Sounds

As I’ve written before, odors are one of the most potent evokers of memories and emotions. Each generation has its own set. Mine includes burning leaves and Ditto machine documents.

But sounds also have the same capacity, especially in music of an era. Last week, I had the pleasure of one of those moments.

I was cruising the back roads of rural southern Illinois, a bit lost in thought. I was jarred back to attentiveness by the blare of a klaxon horn behind me and the peripheral blur of a vehicle passing. An ah-oo-gah horn? When was the last time I heard one of those?

The car streaked by and into my main field of vision. Holy crap! A lead sled! That would be a Mercury, circa 1949-51, usually heavily customized for a low and menacing appearance. And, just as likely, the customizer yanked the flathead V-8 and substituted a screamer with eight jumping pistons.

That was clearly the case here as I enjoyed music to me ears; the banshee howl of a large bore quad on a high rise manifold. There’s nothing in the world like it (“Pedals to the floor hear the dual quads drink…” from “Shut Down” by the Beach Boys). You don’t get that from a fuel injected engine (damn the EPA, anyway).

Okay, Clyde, I’ll play. Let’s see if you’ve got the prunes for some real back road boogie. I reached to slam my Hurst Mystery Shifter back into third and oxidize a little latex. And, of course, it wasn’t there. My mind might’ve been in ’66 but the rest of me resided in the 21st century. I watched the rump of the big Merc disappear toward the horizon and strained to savor the last of its exhaust note. My pulse had jumped about 25%.

And speaking of nostalgic sounds and that number, this will be the 25th anniversary of Darlene Love appearing on Letterman’s show to perform “Christmas (Baby please come home).” If you can watch her belt that (http://tinyurl.com/23zcsu) out without a shiver running down your spine, you’re made of stone.