Spent some precious quiet time over the Holiday revisiting and reconnecting with my library of recorded music, after a distant 20 months in other places. Found old pleasures and new discoveries lavishly spiced with advances in digital technology.
Ground Zero DeKalb County, Georgia Saturday 25 December 2010
My name is Milton Page. For years Doctor Flowers has been my loyal fan and supporter – and maybe the only person to ever hear my pipe organ music outside the recording studio. Because of his consideration, understanding, caring, empathy, charity, emotional support and humanity it gives me the greatest pleasure to extend Merry Christmas and Holiday greetings to all Doctor Flowers visitors and loyal supporters. I know he wishes to thank each of you for your visits and comments over the past year. How it goes for the next is, well, a matter for speculation.
. I escape Sunday morning, endorphins flowing - neurotransmitters firing, for a gratifying taste of Peggy's sweet honey. Determined to avenge last year's humiliating abort and rehabilitate all that Doctor Flowers stands for. Last year was, and this year will now be the Silver Anniversary of my backroads expeditions to be challenged by forecasted rains, credit card collapses, swine flu, hemlock blight, seat rot and persistent inability to pee. Nonetheless, feet first will be the only way I return early this year unless, of course, the honey runs out.
Looking back, it was like being zapped with a lightning bolt delivering the kind of electric jolt one could never forget. It was 1956, or maybe 1955 or 1957. Try to remember, try to visualize the popular recorded music of that day, some beginning to play on colorless TV. Big bands, Lawrence Welk, Jesse Crawford on the Hammond Organ, tuneful vocalists, Eddie Fisher crying O Mein Papa, Patti Page wondering How Much is that Doggie in the Window, Perry Como, and slow dancing only cheek-to-cheek allowed. All white, all lifeless, and totally boring to a fourteen year old wanting something more. Until, that is, a super-charged taser by the unlikely name Bo Diddley dropped a 45 rpm A-bomb on my, going nowhere, 78 rpm turntable that launched me into an unstable geosynchronous orbit where I've been pulsating ever since to the addictive Bo Diddley Beat. He died on June 2nd this year at the age of seventy-nine leaving behind 4 children, 15 grand children, 15 great grand children, 3 great-great grand children, and an enraptured orphan stranded in high earth orbit with original pressings of his early albums ready to turn and electrify again. Try a little thought exercise. Transport yourself to 1956, or maybe 1955 or 1957. Channel with Pat Boone, Dinah Shore, the Mitch Miller Chorus and the Hit Parade, Tex Ritter, Red Foley or Vaughan Monroe… Then, turn up the volume and start this video. His dying words were, "I'm going to heaven." And, he's sure to find an out of this world orbit uniquely his own.
Doctor HP Flowers Stone Mountain, Georgia Friday 18 July 2008