The music played on car radios and home stereos when we were teenagers sticks with us. Attending concerts by musicians and bands who write and perform that music makes the connection even stronger.
Each period of music is quite specific--you might have some overlap with a sister a few years older (or younger) than yourself, but you'll each prefer a different repertoire. Much depends on what radio stations are playing as we make our way from junior high to high school and beyond.
Friends' preferences (and record collections) must be taken into account, along with TV shows based on each decades' music, from the 1950s' "American Bandstand" to the mid-1960s' "Hullabaloo" and "Shindig" to the early 1970s' "Soul Train" and the 1980s' music video-laden MTV.
If you grew up in the latter part of the 20th century and subjected your parents to the sort of music that caused them to shout at you to turn it down, consider revisiting your rebellious years by time-traveling at "Play it Loud: Concerts at Barton Coliseum" a look back at some of the more than 1,700 concerts staged at Little Rock's premier concert venue from the 1950s to today.
The exhibit, on display at the Old State House Museum in Little Rock, is too quiet for my taste (I prefer Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum's multiple layers of music blasting from everywhere), but it's fun to inspect the museum's walls hung with concert posters, musical instruments (from signed guitars to guitar picks), programs, souvenirs, tickets, album covers, photographs, clothing, and more.
"It took about a year to put this thing together because of the covid virus," says Bill Gatewood, director of the Old State House Museum.
What is the relevance of concerts or music or performances at Barton to the museum?
"Our mission is to interpret Arkansas history from statehood to the present, and this is an important part of that; not so much about the musicians who played here, but about the concert-going experience at Barton," he says.
Some of you may not immediately recall who you saw perform there, or elsewhere, or when. I've seen zillions of concerts at Barton, as well as at Public Hall and other venues in my hometown of Cleveland (there's a reason it's the home of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame). If only I'd kept a list of the bands I'd seen there. But one thing I remember even more than the specific band is, as Bill Gatewood says, the concert-going experience.
Many memories involve what I wore to various shows. The first big-time concert I attended--while in elementary school--was the Beach Boys at Euclid Beach Park. It was outdoors in August. You'd think we kids would wear shorts. You'd be wrong. The proper attire was bell bottoms and chunky-heeled boots.
After that, the fashion fanaticism really kicked in.
As one of the lucky 12,000 who saw the Beatles at Public Hall in 1964, I wore the exact same outfit that so many girls my age wore to see our idols: Red blazer, white blouse, black skirt, black leather cap, black ankle-high Beatle boots. We screamed through the entire show.
I was so much more mature in 1969 when I went to see Grand Funk Railroad and Led Zeppelin at Public Hall. We had decent seats but nobody sat in them; probably just as well because my skin-tight embroidered jeans made sitting an ordeal, as was basic breathing, made difficult by the clouds of cigarette smoke.
But we looked good; I worked at a hippie clothing store called Adam's Row, where employees would grab the likes of fringed buckskin jackets off the racks and wear them to wherever audiences gathered. It was good advertising.
Practically everybody (the audience numbered around 40,000) went to see the Rolling Stones at Akron's Rubber Bowl in July 1972. Can't remember much about that outdoor show except that Stevie Wonder was the opening act and a big fight broke during his wonderful set. We were seated too far away to find out why.
Two years later, when Genesis brought its phenomenal tour to Cleveland Music Hall, I stomped around in knee-high platform boots and black leather hot pants, hoping that the scent of marijuana, which was everywhere, didn't get absorbed by my delicate macrame-trimmed pullover top. By this time, my parents were wise to how its scent differed from cigarette smoke.
And one of the last shows I saw at Public Hall before moving to Little Rock was Joni Mitchell in 1976. It was one of only two times I accepted a date with a guy I wasn't interested in because of where he was taking me.
I still remember the heartless conversation: Him--do you want to go out on (whatever the date was)? Me--(lame excuse). Him: I have Joni Mitchell tickets. Me--Well ... OK.
(The other time, which provoked a similar conversation, involved a Cleveland performance by the Metropolitan Opera during its national tour; I found it interesting thanks to studying the libretto provided by the professors I worked with at Cleveland State University at the time, although my rock 'n' roll mind kept thinking: Turn it up! I even went out with that guy a few more times, probably because he had a Saluki sighthound, which I found exotic).
Shows I've seen at Barton, Alltel/Verizon/Simmons Arena and other mega-stages in Little Rock include Def Leppard (multiple appearances), Bruce Springsteen, AC/DC, Morris Day and the Time, Smashing Pumpkins, Garbage, The Cult, and Prince.
Modern concerts aren't the same as these shows, which were often rowdy and unpredictable. Now, each performance is exactly like the one that precedes it, with computer-mandated entrances, prescribed set lists, and enormous video images ricocheting around the giant venues in which they're performed.
It's more fun to relive past shows that were truly live, complete with missed cues, blown lyrics, bungled guitar riffs, unexpected guest stars, and forgotten lyrics--those are the concerts I remember, even if I've got some of the dates wrong.
Karen Martin is senior editor of Perspective.