I’ve got the rhythm, the moves, and God knows I can work a hairbrush. How totally cruel then that He would deny me the one essential element that would have made my dreams come true – a voice.
It was the late 60’s. I was in high school and my boyfriend was lead guitarist in a band called “The Sit-Ins.” Sit-ins were a popular form of protest back then, especially in neighboring Berkeley, and I’m sure they thought the name would make them seem edgy as they performed “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles in their matching green velour shirts. But my favorite band of the day was “Cold Blood,” headed by 4’9 white chick, Lydia Pense, whose forte was R & B and who could belt out Sam and Dave’s “Hold On” or James Brown’s “I Got You” with the soul and pipes of any of the best black singers of the day – or any day, for that matter. Lydia was also a friend of mine (except for a brief period when I thought she was flirting with my boyfriend) and I would still sell my soul to be able to sing like her. (Note to Satan: “Sell my soul” is a figure of speech only and not meant to be construed that I would, in fact, actually sell my soul.)
Eventually, my boyfriend and I broke up, but I continued to be a fan of Cold Blood all the other R & B artists of that great era. To this day, you will find me joyfully belting out my best "Sam & Dave" should you wander onto my mountain top, although I have noticed a distinct reduction in the bird population since I’ve lived here.
For your viewing pleasure, the classic, brilliant, Sam and Dave…
This post is from the prompt “hold on,” part of the “30 Minus 2 Days Writing Challenge” from the gal who can talk anybody into just about anything, the fabulous Nicky at We Work For Cheese. Click here to visit the others she’s managed to lure into today’s particular exercise in stress, panic and frustration.