the overture: a three act opera
“A man can think a lot of thoughts and walk a lot of pavements between afternoon and night. And to a man like Louis Hetzer, to whom memory has suddenly become reality, a resolve can come just as clearly and inexorably as stars in the summer night. Lou Hetzer is now back in time. And his resolve is to put in a claim. To the past.”
"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man... the middle ground between light and shadow, and it lies between the pit of man's fears, and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area that we call, The Sweet Lou Zone.”
Unlike the most educated writer’s or storytellers, I don’t believe my words will change a goddamned thing or anyone’s fucking mind. What I do believe is my reality and how the music made a difference in my world.
Although these writings may suggest otherwise, my intent is not driven by narcissism or any desire for attention common in the current digital era. None of the “greatness” in these musical compositions is because I know more than you, its not about such.
The albums listed by year aren't necessarily the ones I would choose for those times, as there was much more music released than just one album at any given moment. This is just a tiny molecule in that time of my life. I’m a simple average knuckhead who had some really average times, but even average can be memorable; look at “Theater of Pain”, average at best, but still a memorable Motley Crue album.
These writings have been narrowed down to a single album chosen from the 364 (or sometimes 365) days of that particular year. Moments in what felt like a lifetime and written around one single record album. I’m offering a glimpse into my life which is probably no different than yours, trying to find common ground to continue this discussion where it counts, in the real world; broken down to several paragraphs…I could never show you the whole picture, this is comparable to a photo booth single picture.
I finished ten grades of school before I was diagnosed with dyslexia, ADHD, and OCD. Who knows how many other conditions went undetected? Fortunately, years of therapy helped clear up whatever shit was cluttering my mind. My therapist did point out that my dyslexia affects the way I perceive and process the world. She explained that my brain tends to see everything jumbled, so I have to look at the big picture to make sense of things which makes me a strong problem-solver. Or maybe that’s just some head-shrink psychological theory I don’t buy into. If she is right, it suggests my life decisions haven’t exactly aligned with what most people would call impeccable choices.
Perhaps that jumbled head-shrink theory helped me find a different slant or path to take for a “best of” list that’s different from the rest. Perhaps, guess I’ll find out. Maybe this therapy of writing she told me to use will eventually make sense somehow, the maybe it will strip the embarrassment of actually hitting the “publish” button.
They say you can never go home again, but sometimes all it takes is dropping the needle on a record spinning at 33 1/3 rpms. In that instant, you are transported back to the moments you once lived, the atmosphere and emotions recreated as if no time has passed. Memories that seemed lost reawaken, quietly stirring your heart and reminding you of experiences you thought forgotten. Amid the nostalgia, you may realize that the remarkable moments you recall far outweigh the burdens and ghosts of your past, offering comfort and perspective as you reflect on your journey.
“Lou Hetzer, age 64, average ordinary man obsessing over writings for social media. Successful at some things, but not at the one effort that most men try at some time in their lives, trying to go home again. And also, like all men, perhaps there will be an occasion, maybe a summer night sometime when he’ll look up at what he’s doing and listen to the distant music of a calliope and hear the voices and the laughter of the people and the places of his past. And perhaps across his mind there’ll flit a little errant wish that a man might not have to become old, never outgrow the parks and the merry-go-rounds of his youth. And he’ll smile then, too, because he’ll know it is just an errant wish. Some wisp of memory, not too important, really. Some laughing ghost that could cross a man’s mind that are a part of The Twilight Zone.”
