Music to Your Ears

By Bob Johnson

When we crossed the Washington border on the final leg of our move to northern Idaho last summer, one of the first places on my “To Visit” list was a record store. After we settled into a cottage in Garwood, my search for a store began. Why the desire—no, make that the need—to find a record store? Well, as my wife would tell you, I’m something of a music wonk. (She sometimes substitutes other words for “wonk.”) Our remote cottage had surprisingly good wi-fi, and an internet search soon revealed there was only one record store in the greater Coeur d’Alene area.

The next day, I stopped by. The place was well organized, just like the independent record stores of my teenage years. There also was an extensive collection of “lifestyle” items. Alas, there was no dedicated Idaho Music Section. I loved the store and left with a few records, much to the chagrin of my wife. I already own way too many CDs, records, and cassettes, which is in part because I love not only music, but also stories about music and musicians. With that in mind, would I be able to add an Idaho section to my collection to complement its Topanga Canyon (country rock), Chicago (jazz, blues and Americana), Nashville (country), Seattle (grunge) and other sections?

The visit to the music store me left with an unanswered question: Is there a distinctive Idaho sound? Maybe my Theory of Music Connections could unearth the answer.

This theory recognizes that in music there have been countless examples of one thing leading to another or leading back to its origins. I think the old rock group The Byrds provided the best example, because there were so many branches on its musical tree: Gram Parsons, Emmylou Harris, Roger McGuinn, David Crosby (and Crosby, Stills and Nash, not to mention Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young), the Flying Burrito Brothers, and Chris Hillman, who also was a part of Manassas and the Desert Rose Band.

My connections theory goes back to my formative years, and my music-loving, piano-playing father. Among my earliest music memories are Dad spinning the grooves out of two records in particular—pianist Peter Nero’s “Up Close” and drummer Buddy Rich’s “Big Swing Face”—and how he used to disdain The Beatles. When I was about twelve, I had advanced far enough in my music knowledge to inform Dad that a song on both those records, “Norwegian Wood,” was written by Lennon and McCartney. Yes, that Lennon and that McCartney. To his credit, he admitted they were good songwriters.