The Hang

Last night, hubby and I watched "Troubadours," a new documentary custom-made for old music fans who never tire of nostalgia.  It's all about the 70's music scene at Doug Weston's infamous club on Santa Monica Blvd.  I had a lump in my throat, a tear in my eye, a crazy flashback to that tender time when I fell head-over-heels in love with the music of Carole King and JT, Elton John and Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne and Laura Nyro, Loggins and Messina and Tom Waits.  And of course, Mr. Bob Dylan. "Troubadours" sent me on a sentimental journey.

There I was, the SJG:  The Early Years, planted on the carpet in my bedroom on Lindbrook Dr., listening to my record player.  Later on, I'd pick up my guitar and sing, sing, sing.  Greatest hits of the SJG:  "And When I Die."  "Clouds." "Will You Still Love Me Tomor-row?"  "House At Pooh Corner."  "Gone to Carolina."  Best Troubadour memories:  Loggins and Messina.  I was in 9th grade, and chatted up Messina while he tuned his guitar.  "We have the same doctor," I yelled. "Dr. Feder!"  This led to a slight argument over pronounciation.  Messina said, "Oh!  Dr. Fayder!"  I said, "Fe-der."  He said, "Fay-der." We called the whole thing off, but it was a moment I'll never forget.  Another high-point:  Steve Martin, early on, when he was just trying out the arrow through the head, the balloon animals, the happy feet.  And now, the SJG sits at home, reliving the past, a sad puppy.  Snap out of it, SJG.