When I was ten years old, my parents bought for themselves as a Christmas present a Sony Stereo Reel-To-Reel tape recorder. They recorded that particular Christmas, and it was fun to listen to it later to hear the family dynamics of Christmas morning. Lots of excited tearing of papers and oohing and ahhing over what every one of us was getting. I'd like to listen to that recording now, but nobody seems to know where it is.
Very much later that day, after all the torn wrapping paper had been cleaned up and we all had taken our presents back to our bedrooms, and we had our fill of delicious Christmas dinner, I went back into the living room where the tape recorder was. The living room was dark except for the lights on the Christmas tree were still twinkling and some embers in the fireplace continued to crackle and pop. My parents had bought several recorded reel-to-reel tape albums to go with this purchase of the tape recorder, one reel of which was Henry Mancini's The Music of Peter Gunn. I had never heard of Henry Mancini before, but this looked intriguing, so I loaded the clear-plastic reel onto the machine, threaded he tape through the heads, and wrapped a bit of it around the receiving reel, and turned on the machine. The music that came out was what is now such a familiar beginning to that album, dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum, dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum, duuuuuuum dum, dum duda!, sharp, powerful, mean, relentless, awesome music like something I had never heard before. I can't explain it, but no way could I keep still, the music gripped me like a vice and made me do what I think of as a very strong and powerful dance. I had never danced before, I didn't even know how, but it didn't matter, there the music was in control and my body was thrilled to obey. There was a force that just ran through me. It was like a vicious, killer dance, but also so beautiful. It amuses me to think that the first time I ever danced came out of very tough jazz. That was no elementary school sock hop dance!
I continued dancing as the music kept coming, the entire reel, both sides. Not every song was tough, "music noir", gangster music full of momentum, some of it was soft, some was bluesy, some was friendly, some was bright, all different kinds of moods. The experience of it was just out of this world.
From then on I certainly had my eye out for all things "Mancini", so today, I think I have everything he recorded and have also gone a far piece into getting all the movies and television shows that have his music in them. Henry Mancini music is my all-time favorite. For some reason it either is the soundtrack of my life, or the soundtrack of my desired life. In other words, I can't quite distinguish whether I am the way that music makes me feel, or I wish that I were that. Maybe there actually is no difference between the two. His music will make me happy no matter what happens, and gives me the strength to prevail. I told a therapist that I had a while back that I would be happy if after I died, Henry Mancini music would be eternally showered down onto me from inside the lid of my coffin. (So to speak.)
Despite that early beginning with the strength of Peter Gunn, the A-number-one Mancini song for me is Mr. Lucky, released in 1960. This is a gIistening love song. I love all the versions, but my favorite is the one that had lyrics added in 1962 (linked to here). Even listening to wordless versions, I have to add the lyrics via my own singing.
Once upon a wonderful time, I had a girlfriend named Becky, and together we liked ballroom dancing, and at one dance, I declared that Mr. Lucky was "our song". Unfortunately, we broke up after my college graduation (she was one year younger than I was), which meant that suddenly I had slipped out into the reality of becoming an adult having to find a career, support myself, whereas my college years were a protected dream and maybe even a fantasy. I suddenly had a bigger world to contend with, and she took this to meant that my love for her had dimmed, with I didn't think had, but at that time, who really knew? Anyway she wanted to separate and even now after all these years, my whole life glistens when I think of her, as if we were still together somehow...maybe in spirit.
Then I had another girlfriend named Bonnie, and she was an angel. And we both liked ballroom dancing and her father was a Commodore in the Navy (that means that he was in charge of a whole flotilla of warships--wow!). Bonnie's parents would take us out to dinner at the Officer's Club on Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay, where they had live dancing after dinner. I can hardly think of a more romantic location than outdoors on the water of the bay with the lights of downtown San Francisco glistening in the dark. I now declared that My. Lucky was our song, and we were able to dance to it by request from the orchestra on Treasure Island. Alas, these weren't good financial times for each us, and as our futures took shape in different directions, we drifted apart. I think she found all she wanted with somebody better than I am, but she firmly remains in heart.
So now Mr. Lucky is just my song. In a way, I know that is silly...it's a song for two, and I am only one. I can't help it, it is still an enduring song of love that once upon a time included two different women at different times, but even thought I don't have either one of them, I still have myself. I am not going to throw that away.
May all of you have love in your hearts no matter who else shares that with you, or even if nobody else does--for now.
29. Song name: Mr. Lucky (vocal version)
Artist: Henry Mancini
Music by Henry Mancini (1960)
Lyrics by Ray Evans, Jay Livingston (1962)
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