music

When Larry showed up at my house that day, I could tell he was excited. He had an 8-track tape in his hand and he insisted we go listen to something immediately.

The album was called “Song for America” and it was by a band I’d never heard of — called Kansas.

We were about 16 years old at the time. I had grown up in a home without much access to popular music. The only music I knew was my father’s old albums and the rare newer album he might buy. He didn’t like rock music — or anything that sounded more subversive than Frank Sinatra.

I had known Larry for most of my life. His musical experiences were completely opposite of mine. His father was a Baptist preacher and his mother played the church piano, but he was exposed to a wide variety of music — and he was determined to help me understand what was so great about some of what he was listening to.

Now, he had discovered the second album by Kansas — and he was at my house like a missionary, eager to share the gospel of great music with his friend who was lost in musical unbelief.

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