by Jonathan Woytek

Long before I was inundated by the hollow garble of the MTV revolution (that marketing wet dream come true), I was fortunate enough to have a deeper exposure to American music. Between the ages of 3 and 5, I was placed in the daily care of Roland and Viola Nagel, a retired couple who were friends of the family. While I was just as rambunctious and unruly as any child that age, they soon discovered that music does calm the savage beast (a favorable comparison for a 3-year-old). Roland was a retired sergeant who had served in World War Two, and over his years of travels he had amassed a large record collection. The majority of it was big band, swing, and other branches of the jazz tree that were popular at the time. He also had recordings of old radio programs such as The Shadow, The Green Hornet, and Fibber McGee and Molly. These along with a few Spike Jones records were my favorites. For hours I'd sit on the living room floor entranced by the array of album covers, while Roland would browse through the collection spinning discs. It was mostly Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey, and Harry James type stuff, but as the collection grew it became more and more Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, and Charlie Parker. I don't think Roland ever cared to listen to anything recorded past the late fifties but preferred the sounds of what was for him, a simpler time.

Not long after my fifth birthday, my family moved to Detroit and I began school. By the time I was a teenager I still loved listening to records, but now they were those of legends like Motley Crue and Iron Maiden. How painful true confessions are. And what a strange effect drugs and puberty have on angry young men. Yet through it all I continued to keep in touch with Roland and Viola, and by the time I was 15 the family had moved back home to Texas. Of course my musical tastes continued the downward spiral with each passing trend, but I still would go and hang out with Roland every so often and talk about music. His health failing, he was still ordering old records and enjoying adding to his collection. To him, there was nothing like putting a needle to vinyl and feeling the essence of the groove. He was a wise man.

Roland Nagel passed from this world two years ago. As a young man too wrapped up in my own life, I didn't see him much in those last days. It's something I still regret. After he was laid to rest, Viola told me that his records were out in the garage and I could have whatever I wanted. She said he would have liked for me to have them. Going through them, I soon realized what a large cross-section of music recorded between the 1930s through 1950s I had inherited. For me it has been an awakening, or rather a reawakening, to the first tunes and melodies I experienced as a child. The thing that has changed is me. To appreciate the sound of a trumpet being breathed to life, or a brush kissing a snare or riding a cymbal, is an acquired taste for many. For many others, it's all about growing up enough to understand how a musician can sing their joys and sorrows without uttering a word. Without Roland's influence, I may not have been able to make these distinctions. For this, I'm forever grateful. Yet in the end, I know that the only thanks he would have wished for is to know someone is still caring for and cherishing his records, and that the music he loved is still alive and well.