Emmerson Lake & Palmer
As part of a series, this blog delves into the songs and bands that have shaped my love for music. By sharing these stories, I hope to entertain and introduce you to new music or reintroduce you to music you previously enjoyed.
I was in eighth grade, it was my second year of middle school, and I thought I was the “man”.
Mr. Warren was my music teacher, a tall dude in his forties with short black hair, and a well-groomed black mustache. He loved music and taught his class with passion and intensity.
I was no fan of Mr. Warren.
He had too many rules and too many glaring looks in my direction. The music he played for us and expected us to play was boring. Doesn’t this guy know what good music is?
As the year progressed I was asked to sit closer and closer towards the front of the classroom. By January I had a front-row seat. One dark, cold morning, I was handed an 18-inch wooden xylophone and mallet. Is this guy serious? I’m 13, my older brothers listen to Pink Floyd and Deep Purple Machine Head, those bands would have lit that xylophone on fire.
I decided I was done, I was not going to play that thing. As Mr. Warren began to explain the music we were about to play I turned around and began chatting with my friends.
Great I thought, no playing xylophone for me. Mr. Warren had other ideas, this was 1978 after all.
He walked up to me and ripped that xylophone mallet out of my hand. I whipped my head around to see Mr. Warren standing there with his glaring eyes, thick mustache, and my mallet in his hand. Great I thought, no playing xylophone for me. Mr. Warren had other ideas, this was 1978 after all.
He brought that xylophone mallet down on the top of my head. Judging from the force and the size of the bump on my head he was upset. He handed the mallet back to me, and politely asked me to shut up and play. I shut my mouth and played my xylophone, badly. I had a headache from a whack on the head, embarrassed and it took all my courage not to start crying as I left the room, I hate this guy.
Our next music class started differently. He didn’t hand out any instruments or music. He stood in the front of the class holding a stack of LP records explaining that today he would be introducing us to different types of music, including rock and roll.
First up on the turntable was the Beatles When I’m 64. Nice, but I found it lacking in a way my 13-year-old brain could not define. He slipped Sgt. Pepper back into its sleeve and grabbed Emmerson Lake & Palmer’s debut album, and played Lucky Man. The hair on my skinny 13-year-old arms stood up and I remember thinking Mr. Warren is the coolest guy ever.
At the end of the class, Mr. Warren approached me, this time with no weapon in his hand, asking if I had liked any of the music played. I responded by letting him know I thought Emmerson Lake & Palmer was awesome. He then asked me to come to his desk. He turned and handed me three ELP records, their debut record, Trilogy, and Brain Salad Surgery. He said I should listen to them and return them before the end of the school year.
Mr. Warren managed to get me to hate him and then really, really like him within 24 hours. Since those two days in 1978, I have never been able to listen to an ELP song without thinking about Mr. Warren. He combined the subject he was passionate about with the power of caring and poured that out on me.
Those two days taught me many lessons. I realized I love music, and when you can combine compassion with your passion and share that with someone you create something special.