As many of us know, Sly Stone left this mortal coil early this month, and two days later Brian Wilson joined him in the Great Rock Band In The Sky. Two superb musical minds, and revered figures, gone, just like that. At least they made it into their 80s. Their passings would have been harder to take had they left us while in their primes.
As the masterminds, respectively, of Sly And The Family Stone and The Beach Boys, Sly and Brian helped turn the 1960s into a music wonderland. During that decade, music was vibrantly alive with love and hope and power and innovation. No decade before or since, to my way of thinking, was or has been as sonically diverse and dynamic. I came of age during the 1960s, becoming, among other things, a music junkie, a description that still fits me, though not to the extent it did back then. Those were the days.
I could go on and on about Sly Stone and Brian Wilson, but I don’t mean to focus on them. The idea to meld them into this story, though, came to me on Sunday, June 19, which was Father’s Day in my nation, the USA. They, and their music, were on my mind, as had been the case for a number of days. My father, of course, was on my mind too. Very much so. Many memories about him played in my head, including music-related ones. I’m sure the latter would not have surfaced had I not been thinking about Sly and Brian.
My dad, Hyman Scheinin, lived to the ripe old age of 96, breathing his last on September 1, 2005. He spent the final six and a half years of his life with me and my wife Sandy, and became a dialysis patient about one year after moving in with us. Dialysis is a hard road for anybody to travel, let alone someone in their 90s. But my father bore the burden pretty well, emotionally and physically. Over time, however, his body began to wear out from the strain of three-times-per-week dialysis sessions, and from infections. He died in a hospital bed, with my wife, my brother Richard and myself beside him. It was a sad day, one I thought about a lot on Father’s Day.
Sandy and I did our best to care for my father, and to try and keep his spirits up. Everyone deserves to experience positive things in life, it goes without saying, so we made it a point to get him out of the house for more than his dialysis sessions and his numerous other medical appointments. He went with us to restaurants and art shows, to name two activities. And I would take him on casual drives, just to see what we would see. He almost always had a good time.
And then there were the Friday night jazz concerts at the Philadelphia Museum Of Art, a series populated by established and up-and-coming musicians from the States and elsewhere. The series ran for about 15 years and ended maybe 10 years ago. Being a jazz head, I miss it. My father attended 19 of those shows with us (Sandy and I also went to shows at the museum without him), and felt completely in his element there, probably to his surprise and certainly to ours. We’d arrive early, so as to be able to grab one of the cocktail tables close to the stage area. Out on the town and in a magnificent setting (the museum’s Great Hall), my father was happy as a clam from the moment he sat down.
Growing up, I didn’t think of my father as a music appreciator. He didn’t listen to songs on the radio, didn’t play albums on the family phonograph. And I had little reason to change my viewpoint until those many decades later. I think, now, that the thrill of just being at the museum concerts opened up my father’s ears, made him hungry to truly experience music. And truly experience it he did. His involvement reached a peak in January 2003 at a performance by the quartet led by the then-new-on-the-scene alto saxophonist Miguel Zenón. Zenón is a wonderful musician, adept at various approaches to jazz. He can play softly and melodically, for instance. And, while soloing, he can be ferocious.
In the middle of the show, following a lengthy and intense Zenón solo, the damndest thing happened. Sandy and I couldn’t believe our eyes when my father leaped from his chair, clapping madly in appreciation of Zenón’s mighty efforts. Normally a mild-mannered sort, he was revealing just how deeply into music he could dive. I was duly impressed. No one at the show was enjoying themselves more than the nonagenarian a few feet away from me and Sandy.
It’s fitting for me to conclude this musical story with the title song from Miguel Zenón’s first album, Looking Forward, because the album came out a mere smattering of months before his appearance at the art museum. Undoubtedly, then, he played tunes from it at the concert. Perhaps this song is the one that made my father applaud like there was no tomorrow. Whether it is or not, I tip my hat to Zenón for having brought joy to my father, and to Sly Stone and Brian Wilson for nudging me to write the words on this page.
Yeah, Another Blogger 
STELLAR POST! There’s still nothing like those days, and I’m so deeply grateful to have been part of them. And yes, I still, and always will, listen to that fabulous music. I just wish we’d stop losing them. ❤️
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Hi. Is this Pam? I’m not sure because you’re listed as Anonymous. Yeah, the 1960s were kind of a Renaissance period for music. Loads of good music is still being made today: I like the artists Abigail Lapell, Jason Isbell, Waxahatchee and Allison Russell, for instance.
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Your post and tribute to your father is so moving. I enjoyed hearing about him and his love of music! 🌸
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Many thanks.
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This was a lovely post. I smiled so big hearing how your father stood up excited about the music.
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Hi. Yeah, he was really happy to be at the jazz shows at the Philadelphia Museum Of Art. My wife and I were too.
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Bless you and Sandy, Neil, for caring for your father in your home for more than 6 years. It may have seemed like a no-brainer to you, but far too many people would not have altered their lives for a parent the way you did. And I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to read about your dad’s one-man standing ovation at the concert. You told that story with so much love. Thank you for this post.
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I know you’re a drummer. At one jazz show at the museum (my father wasn’t there), I sat at a table off to the side, because the tables in front all were taken. I was only a few feet away from the drummer. I heard the drums loud and clear. The drummer was great!
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“Their passings would have been harder to take had they left us while in their primes.” I sometimes like to imagine how John Lennon would have continued to evolve and how irresistible Warren Zevon’s stories would have unfolded as he matured.
Your appreciation of music opens my eyes to the variety of good music still available just as Murisopsis broadens my appreciation of poetry. Neither comes naturally to me.
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Howdy, Judy. Right, there is no lack of good music these days, in all genres. I keep up with the current scene to a fair extent, but nowhere near the extent I used to.
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A warm and heartfelt post. How fabulous that your father could come to appreciate the joy of music in his last years. No wonder Fathers’ Day brings back so many memories, and reminds you of the music-makers which have brought you joy. Good old Beach Boys. Heard once never forgotten.
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I listened to a big bunch of Beach Boys songs in the days following Brian Wilson’s death. One of my favorites is Let Him Run Wild.
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A post to savor. I remember discovering to my surprise that the Beach Boys music was going to last longer than one generation. My son and his friends in the high school band were really into them in the 1990’s!
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I listened to a lesser-known Beach Boys album last night. It’s called Wild Honey. It came out in 1967. I’ve been a fan of that album right from the start.
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You were privileged to have had such a loving relationship with your dad. Very moving post!
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Thanks very much.
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Lovely essay. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you kindly.
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What a beautiful tribute to some beloved musicians, Neil, but to your dad most of all. My dad is 94 and, as his part-time caregiver, I know how precious outings with family are, whether it’s taking a drive, going out for food, or partaking in a special event – music for your dad (gambling for mine. Lol). Thanks for sharing such a touching post.
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Hi. Right, it’s important for older folks (for everyone, really) to feel as though they are part of and involved in the world. Thanks for adding your thoughts. Have a good weekend.
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How wonderful for you to have this memory of your dad. Cheers, Muriel
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Evening, Muriel. It really was something!
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Powerful writing, Neil. You took me there…to the Philadelphia Museum of Art with you and Sandy, your dad, Hyman Scheinin, and the jazz of Miguel Zenón! What a great story for a summertime Friday afternoon! By the way, this is Crystal from another blog you follow.
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Hi Crystal. I’m glad you liked this story. In a few seconds, I’m going to follow your new blog. Take care.
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A lovely remembrance, Neil. You and your dad were lucky to have one another for so long. And it’s great that you were able to make his final years so much richer than they might otherwise have been. The image of him on his feet in appreciation of the music is a keeper, for sure.
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Evening, Annie. My dad was a good guy, very easy to be around. Take care, and enjoy the weekend.
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Thanks, Neil. You too. Yes, that image of him came through your profile beautifully.
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A great post and tribute to your dad.
Now Brian Wilson? His music was a bit before my time, yet, the Good vibrations and other songs accompanied us for a long time…
Sly? I discovered him in a small and dark movie theatre in the Latin Quarter, where I saw “Woodstock”, late 1970 or early ’71. I had no idea woodstock had actually happened… Days of slow communication… I came out of the theatre transfixed. Sly was a high moment. Richie Havens. Santana and his mad drummer. Just to name a few. I actually have the CD. I should play it again some day. (Darn, my CD player is fried…)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8AH-Rfgto8
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Hi. Thanks for adding your thoughts. Much appreciated. Have you seen the documentary Summer Of Soul? It’s really good. Sly and his band are in it.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Summer_of_Soul
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I see Nina Simone there too… Nice. Thanks for the tip. I shall now hunt for the streamer site… Be good.
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This is a beautiful write-up, Neil. What a wonderful spirit your dad possessed!☀️
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Hi Lisa, and thanks.
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What a lovely post. Your father was lucky to have you. Thank you for sharing this memory. 🙂
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Hi there. I’m glad you enjoyed this piece. Have a real good weekend.
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Your father was lucky to have you, especially in his later years, when you made life as enjoyable as possible for him. I loved the image of his jumping up to clap at the solo.
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Hi Ruth. That jazz series was fabulous. I miss it a whole lot. I’ve never known why the museum canceled it. Finances probably had a lot to do with that.
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What a wonderful tribute/story about your dad, you and Sandy, and music. As someone who has been a complete music junkie since the age of six, it’s hard to imagine how anyone could not be moved–emotionally and physically–by its power and beauty. From Mozart to the Beatles to the Talking Heads and onward, music has been the way I move, the way I dream, the beat of my heart.
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Without music, the world would be a much sorrier place than it already is.
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What a splendid memory of your dad. I’m glad you have many others. You were a good son.
~Linda
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He was a very nice person. Easy to get along with.
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Wonderful memories of your dad.
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I don’t know who this is, but thank you.
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That’s a great story about your dad. I’m glad you had that time with him, especially at the end.
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Health-wise, he put up with a lot, but didn’t complain about it very much at all.
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Losing people in their prime certainly is harder. My father lived hard in his 46 years and I have him to thank for my music appreciation. Just think if he’d have lived to his 80’s?!! Great memory prompt for me and a very enjoyable post.
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Hi, and thanks very much for adding your thoughts. I appreciate it.
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It’s hard to lose our heroes, Neil, but they live on in legend!
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I’m with you on that. Definitely.
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Such a beautiful story and tribute to your father and the musicians of the 60s that seem to be leaving us. Music along with nature is what makes life livable.
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Evening, Michele. Without music, we’d be lost. I’m listening to an album (Cruel Country, by Wilco) as I type this reply!
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A lovely story about your dad’s appreciation of those concerts. You did him proud by taking him along to experience such joy in his later years.
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Thanks. I appreciate that.
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My late father loved music, too, though he leaned toward classical, something he was never exposed to in his youth as the son of a poor sharecropper.
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Hi Priscilla. Did he have some favorite classical composers?
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Copland and Stravinsky. But he was always amazed at how he could predict Mozart’s next bar of music even the first time he heard a piece (because of the way Mozart wrote “logical” music).
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What a super story. You never stop missing your folks, do you?
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Hi. What you say is very true.
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Beautiful tribute ❤️
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Thanks. I appreciate it.
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A beautiful share Neil. Good memories keep us going especially when they involve others who light up our lives. Cheers!
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Thanks a lot, AOC I appreciate it very much.
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You’re very welcome Neil. Have a great week ahead!
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As you can see, I’m a bit behind on reading some blogs lol but I wanted to say that this really shows the power of music. Erykah Badu once said that music is a frequency, and I’ve always remembered that. Your father jumping out of his seat proves this, as well.
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Music can be amazingly powerful. And I’m glad you mentioned Badu. My wife and I listen to music while eating dinner. Tonight we’ll listen to one of Badu’s albums.
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Love this ❤
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