On Being a Test Subject
Our dog, Winnie, has been great to have around during this time. She has never been happier having both me and my wife around all day, every day. But her fur was getting so long, she could barely see. Our groomer is closed, so my wife decided she was going to have to trim her. Before she decided to try her hand at the cosmetological arts, she needed a test subject. I was that proverbial guinea pig.

My wife, armed with a beard trimmer, a comb, and kitchen shears, sat me down on our back porch and began to initially attack my mostly bald head with trepidation, which then led to abandon. She was proud of her accomplishment and, to tell you the truth, my hair looked about as good as you can imagine from a first-time stylist embarking on her first attempt. She was now ready for the more important task of dog grooming. Good luck to everyone who needs some personal grooming during this time!

Today's Special Guest Contribution: "Wabash Blues" from the Duke Ellington/Johnny Hodges LP Back to Back
By John Bevier, Sales Manager, The Sound Organization/Diehard Audiophile/Big Hugger/Winter Sports Lover

I studied political science and theology in college, which I picked for its alpine ski team. I generally was filled with the expectations of others with well-intentioned advice as I abdicated my own self-steerage through life. College was an extension of boarding school – sheltered, demanding, away from home. After graduation, I was sure I would go to law school. Then it was med school, and then seminary. There wasn't really a career I didn't consider at one point or another. I took a part-time job at a lovely hi-fi store (Audio Den) in Burlington, Vermont, because, and I swear this is true, I wanted to buy gear for half price. Several years later, I met a wonderful woman already in law school in San Francisco. She was about halfway through her program, and I decided to follow her out west.

San Francisco in the mid-80s was nothing like Burlington – not in the least. Lots of people, big buildings, the ocean, Chinatown, street vendors selling incredibly good-tasting morning coffee. I took a job at Audio Excellence on Washington Street at the foot of the Transamerica building and jumped into the world of more esoteric hi-fi wearing a near-permanent grin that stretched from ear to ear. Most mornings, before heading to the store, I would leave our apartment and run the length of Golden Gate Park to the ocean, and then grab a MUNI bus home if I didn't feel like doubling my mileage (which was most days). The smell of eucalyptus trees in the air, people doing slow-motion tai chi near the reflecting pond, and the sand and ocean at the end. It was magical!

And the clientele – wow, what a mix. One man claimed the only way to listen to music was to sit in a square room with two pairs of Klipsch corner horns, one for each corner, playing mono recordings pushed through a bank of equalizers. Another customer had season tickets to the symphony. He often called and asked if I wanted his seats since he and his wife didn't feel like going.

Winter came, and with it, storms that rolled in off the ocean. Rain pitched itself sideways with winds that made signs swivel on their axes. One night on my way home, the bus was mostly empty. The headlights and street lamps were blurred by the rain on the windows, and the driver had the wipers going full speed so he could see. It was chilly and damp, and I wore my warmest Vermont sweater under my rain gear.

That evening, I had a little FM radio with crude ear buds. I turned it on, pushed the buds into my ears, and tuned to a station I had never heard – KJAZ in Alameda, across the bay. A gravelly male voice announced, "Here's a special tune for tonight." A pause, then a brief percussion start followed by an alto sax, drums, piano, and guitar. It danced, it wound, it swayed, it was simultaneously sad and gleeful – totally unlike anything I had ever heard!

I melted, was transfixed, saw a glimpse of another kind of musical universe, was touched on such a deep level that I'm pretty sure my mouth hung open. Maybe it was the weather, or maybe the fact I was so far from Vermont, and missed my family and old Audio Den buddies. No matter. It swept me away on a tidal wave of emotion. I felt so very much alive and present despite the memories the notes dug up.

At the song's finish, the DJ said, "And of course, the incomparable Duke Ellington and Johnny Hodges doing one of my favorites, ‘Wabash Blues,' on a Verve pressing I brought in from home." The music is a Latin blues blend written by an unknown artist, first recorded in 1921 but played as early as 1918 in Kansas City. Duke and Johnny recorded it in February 1959. I was two months old at the time. It's amazing how music can be the vehicle that delivers emotion, anchors memory, and provides context to our world. In retrospect, that night was the moment I knew I would make my career in the hi-fi industry. What's that old saying? "When the student is ready, the teacher appears."

To this day, I use "Wabash Blues" at both trade and end-user shows, and it takes me right back to that bus ride through the rainy streets of San Francisco, reminding me every time what an immensely lucky human being I am and how grateful I am for every day I get to bring the joy of music into the lives of others. We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us – single beings in an unfolding line of living, breathing, thinking, feeling, and creating people. For me, music is the nourishment that feeds my soul and opens the gateway to my heart.

This period of C-19-mandated "Stay at Home" has given my wife and me the gift of hours of music – some new and many rediscovered. We've grown closer as a couple, and I've also spent more time playing guitar now than at any other time in my life. The joy of creating music, no matter how well or to what level of proficiency, is the gift I didn't see coming. I love unearthing my musical voice – a process that helps me more deeply appreciate what artists offer us on every one of their creations.

Happy listening. Burrow deep everyone!