It’s Time to Play the Music
The other night I was browsing through our way-too-many streaming options and discovered that Disney has all the episodes of The Muppet Show available for viewing. In my memory, this is one of the most important shows of my childhood. In particular, an episode featuring Crystal Gayle standing on a haunted galleon and singing “We Must Believe in Magic” accompanied by some weird ghost Muppets has stuck in my head for decades.
I watched that one first, and it was just as odd and fantastic as I remember. It also apparently aired on New Year’s Eve in 1979. I didn’t remember that part. Did 11-year-old me watch it and then go to bed? Or was I allowed to stay up to watch Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve with special guests Blondie, Chic, and the Village People? Somehow, I doubt it.
After watching the Crystal Gayle episode I skipped around, watching bits of episodes featuring such unlikely guest stars as Ethel Merman, Marisa Berenson, and Jean-Pierre Rampal. I don’t remember seeing these episodes as a kid, but maybe I watched them having no clue who the guests were.
I eventually landed on an episode where Linda Ronstadt was the guest. Earlier in the day my friend Robert and I had been discussing Ronstadt, specifically the just-announced biopic that’s going to star Selena Gomez, so she was on my mind. And as one of the Muppets’ guests who I did know as a kid, I was curious to see what her episode was like, as I don’t remember ever watching it.
Linda was standing in a pretend swamp warbling “Blue Bayou” when my husband walked in. “Who’s that?” he asked. “And why is she wearing pajamas?”
“That’s Linda Ronstadt,” I said. “And I think that’s supposed to be a romper.”
“Who’s Linda Ronstadt?” he asked.
I paused the show and looked at him. “You don’t know who Linda Ronstadt is?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Should I? I’m assuming she’s a singer. What are some of her songs?”
I rattled off a list of classics. “And, of course, this one,” I said, resuming the episode. We watched until the song was done. “You’ve never heard that?” I asked Cubby.
“This is the first time,” he assured me. “Was she really popular?”
I paused a moment before saying, “You’re sure your parents never talked about Linda Ronstadt?”
I don’t often bring up our 20-year age difference, mostly because it’s not often of any importance. But the fact is, Cubby’s parents are only a few years older than I am. They and I come from the same era of pop music. Cubby knows most of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours-era music, for example, because his mother played them all the time.
But not, apparently, Linda Ronstadt.
Now, I’m not a huge Ronstadt fan. In 1980, I did beg for her album Mad Love for my birthday, but more because I was obsessed with the string of New Wave-tinged singles from it that were all over the radio than because it was her singing them. And I like the work she did with Dolly Parton and Emmylou Harris a lot. But it’s not like I own her whole catalog or break those albums out regularly for a spin on the stereo.
Still, the fact that Cubby has never even heard of her is surprising. Or maybe it’s just another reminder that time passes more quickly than I would like. Recent weeks have brought the Golden Globes and Emmys, and a quick look at the nominees and winners reveals a startling lack of pop culture awareness on my part. I recognize more of the names and faces from the in memoriam segment than from the parade of winners giving acceptance speeches.
I asked Cubby today what musical artists he thinks of as touchstones he would be surprised to learn someone younger than himself doesn’t remember. “TLC,” he said. “I loved them when I was younger.”
“TLC’s last significant album was more than 20 years ago,” I reminded him, perhaps a tiny bit smugly. “You should ask some of the 20-somethings you work with if they know who they are.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he said, shaking his head. “It will be like the Lisa Roberts thing.”
“Linda,” I corrected. “Ronstadt. Linda Ronstadt. And she was America’s sweetheart. How many hits did TLC have? Two? And did any of them date Jerry Brown?”
“Who’s Jerry Brown?” Cubby asked. “Another singer?”
Just for that, I’m going to order Ronstadt’s entire output on vinyl and start playing her constantly. Well, perhaps just the greatest hits. Or maybe just Mad Love. Anyway, at the very least, the next time we’re at the grocery and “You’re No Good” comes on, I’m totally going to sing along. Loudly.
That’ll show him. ▼
Michael Thomas Ford is a much-published Lambda Literary award-winning author. Visit Michael at michaelthomasford.com.