It's one of the basic tenets of Novel Writing 101. You want to help establish the time and setting of the story, include music references – a song, an album, a performer or performers – from the era in question.
Transformation Summer, which is mostly set in the late 1970s, does not lack for music citations. The collage at left (which you can click on) shows just some of the artists from that decade who are name-dropped in the book.
These are mainly cited by our protagonist/narrator Seth, who like many teens in his day (or most any day for that matter, from the advent of mass pop culture on) listened to the radio and bought records or other such media -- cassettes, eight-tracks -- of favorite bands and singers. One thread of Transformation Summer concerns Seth's on/off attempts at being a musician himself, and he notes some of the artists whose songs are in his modest repertoire including: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young; America; "and especially Cat Stevens."
I've often been asked if Transformation Summer is autobiographical in any way, and if Seth is supposed to be a stand-in for me. The short answer to both questions is "not exactly." However, since Seth is around the same age as me, we certainly have some shared musical memories.
I began listening to the radio regularly when I was 9-going-on-10, tuning into WTRY in Troy, NY, which played the then-ubiquitous Top 40 format. I was perfectly happy with it until late in my freshman year of high school, when I began seeking out radio stations that played artists I was interested in but who weren't featured very much, if it all, on Top 40.
Even before then, though, I'd listened to, and enjoyed, albums by artists my parents liked and who seldom (at least not at that time) or never showed up on Top 40: Nina Simone, Lou Rawls, Otis Redding, Charles Aznavour, Dave McKay & Vicky Hamilton, The Clancy Brothers, The Irish Rovers, The Weavers.
Very early on in the book, Seth describes himself as a "typical" teen, and in developing his character I tried to represent his musical tastes accordingly, as might befit a white, middle-class kid of the era. Yet Seth is open to exploration, too, which is validated by Rafe -- the oldest of the teenagers at the camp where most of the story is set -- when he browses through the cassettes Seth has brought with him:
"'Wow, Mott the Hoople? The Tubes! Not bad. Any Tull? Oh yeah -- hmmm, already got that one. Stones, Bowie – Mahavishnu Orchestra? Geez, kid, you jump around a lot, don't you?"
(In retrospect, I could've also widened Seth's explorations to specifically include, for example, female, Black or Latino artists.)
Seth has difficulty figuring Rafe out at first, but Rafe turns out to be a talented musician who winds up playing a significant role in helping Seth rediscover his musicality. This leads to one of the book's climactic events, which involves Cat Stevens' anthemic "Peace Train." [Cat Stevens, incidentally, will be the subject of a future blog.]
The radio landscape had changed quite a lot by the late 1970s, of course. There was still Top 40, but FM radio had become a big presence, what with the advent of the so-called AOR (Album-Oriented Rock) format and the popularity of college radio stations (like WRPI in Troy, which I listened to faithfully for several years), all of which brought a greater diversity of artists and music styles and genres to a wider audience.
The background music program at the grocery store where I shop early on Sunday mornings features a playlist clearly aimed at my generation (well, after all who else shops at that time of the day?). Most of the songs are Top 40 hits from my high school and college years, and to be honest, I didn't much like the vast majority of them at the time they were popular. Yet I couldn't avoid them, because they would often be featured at dances, parties or other social events I attended, or blared through loud speakers at public gatherings and places. Afterward, as a salve, at home I would make a point of listening to the music I preferred, whether prog-rock, singer-songwriter folk-rock or Celtic.
Now? As I push my cart through the aisles on Sunday mornings, I often find myself singing along (softly, out of respect and kindness to my fellow shoppers) with these same songs. Maybe it's all just a softening of the heart, or mind, that comes with age. Or it's because the songs help me recall those Days of Youth, which were generally quite happy and full of promise.
Needless to say, when I hear songs from the 1970s that I did like, the effect is even more profound and fulfilling. Many of them I sang with loved ones and friends, and a few I even learned to play, although long ago I moved on. So I have a feeling of ownership -- that someone else might have composed the song, but it's mine nonetheless.
I think Seth and I -- and no doubt Rafe, too -- could have a very enjoyable conversation about music and its place in the landscape of life and memory. Hey, the way A.I. is going these days, before long I'll probably be able to construct a facsimile of Seth and Rafe for just that purpose. Who knows, we might even have a nice little jam session.
Nota bene: The collage at the top of this page is something I put together as a visual aid for my talk -- which covered some similar ground as this blog -- as part of the July 11 Arlington Author Salon. I'm very grateful to the organizers for the opportunity.
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