. I know that seems old-fashioned to some reading this, but I really have a deep, anchored trust that when it is my time, I will pass into eternity with my Lord. A Christian isn’t guaranteed a longer life than a non-Christian. But the Bible does teach that if we live good, faith-filled lives–trusting in God for our future and being content in Him–we can make provision for our lives and enjoy the resultant health benefits of a positive attitude (Proverbs 17:22, 1 Timothy 6:6).

Even with all that being said, I am saddened when I read of the deaths of life-long heroes. Most of my musical mentors are 10 years older than me; that puts them in their sixties these days. But even as death is real and possibly eminent, I want to live my life to the fullest, even to the end.

Thanks for the music Clarence, Andrew and Dan. Your lives have certainly enriched mine!

There’s nothing worse than getting into a shower, ready for a rejuvenating 20-minute sauna experience, only to find there is just enough hot water available to fill a tea cup. The next sucky thing is that the pressure coming off of the shower spigot is about as powerful as a vegetable irrigation system at the local grocery store. I like to travel, not because I adore crowded planes and shuttle buses, but for the fact that most decent hotel rooms have hot water and pretty serious water pressure. In other words, to get a good shower, I have to leave home! That’s just plain wrong.

Because of this serious problem in our home, growing increasingly worse over the past two years, it was finally time to get my beloved shower back in working order. A few years ago I had a plumber come out and survey the problem. Of course when mechanics, electricians and plumbers see me coming, their eyes usually light up with matching jackpot symbols like a Vegas slot machine (they put two and two together: musician equals idiot with zero fix-it skills). They immediately start to plan their Redneck Riviera vacation at Gulf Shores as they add-up the potential financial damage they’ll be creating for me.

The plumber who came over on this occasion let me off fairly easy and suggested a simple water heater flush. “Okay?” was my ignorant reply (he could have said “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!” from Mary Poppins and I would have said, “Cool..sounds great!!”). He proceeded to hook a garden hose up to the water heater sitting in the back corner of my garage. After the better part of an hour, he bled that cylinder dry (what he did while the water water was draining is still a mystery). When it was through, the guy pointed to the runoff in my driveway: I couldn’t believe the amount of sand that made its home in my water heater over the previous eight years. Its bowels were exposed, transforming the concrete drive into what looked like the Sahara Desert!

He snapped a bubble on a huge chuck of pink gum then proceeded to suggest I get a new water heater. After tallying-up the charges, he plopped a piece of paper into my palm that read: $750. “And we’ll even haul the old one away,” he said offhandedly while simultaneously checking text messages on his cell. Snapping his flip-phone shut, he zoomed-in for my idiot-musician response. I surprised him with, “Maybe next time…” He shook his head with disapproval, rolled up the garden hose and threw it in the truck. It landed right next to the brand-new water heater that he hoped to offload on me.

So, two years later, its time to replace that dinosaur in my garage. My buddy Kevin is coming over this morning to help me. No, let me rephrase that…Kevin is coming over and I’m gonna help him…errr…get in his way. Hopefully, after the problem has been corrected, tomorrow morning I can lean up against the corner of my shower to let that scalding hot water cascade down my back and wash another “honey-do” off the list. Next item: the upstairs air conditioner drain isn’t working. I guess I better see if my buddy’s available…

So, where else do you go when in Cleveland other than the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? Ralphie’s house from “A Christmas Story.” Yes, it still stands, as well as many of the other sites that were used in the filming of the movie, including the Chinese restaurant and Higbee’s Department Store (pictured: Ralphie’s house today).

Since the movie opened in 1983, it has snowballed into a must-see Christmas movie for many Americans. It is surprising to learn that when it was released a week before Thanksgiving in 1983, it was received to moderate success. By Christmas, a few weeks later, it was only being shown in a few theaters across the country. Because of television reruns, the movie has had a chance to percolate in people’s hearts, enough so that by December 2007, AOL ranked the film their #1 Christmas movie of all time.

The movie is endearing to me because it depicts an imperfect family, quirks and all. Even though the characterization of many of the people in the film are cartoon-like, their faults were redeemed by the end of the movie. The father’s “cuss like a sailor” dialogue and the mother’s overprotecting qualities made it real for many. I wasn’t raised in the mid-west in the 40s like Ralphie, but I grew up in the 60s in Orange County, California where many of the same characters were scattered throughout my neighborhood: bullies, wild dogs, mythical school teachers and best-buddies. The biggest character in the movie was Christmastime…and we all love that time of year. Thanks to Ted Turner, “A Christmas Story” is always on during the holidays.

After the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Brenda and I are going across town to pay a visit to Ralphie’s house. Christmas will come a little early this year.

I have said it before: songs from our youth are like soundtracks to our lives; when hearing them as older people, we are transported back to those days–the feelings, sights and smells all come rushing back. No group is better than the Eagles at contributing to the soundtrack of my generation.

The songs that came from the Eagles truly bathed my life with the wonders of the American West. They painted images of the desert–replete with cactus, mountains, and mesas–along with mythical mansions where you can check in but never leave. All of these pictures created a fantasy that I longed to set out and find like a musical Don Quixote. When I left home and started my musical career, I eventually realized that those images were all marketing ploys. But man, do I ever love the thought that somewhere out there a place exists where all of those fables are true!

Isn’t it crazy how we are transfixed by songs from our youth? I fell in love with the music of America, Dan Fogelberg, Linda Ronstadt and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young for the same reason: they sang of a place where I wanted to live. I wanted to join them–sing and play along-side them. The dream sort of crumbles when you find that your musical heroes are made of flesh and blood–that they can sing out of tune–just like you.

But sometimes the magic is suspended for a few moments, just like it was Friday night when Brenda, my brother Jon, his wife Beth and I saw J.D. Souther in concert at Work Play in Birmingham. Many may not recognize his name, but J. D. Souther helped the Eagles sculpt those images as co-writer on many of their songs. “New Kid In Town,” “Best of My Love,” “Heartache Tonight,” and “The Sad Cafe,” to name a few. You probably remember his voice on James Taylor’s “Her Town Too.” As a performer, his own recording charted #7 on the pop charts called “You’re Only Lonely.” Souther’s voice and writing also graced Linda Ronstadt records with songs such as “Prisoner in Disguise” and “Faithless Love.” J.D. is a powerful performing artist in his own right.

I was looking at new releases a few weeks back when I saw that Souther had a new CD coming out called “Natural History.” The recording covers several of the songs mentioned above in a stripped-down, acoustic fashion. The CD is certainly one to purchase, especially if you are a fan of Ronstadt and the Eagles. I searched online and noticed that the concert in Birmingham was just weeks away. I had to go see him.

So, as we sat there in that booth Friday night watching him sing those songs live, I was carried back to my teen-aged years of unbridled dreams and musical passion. I still have that drive to play and sing, but I’m wise to the fables that my musical heroes spun back in the day. After the concert my brother bought the new CD, exchanged words with Souther and procured a silver autograph. I walked away from Work Play that night full–full of great memories and the passion to get back to writing the songs that are waiting to be birthed in my own heart.

Musicians are driven. We will endure poverty, rejection, bad gigs, stuffy, smelly buses and vans, sketchy motel rooms, junk food, long stretches away from loved ones and long stretches with some people who we can’t stand. There is a primal need to keep pressing on to the nebulous goal of the perfect gig. We always tell ourselves, “It’s right around the corner!” The reality is, we don’t have a destination. Yes, we have the rehearsals, the gigs, the promise of a new audience in a new city, but the true reason we endure is hidden in the deep recesses of our psyche.

Something about music reaches the mind, heart and emotion of a musician differently than the normal person. I can remember, even as a child, deep feelings of love, sadness, longing, etc., when I heard a song on the radio or stereo. Distant memories of “Happy Together” by the Turtles, “Yesterday” by the Beatles, and “When I Was Seventeen” by Frank Sinatra come to mind. I don’t know exactly when I decided to play the guitar, but I knew that when I heard music I wanted to re-create the emotions I felt when I listened to it.

My ability to hear harmony and sing on pitch caught my mother’s ear as a youngster. She had an incredible musical ability herself which she applied to singing harmony and playing the piano. I guess since the guitar was the preeminent expressive instrument of my generation, I opted for one of those. I got my first one around 1967, and after fiddling around a bit, I realized I took to the 6 strings like I took to singing harmony.

Something in music keeps driving me. All through middle school, high school, and college I kept playing. Even when my band mates fell away because of a girlfriend, a job, or because they were sick of it all, I decided to keep on. I’m 51 in a month and I’m still on course! So many folks like me end up here in Nashville. We all look like refugees, carrying our instrument on one shoulder and a sack full of broken dreams on the other. Most of us are way past discouragement, so we keep walking.

I love my profession. It has taken me through 31 years of joy, sorrow, world travel and new vistas. The most valuable gift that I have from my travels is my beautiful wife, who decided 25 years ago to join me on this crazy journey.

So, it’s time for a road trip for me and Brenda. I was too busy doing Christmas rehearsals last December to properly celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary (I deeply regret that!). So we’re gonna pack it up and take a trip to Cleveland, Ohio, home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where a new Beatles exhibit opens. We will also visit some of my old stomping grounds where I once lived in Columbus, and stay with some dear friends. Then we will go to Ft. Wayne, Indiana to visit Sweetwater Sound to see Alan Parsons give a lecture (yes, the Alan Parsons of Beatles, Pink Floyd and the Alan Parsons Project fame!).

I look forward to being with my bride and making this pilgrimage, of sorts. It’s not to replace a spiritual trip to Jerusalem–but pretty close. My journey as a music guy won’t end until my heart stops beating. Until then, I’m gonna be playing, singing, writing and listening–trying to create the same emotion that put me on this road in the first place.