Don’t Die With the Music Still in you… Those are good words. I don’t remember who original spoke them, or where I first heard it, but it’s something that has stuck with me throughout my life.
The meaning of those words became all too apparent in November of 2018 when I was diagnosed with throat cancer.  More about that later.

It’s been roughly fifty-three  years since I last played in a band.  It was the high school band, and I was a percussionist. I was an arrogant teenager, and didn’t take well to being told what to do. So when the Music Director tried to invoke his rule regarding learning music theory, I resisted. After all, I’m a drummer. My job is to simply keep the beat, and provide some nice percussion to go along with all those saps who had to learn  how to read notes from a sheet of paper. I had a good sense of rhythm and would have made a good drummer, but my arrogance stood in my way. Mr. Burton persisted, insisting that percussionist are not excused from learning theory.  I resisted right back, but lost the battle. My last day in the band was the day I tossed my music book out of an open third story window.

After high school, I did a hitch in the army and a tour in Vietnam. I got married, had a daughter, followed by my first divorce. Now in my twenties, I still had the music in me, but didn’t know how to express it.  I tried trumpet.  I bought a horn, paid for some private lessons, forced myself to learn some rudimentary music theory, and gave up after a short time.  I still hadn’t found my place in the world of music.

My sense of rhythm was still strong. I spent time in clubs listening to bands, and going to concerts. I saw many of the great bands of the 70s and 80s, mesmerized by the driving beat that seemed to provide the backbone for the great guitarists, keyboardists, horn players, and singers. Yes, it was the drums, but there was something else driving the beat that I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t until the mid 70s that I finally figured it out. It was the one guitar player that only had 4 strings.  He was the one that made my chest vibrate when I stood near the stage.  It was he who provided the thumping beat that complimented the drummer.  It was the bass player. This is the instrument I should have learned from the start, but alas, I’m in my thirties. It’s too late. 

Now focused on the bass player, I continued attending concerts and going to clubs. I would get as close to the bassist as I could, admiring his or her skills as she pounded out those beautiful low tones. At a U2 concert with floor tickets, my friends hung around center stage watching Bono sing, while I gravitated to the side of the stage and spent the entire concert spellbound by Adam Clayton on the bass. Filled with regret for not having learned this wondrous instrument, I could only fantasize about being on stage and giving the world this beautiful back beat. I was destined to spend the remainder of my life wishing I could go back to the day I let myself get drummed out of the band, and choosing a different path.

Three marriages, two divorces, three kids, and a few grand-kids later, it’s 2018. I’ve obtained two college educations, enjoyed two different careers, and am now happily married and retired. Life couldn’t get any better for me.  Then it happened.  In November of that year, I was diagnosed with throat cancer. My first thought was that my life was over: but it was just beginning.

In January of 2019, I began radiation treatment and chemotherapy.  This treatment continued until the end of February, when I began the long and slow process of recovering from the radiation. I was unable to eat, and lost a great deal of weight, so a feeding tube was inserted into my stomach.  I spent my days in the recliner watching reruns and pouring a liquid formula into my tube. During this recovery period, I had plenty of time to think. I thought about my past and my future. I thought about all the things I had done, the things I wish I had done, and the things I regretted. Visions of that music book sailing out of a third story window haunted me, and I wished I could change that. I wished I hadn’t been so arrogant, and had learned music. Most of all, I wished I had taken up bass when I was young. That’s when those haunting words crept back into my mind and spoke to me:
Don’t die with the music still in  you.

On June 2, 2019 I ordered an $89.99 bass on Amazon, with the idea that if I didn’t like playing bass, I wouldn’t be out much money. Along with the bass, I purchased a used Fender Rumble 25 amplifier on Craigslist.  I also purchased several beginner bass and music theory books. I had all the time in the world to read, watch online videos, and practice, and was determined that I would make up for all those years of regret.  I WILL learn how to read music, I WILL learn music theory. I will not give up this time. I WILL become a bass player.