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.