Sometimes the messy threads of life unravel and re-form into a great big bow. Sometimes you unknowingly attach to something that lasts, permeating your consciousness with such force that even a slight nod to that memory brings a special kind of bliss. Those moments suspend time, destroying momentarily its linear power.
Leon Russell's music is one such thread in my life. College years - blasting his first solo album down the halls of my old dorm and out the windows toward the banks of the Fox River on a spring day. Wearing down those grooves - repeated playings - joyous movement. Innocent times, good times. I moved those vinyl albums faithfully through the years because I couldn't imagine parting with them. Old friends those songs.
I didn't sense he had stepped off the big stage because I often returned to those tunes. By the time I met Tim, technology had advanced and, sharing our love of Leon and Tim's chronic need to downsize, we eventually ditched the bulky albums and stereo for replacement CD's and hand-selected mixes great for road trips of our own. Good times, not as innocent times.
