The Holy Trinity: Why I Keep Buying These Same Three Records

 

Most six-year-olds in 1971 were vibrating to "The Wheels on the Bus" or whatever upbeat nonsense was playing on the radio, but not me. No, I was already deep in the trenches of acoustic melancholy. I was sitting there in my kindergarten class, probably staring at a pile of blocks, while the haunting melodies of Joni Mitchell’s Blue, the earthy warmth of Carole King’s Tapestry, and the gentle drawl of James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James played on a loop in my head. 

I’ve owned these albums on vinyl, 8-track, cassette, CD, and every digital format known to man; at this point, the only thing missing is a reel-to-reel copy, and frankly, my wallet is grateful for that one omission. 

And now, the albums.

James Taylor: Sweet Baby James

This was the first record I truly remember listening to, the one that cracked the door open and let the light in. By the time I hit seven, I didn't just know the hits; I could sing every single note and every word of every song on that album. I still can. 

While the world was busy with "Fire and Rain," I was off in my own world with "Sunny Skies" and "Blossom." James's music is so gentle and so sweet, like honey; it washes over you and through you, making everything all right. Sweet Baby James is still where I go when I need peace from the strife that occurs in everyday life. To this day, when I hear those opening chords, it doesn't just feel like music; it feels like the foundation of my entire musical DNA.

Carole King: Tapestry

The second album I owned was Tapestry. I was also six years old, and again, before I was seven, I knew that album like the back of my hand. While other kids were focused on toys, I was focused on the grit and soul of "It's Too Late," "Home Again," and "So Far Away." Those songs carry a specific melancholy that I can still feel vibrating through me when I listen to them today.

Carole King's amazing songwriting, beautiful voice, and piano playing reach out and grip you by the heart, pulling you into a wonderful musical experience. There is no artifice here; it is just a woman sitting at a piano telling the truth. I’ve bought this album on every format imaginable because you can’t ever truly wear out songs this sturdy. Whether I’m listening to the crackle of an old LP or a pristine digital file, Tapestry remains the ultimate comfort food for the soul.

Joni Mitchell: Blue

Finally, there's Joni Mitchell’s Blue. My sister brought this one home from her best friend's house when I'd just turned seven. I’d never heard a voice so pure and full of emotion, and I’d certainly never heard such powerful lyrics. "A Case of You" became my favorite, and this bit hit particularly strongly:

"I am a lonely painter,

I live in a box of paints,

I'm frightened by the devil,

and I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid,

I remember that time you told me,

you said love is touching souls..

well, surely you touched mine,

because part of you pours out of me, 

in these lines from time to time."

The visual of the box of paints and the woman’s soul pouring out in song and poetry, all sung with Joni's pitch perfect sprano, stayed with me. As a kid, I was clueless what was actually going on there, but the song was so beautiful that I couldn't help but love it. 

Another song that came to have very deep meaning for me was "Little Green," the song Joni wrote about the daughter she gave up for adoption. When I became a birthmother myself, that song hit particularly hard. Joni’s voice didn’t just sing to me; it cut through everything else. It completed the trio of albums that defined my childhood and continues to define my life.

Now that I'm 61, there's a wide variety of music I love, ranging from Mozart to Herbie Hancock to Queen and the Bay City Rollers, to Dropkick Murphys and the Ramones, and to Yes, Genesis, and Rush.

But for some reason, I will always come back to these three albums, I will always listen to them, I will always love them. They're at the top of the heap of all songwriting and performing, and my life without them would be emptier.

If I ever met any one of these three shining lights in my sky, I would have to force myself not to fall to my knees and kowtow in deepest respect and awe to them.

Then I would ask them to sing for me.