Let's Get Together, Smile on Your Brother

Jesse Colin Young from the cover of the LP, Song for Juli.

When I came across the news that singer Jesse Colin Young had died last week, my heart sank, a reaction over which I had no control. He was 83 -- a decent life span, I thought. No cause of death given.

The thing is, Jesse's career and my life conjoined in a funny and, in the end, heartfelt way. In fact, at one time, I was Jesse Colin Young.

His 1973 song "Ridgetop" about living in the woods north of San Francisco  -- a jazzy rockin' ode to counter-culture environmentalism -- struck a chord in me the moment I first heard it in a record store in downtown Eugene, Oregon, where I was hoping to relocate with my small family -- wife Linda and daughter Molly.

I purchased the record, which also included "Song for Juli," a beautiful dedication to his young daughter, and the title of the album.

Jesse's tenor rose rose to a wonderfully optimistic octave -- smooth and good feeling. His voice didn't approach negativity. So much so, that his attempt to evoke a grim moodiness in his psychedelically inspired song, "Darkness, Darkness," was still hopefully charged by his unique voice.

In 1977, he brought his band to the Cocoanut Grove Ballroom in Santa Cruz. A lady friend of mine was dying to go. I was curious but had been sidetracked by so many of the great folk-blues inspired compositions of the Seventies by the Eagles, Steve Miller, Boz Skaggs, Neil Young to name a few. 

Jesse's show at the Grove was a bust, uninspired and disappointing. He seemed to have stagnated for some untold reason. He'd gone stale. I had lost Linda in a car accident the previous year and my emotions were jumbled. Was that it?

Fast forward to 1979. I had moved to Santa Cruz, had two young daughters with me, Molly, 9 and Vanessa, 4. A young guy I don't know knocks on my door to ask if he can climb the pine tree in my front yard to retrieve his frisbee. "Of course."

He tells me that he's visiting his sister across the street. I don't know her, have only seen her from a distance. He tells his sister, Barbara, that Jesse Colin Young lives across the street from her.

That is how he described me. I guess it was the dark hair and mustache. Long story short, the moniker becomes, jokingly, my pseudonym. Barbara and I become a couple and a family with a third daughter, Bryna. I call Barbara, Jane Fonda.

I don't believe we really saw ourselves as celebrities, but it was fun. 

Me as Jesse

Sometime later in the 90s, Barbara and I are vacationing on the Big Island of Hawaii. I see in the local newspaper that Jesse Colin Young will be performing at the Aloha Theater in a small town above Kona. He lives here on a small coffee plantation. We attend the show with our Hawaii friends and former Santa Cruz neighbors, George and Kathy.

Jesse looks healthy and happy and the show includes Hawaiian players and songs and oozes with love and aloha in front of a local audience in the intimacy of a restored old theater. It was a winner. A few nights later we find ourselves in a restaurant specializing in fusion cuisine (East & West) with George and Kathy and Jesse. Jesse is actually sitting at another table with his family. We don't meet.

Back home in Santa Cruz maybe seven years ago, we see that Jesse Colin Young will perform in concert  at the Rio Theater, a former movie theater now performance venue. Of course we go. Jesse performs with a band of young musicians, including his son, who are touring the country. He's the seasoned band leader of these talented kids.

Jesse's voice is as pristine as ever. He has the audience swinging with his signature "let's get together, smile on our brother" anthem. He tells the story of how he had suffered from Lyme Disease from a tick bite, how it took a toll on his life.

I thought about his lifeless show at the Grove in '77. After all the years I had wondered about his performance and my disappointment. I attributed it to Lyme Disease. He later wrote a song, "Lyme Life."

Thank you Jesse for hanging in there. Barbara and I thoroughly enjoyed the show. I could tell that having your son and a group of young, exceptional musicians play with you elevated you to a higher level. 

That would be Maestro.

JC Young 2019

Side Note: Singer/songwriter Kris Kristofferson (1936-2024) was misdiagnosed with Alzheimers for years, before his memory loss was finally attributed to Lyme Disease.

 

When I was Editor

Art by my daughter Isabel Bryna. Her imagery soars into the cosmos lighting the way to a more munificent world.

I write these words with a heavy heart as I watch our nation being unfairly, vindictively and most of all, stupidly, destroyed by the Trump Administration.  

We are not a perfect country. When you choose democracy you understand the necessity for compromise, which is a dirty word for extremists. Our founders were not extremists. The current president and his apparatchiks are exactly that, or cowards.

For the past month I have witnessed an unconscionable tearing apart of the American dream that includes personal freedom and equality for all. We're supposed to be the good guys. We help people, root for the underdog. Lend a hand to our neighbors and community. But no more. The President is a bully, a monger for power. He hates poor people, has no use for them. It's all about grifting for more wealth for himself and his family and his wealthy donors. He has alienated and divided us.

If you've been paying attention, you understand that a sea change is taking place throughout the world. Strong men, authoritarians, are drawing lines. You're either in or you're out. Zero sum. Extreme is the word of the day.

To assuage my sorrow about all of this, I've been watching and listening to the comedy of Stephen Colbert and John Lawrence who make fun of the hypocrisy and horror of what's going on. I get a good laugh and feel better for a moment. And the Golden State Warriors have been playing better and that's lifted my spirit a tad. I've also been listening to my favorite songs and artists. I hear a phrase from The Beach Boys' "God Only Knows" and tears fill my eyes. I found Judy Collins and Leonard Cohen singing "Suzanne" together on YouTube and my heart swelled as I remembered that era. 

Maybe I'm just getting old and wistful. I haven't been able to write much. Over the past nearly ten years I've bared my soul in stories on this blog. Some pieces I have taken off the platform because they are so personal. One of my blog posts was deleted. I don't know why. Either I was hacked or Google -- the host of this blog site -- decided it was unfitting. I can't contact a real person at Google to ask. "They" never informed me about why they removed the post, which was about my ancestors, the Civil War and why we should elect a woman for president.

I wrote a harmless piece following the recent election and tried to share it on Facebook, which informed me that it didn't meet their standards (?). So Zuckerberg censored me while at the same time he informed the world that he was allowing free speech on FB. I say, bullshit.

Given the censorship of my writing, I have essentially divorced myself from FB and I'm considering ending by blog on Google. I figured that the title of this blog post would pass the censors. Note that Trump is surrounding himself with propagandists and fake news makers, taking seats away from legitimate news sources like the nonpartisan Associated Press. 

One of my great memories and experiences was working as editor for several publications. I loved dealing with writers, especially young people just starting. I also looked for the best writers who told their stories most honestly and gracefully. I was a light editor, which means in editing a piece for publication, I attempted to maintain the voice of each writer. I have been published in various periodicals and found that some editors will always rewrite your copy. I believe this leads to the same sing-song voice in every story. 

It's been my pleasure to produce this blog in my own words without an editor. Although I'm sure my writing at times has suffered from not having a perspicacious editor. 

So if you don't hear from me for a while, you know why. I'm hanging out, watching and waiting to see what happens. If something inspires me, I may post. Thank you for joining me on this journey of words and ideas. Peace be with you. Don't let the bastards get you down. 

And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make. -- the Beatles, from Abbey Road