Rock & roll was our bible and the garage beneath Joey’s cottage was, for one summer, our church. It was unusual for a lake cottage to have a foundation; it was a summer cottage after all. But a garage was just strange. The Tylers never used it for their car, and although there was a couch and a coffee table, they never were down there to use those either. So we did. Joey had a portable record player and we played whatever albums were popular amongst us. That’s how I discovered Surrealistic Pillow.
It was Diana’s choice; she had turned a little hippie-wannabe the previous winter, discovering bell-bottoms, tie-dye, pot, and some fascinating musical selections, including Al Kooper, Steve Miller Band, and Jefferson Airplane. They all grew on me as we played them over and over and over again that June, July, and August. But there was something about Surrealistic Pillow.
I had heard of the Airplane, and actually owned the 45 of White Rabbit, but I thought of them as nothing more than a one or two-hit wonder. And on first hearing, that rest of the record appeared sluggish and unexciting for the most part. Maybe it was the pot that changed my mind. A garage with an open door was the perfect place to share a joint. It provided the welcome secrecy of someplace inside while guaranteeing the outside air needed to filter the sweet aroma. Throw in a couch and record player and there’s the textbook setting for our summer of love—one year late.
3/5 of a mile in 10 seconds! It started the second side, and we always started that record with the second side. It provided the initial jolt for conversation and cleared the mental space for profound revelations. Like: “It was like there,” Diana patiently explained. “Wow,” David looked and saw. “Where?” I asked. “If you can’t see it, I can’t say,” she answered, emphasizing each and every single word. “Oh, there!” I too saw it now. “But where is it?” Joey giggled nervously, still unable to see it. I was silent for a minute, and Joey repeated his question. I looked at him and finally responded, “I think I lost it.” And then everyone would break out in that crazy high incurable laughter.
When both the laughter and the record ended, and most of the time it was curiously simultaneously, we would flip it to the other side. About ten minutes later, “Today” began to play, and we were slipping into private universes of otherworldly introspection. If you weren’t careful, this was where paranoia could appear; people are undeniably strange and who really knows the other? Otherwise, if one went further, one could really see some stuff. But no words can be spoken to this point.
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