Readers have musical confessions of their own

I'm glad to see I wasn't alone when it comes to music, and how it's no longer a secret to have listened to some of it that just wasn't considered cool.

Scott McKellar says he enjoyed the column about true musical confessions. "It was so timely because I got a call from an old college friend from Aiken, S.C., and he said he might have tickets for a Three Dog Night concert at the Augusta Pops. I guess it is good to laugh at ourselves. Thanks for the laughs."

Jill Stevenson says that she "loved the Monkees SOOO much that I had a picture of Davy Jones above my bed. He shared space with Bobby Sherman (remember him?) and David Cassidy of the Partridge Family. This would represent any 10-year-old girls' dream trio at that time. Somewhere along the way in there was also Donny Osmond. I confess to watching the Osmonds' show on TV just to get a glimpse of Donny!"

Bette Prevost writes that she loved every group mentioned, but that Three Dog Night and Chicago were her favorites.

As far as Bobby Sherman is concerned, I remember him all too well, thanks to one of my sisters who had his mug plastered all over everywhere and listened to his music incessantly. Sherman and the Archies ("Sugar, Sugar") and Tommy Roe ("Dizzy").

Glenn Churchill writes the following: "I must confess an abiding affection for early, loud, plodding, abrasive and tuneless Black Sabbath and Grand Funk Railroad albums. I remember my Dad's horror at finding a song called 'Rat Salad' on a Black Sabbath album he had given me as a gift.

"At the age of 50, I still listen to and enjoy these albums. Alas, I do it alone, as my wife would rather darn socks or eat haggis than listen to most of my music."

A friend of mine who is a little younger than I and requests anonymity says two of his favorites coming along were Engelbert Humperdinck and Dean Martin — enough to make any reasonable person want to reach for a martini glass.

Actually, Grand Funk was also one of my favorites during the early '70s. The band was an American working class, powerhouse trio that was supposed to have been something of an answer to Cream, the highly respected trio out of England, now acknowledged to have been the first "supergroup." Immodestly named, the cream did indeed rise to the top behind the musicianship of England's best, including guitarist Eric Clapton, already acknowledged as something of a "god," even though he lifted many of his musical phrases from lesser-known American blues artists. (Clapton readily admits this and is very good about crediting his influences.)

Grand Funk, on the other hand, was despised by critics and subjected to endless comparisons with Cream, against whom there was no fair comparison, except one little thing: They sold more albums and seemed to be generally appealing to both sexes and a broader age demographic.

The first big concert act I ever saw was, in fact, Grand Funk, at the old Boston Garden in the fall of 1971. I was 15 and off at school. A buddy of mine asked me to go with him, and we did — under the watchful eyes of his parents, who attended as chaperons, if not blatant misfits. It was a little awkward, but we had a great time. Mark, Don and Mel worked hard and put on an entertaining show for the sold-out audience, which included plenty of screaming girls. (I usually think of Cream audiences as male-dominant and perhaps a little bleary-eyed — for whatever reason.)

One of the things I've always wanted to check off the list is seeing Tiger Woods while in his prime. Certainly the greatest golfer alive now, he may well be the best ever. It was just something I had to do.

The opportunity presented itself last February while on a business trip to Tucson. One of our connections had an extra ticket, and, quite unexpectedly, I found my way en route to the Accenture Match Play Championship hosted by the Gallery Golf Club at Dove Mountain. Eagerly anticipating the chance to observe a great athlete, I hurriedly gathered my belongings and raced out the door of the hotel.

Once on the course, I settled in for a nice afternoon of wandering the grounds. But there was a small problem. I'd forgotten the proper eyewear! So whereas I did, in fact, see Woods at play, there was no way for me to follow the path of the golf ball. This would be sort of like watching The Beatles cross Abbey Road and not actually hear them play any music.

So whereas it can be said that I saw Tiger Woods, I might as well have bumped into him at a McDonald's. This situation would correct itself a few weeks later at Augusta. More on that later.

Edward M. Gilbreth is a Charleston physician. Reach him at edwardgilbreth@comcast.net.