1. During my senior year at KHS, as I've written, two albums staggered me with their inventiveness and invigorating tracks: Chase's first self-titled album and Santana's Abraxas.
Today I realized that a third album, released in 1971, had a quieter, possibly less obvious, but a long lasting impact on me: Rod Stewart's Every Picture Tells a Story.
I listened to this album today while I exercised.
First, an admission. I judgmentally shied away from Rod Stewart when his songs seemed to turn more disco, I guess in the late 1970s.
Consequently, I nearly forgot about Every Picture Tells a Story.
What a shame.
Today I realized that I'd forgotten, if I ever realized it fifty+ years ago, that Every Picture Tells a Story is an accomplished anthology of musical styles.
In it, Rod Stewart glides between tracks that are blues and gospel inspired, others that have acoustic and folk instrumentation and sensibilities, with tinges of country sounds, and at other times Rod Stewart sings some pretty raucous rock and roll.
I know that during my senior year of high school, the album's most popular song, "Maggie May", was my favorite. I also remembered being haunted by Stewart's riveting cover of Tim Hardin's "Reason to Believe", loving that Rod Stewart and Rare Earth both recorded scintillating covers of The Temptations' masterpiece, "I'm Losing You", and I really had never paid much attention to the beauty of the mandolin before hearing Rod Stewart's "Mandolin Wind".
In about 1987, I began listening to folk music, much of it better described, I suppose, as singer/songwriter music. I went to numerous live shows, including performances by local singer/songwriters in the Eugene/Corvallis area. I became enamored with acoustic instruments and, after going to hear The Seldom Scene in 1988 at the WOW Hall in Eugene, fell head over heels for bluegrass and string band music.
Today I realized that the love I developed for acoustic music, starting in 1987, actually had its origins in Rod Stewart's Every Picture Tells a Story, but I didn't do anything about it back in 1972 and on into my college years. Today, relishing the sounds of the mandolin, steel guitar, pedal steel guitar, and acoustic guitar on this album and the quality song writing of this album (especially "Reason to Believe"), it puzzled me that it wasn't until about fifteen years later that I really began to listen to copious amounts of dobro, mandolin, fiddle, acoustic guitar, steel guitar, pedal steel guitar, and other such music. In many ways the break outs in bluegrass music, along with listening to improvisational jazz, laid the groundwork for my developing affection for the Grateful Dead, the Jerry Garcia Band, Zero, and other rock n' roll and psychedelic jam bands.
I fatigued my legs in the Fitness Center today after time on the treadmill and the NuStep machine.
I hardly noticed, though, as the gratitude inside me grew for the slow developing impact Every Picture Tells a Story had on my eclectic tastes in music, on the wide range of what I enjoy hearing.
2. Where to go from here? Had my day hit its peak of invigoration before 12 o'clock noon, thanks to this stellar Rod Stewart album?
Well, kind of, but not entirely.
The Sunday NYTimes crossword puzzle awaited me and I spent much of the afternoon joining Copper in the bedroom, working this puzzle, napping, and hoping to help Copper feel some relaxation and contentment.
3. Then, shortly before 4 o'clock, Debbie and I blasted east on I-90 to Wallace where we met with Christy, Paul, and Carol for family dinner. Carol and Paul performed in a matinee show at the Sixth Street Melodrama. Christy attended the show, but Debbie and I have become more protective of our time and energy on Sundays and opted to only go to dinner.
We ate at the Fainting Goat in Wallace.
I hadn't dined at the Fainting Goat.
My impressions were all positive.
It's a small restaurant and wine bar, but, somehow, felt spacious at the same time.
Our server seated the five of us in the back of the dining area near the Fainting Goat's definitive brick oven.
Other people were in the room, spread comfortably apart. We could hear each other talk easily and, speaking for myself, I was very comfortable with where we were seated.
The Fainting Goat has a short cocktail menu and Debbie, Christy, and I all ordered an Old-Fashioned. I loved this drink. I don't know what bourbon the Fainting Goat pours, but it was perfectly assertive with the sweetness of the simple syrup taking its rightful place in nearly imperceptible support of the bourbon. The Fainting Goat served the Old-Fashioned with an oversize single ice cube that kept the drink perfectly chilled and never watered down.
I've cut way back on alcohol consumption over the last two or more months. Absence had made my taste buds grow fonder. The bourbon tasted perfect to me.
I ordered a Greek salad topped with crispy chicken and a bowl of French onion soup. The salad was fresh, crisp, and I enjoyed the basil vinaigrette.
But, the soup.
Wow!
The soup.
I loved the soup.
It featured a sherry laced beef broth, caramelized onions, garlic croutons, and a blend of Provolone and Gruyere cheeses, melted, in the brick oven, on top of the broth and onions.
For me, this French onion soup was the platonic ideal of what I have imagined the perfect onion soup to not only taste like, but to feel like in my mouth.
Upon returning home, Debbie exclaimed, "My pizza was really good! Why aren't we going to the Fainting Goat once a week?"
Debbie brought home left over pizza which we'll share for our Monday dinner.
As far as returning with some regularity to the Fainting Goat: I'd love to do that!
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