Autumn Echoes

A remix.
—

In the autumn breeze, the shadows fall,
Fallen leaves whisper stories, echoing our call.
All the leaves are brown, painting the ground,
Memories of summer, lost and never found.

Fallen leaves, drifting down,
In a world of silence, where hope feels drowned.
But the colors fade, yet they hold on tight,
Through the darkest nights, we’ll find our light.

Walking through the remnants, the chill in the air,
Dreams once vibrant, now a fading flare.
All the leaves are brown, but our hearts remain,
In the dance of shadows, we embrace the pain.

Fallen leaves, drifting down,
In a world of silence, where hope feels drowned.
But the colors fade, yet they hold on tight,
Through the darkest nights, we’ll find our light.

So let the leaves fall, let the seasons change,
Through the storms and silence, love won’t feel strange.
We’ll rise from the ashes, in the colors we’ve worn,
For every end is just a place to be reborn.

Fallen leaves, drifting down,
In this autumn’s heartbeat, we’ll never drown.
All the leaves are brown, but we’ll stand our ground,
In this endless cycle, together we’re found.

Thanks to ChatGPT for remixing The Mamas & The Papas – California Dreamin' with Billy Talent – Fallen Leaves

My First Music Memory

My earliest recollection of listening to music happens to be one of my fondest memories of childhood, one that can't actually recall any details of without reminders from my parents. This begs the question, "what are memories?" but that is a topic of another day & place.

This memory, so to speak, has me as a six or seven year old in the basement of my parent's home at the time. A rec(reation) room with wood-paneled walls complete with a wet-bar & accompanying bar stools provided the backdrop for my first real interaction with music. It was those bar stools— along with a record player that always had a 33in spinning or an 8-track inserted, where I first realized how music was intended to be consumed and enjoyed.

The album was the Beach Boys Endless Summer, the one with the cover that has the somewhat questionable men peering through the long grass, that would become my gateway into music. From the first time I removed disc-one from the US double album release, I was hooked to the smooth sounds & up-beat tempo which all forty-six minutes and twenty-one seconds of listening time offered up.

I can’t recall if the vibes from that record hit me where I most needed it because I was already a depressed kid and in need of something upbeat in my life, or if the melodies were just that good and made it hard for anyone to resist moving to the beat. I’ll never be certain why I connected with the sounds of the Beach Boys from the moment the needle was dropped onto that piece of vinyl for the first time, but I’m thankful the record was part of our small collection in my early years.

If there is one specific part of this experience that stands out more than any other it is this:

The vivid mental image of me, straddling two bar stools, with a styrofoam barbershop quartet style corn hat on— which was a mainstay of the wet-bar decor, pretending that I’m surfing in the USA— while listening to Surfin' USA.

I wish there were a picture, or better yet video, of this feat so that I could have proof that this memory was in-fact a very real & embarrassing part of my upbringing and a core element of my music experience lineage.

— Now, more than 30 years since this seminal memory was formed, I find it most interesting that I cannot recall any other affinity for the music of the Beach Boys or any aspect of their careers throughout my life. While I can sing along to their most popular hits when they appear on the radio, as I imagine most North American born individuals are likely able to, there is very little I can tell you about the group or their works. Perhaps if I panelled the walls in my current basement, and found some leather topped bar stools to hop on top of I could recreate this moment as I enter into my fortieth year and see if a new relationship can be kindled with "The Boys".

Then again, this might be best left as a childhood memory not to be forgotten.