Brown Sludge

The Soundtrack To My Life

March 10th, 2007

An important piece of my childhood died today.

Bred Delp, lead singer of one the greatest Rock and Roll bands ever formed passed away quietly in his southern New Hampshire home this morning. Apparently of natural causes.

I suppose it’s silly to be so emotional over this. But I just can’t seem to help myself.

In my life I’ve had many high, wonderful moments, and in my life there have been many long, dark times, and Brad was always there in the background – singing what I was convinced was the very personalized soundtrack to my life.

Now that soundtrack is silent.

And I am bereft.

I first heard his voice in 1976. In the summer of my 15th year. That crazy, frightening, tumultuous magic year when a young man begins to discover things about himself and those he loves and also discovers that some of those things are hard to know.

Later that year I learned that Boston would be playing in my town.

I had never been to a “rock concert” before, and in the 1970’s rock concerts were the stuff of legends. I sold my sold to Satan himself, and somehow Old Scratch was actually able to persuade my over-controlling mother and father to allow me to go. I spent the weeks prior to going to the concert wondering if I had made a mistake. My immortal soul for a silly rock concert?

When that night came, I sat in the dark auditorium and waited and watched in awe. Everything they had said about rock concerts were true. The smoke. The drugs. The women. The booze. All true. I still remember sitting beside my best friend at the time, Dave Lum, and him and I just shaking our heads as our mouth hung open. It was true. All true. Dave and I weren’t concerned with all of that. We were there for the music. I had, after all, sold my soul to hear it.

And then the lights went down, and the “opening acts” came out. Rick Derringer. Then The Red Rocker himself, Sammy Hagar. Both seminal rock gods – though at the time they hadn’t ascended their thrones.

And finally – the band. Boston. Themselves.

I sat in amazement as they played flawlessly. Their music was high, and tight, and clear and I would later learn absolutely unique in the world of live concert going in that it was virtually undistorted. Tom Scholz was a miracle worker. Really.

When the concert was over, Dave and I stumbled back to the car, unable to hear at all – our ears deaf from the decibel assault, and stoned to the rafters from a contact high derived from sitting in a great green cloud of smoke that was inescapable.

In that moment we had been transported to a place where there was peace in our lives, and I knew two things for sure.

1. I had just seen one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all times in a seminal concert performance.
2. Satan had gotten screwed on the deal. I had gotten to see BOSTON… LIVE… all HE got was my immortal soul. Sucker!

It would be a long time before they made another album, or toured again. Tom Scholz’s perfectionism was and remains legendary, and while it necessarily drove wedges between the band members and threatened to tear the band apart – not to mention making it years and years between albums – that perfectionism was reflected in the quality of their music.

It was ALWAYS worth the wait.

Whenever my life would get really good – or really bad – Brad was there singing a new score with new songs. His voice and their music knitted to the fabric of my soul in ways that I could never do justice to here on this page.

Eventually my younger brother fell in love with them too. I suspect that even if Boston didn’t score the entire soundtrack to his life, that they at least cameo on a few tracks.

I have many fond memories of the times before family politics and adult life drove the wedges between my brother and I that exist today, and one of the fondest of them all of course had a Boston song and Brad’s voice backing it.

It was… I don’t remember exactly. 1985 perhaps. 1986. I had reached the cliff of adulthood and stepped off without a parachute. I was freefalling and wondering if I had made the right choices in my life. My brother would have been 18 or 19 then and facing the approach of that cliff’s edge himself. As if they knew that these times were important to both my brother and I – Boston released more tracks to help get us through. “Third Stage” brought Brad’s muscular vocals back into our life just in time.

I had an old blue Chevy step-side C-10. Most of the time it wouldn’t get out of it’s own way, but its big block engine did alright when it got it up over 70 mph or so. From a money standpoint, that old truck wasn’t worth the price of the powder it would have taken to blow it hell. But the stereo and speakers I had in it had cost me more than a few of paychecks.

My younger brother and I would get in that old Chevy truck, and head down Hall Street – a great 2 mile stretch of absolutely straight road in an abandoned industrial area of the city, where hardly anybody ever drove any more.

I’d drive to the top of Hall Street, and we’d put in our “Third Stage” cassette and let “The Launch” play until just the right moment.

I had learned to time it perfectly.

Now… it’s important to remember that I took my duty as an older brother very seriously. I had never done anything in front of my younger brother that I felt would harm him or set a bad example. It was so important to me. I’m not saying we never got up to trouble, but I am saying I made sure the trouble we got up to was innocuous and innocent enough.

So… we were driving down Hall Street – and listening to “The Launch” – and the moment in the song came when the big rocket engines that were powered by Tom Scholz power-chords kicked in… I’d spin that volume knob up to Brain Damage levels and then…

I’d jam my foot on the accelerator as hard as I could and set my younger brother’s head back against that old worn bench-seat. As the sound of the engines in the song built – I’d keep my foot down and let that old big block push us back against the seat as the engines roared. 70. 80. 90 mph.

My brothers eyes would get as big as pie plates as we rocketed down Hall Street. Breaking the law, and letting the music take us on that Rocket Ride at Red Line.

Then we’d pull over and laugh until our sides hurt. Then we’d drive back to the top of Hall Street and do it again.

I know that Boston will continue in some form, and I know that I will always be their biggest fan. I understand that they won’t simply cease to be because of Brad Delp’s passing.

But I do know that their music, like the soundtrack to my life, will be much poorer for him not being in it.

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