Why Accordion?
When you were six it seemed like fun – you could play “Lady Of Spain” first time you heard it. You were the main attraction at every one of your parents parties. Your parents pictured Ed Sullivan in your future – your dad predicted Lawrence Welk – your mom said you were the next Dick Contino. They saw a money maker. You saw getting older, and cute was well back in your past; sandwiched somewhere between Puberty and the Draft Board. And even though your Accordion was inscribed with pearl inlayed “Kid Dynamite” might have worked for a 10 year old – it could clear a room by the time you were sixteen.
You tried – you could play “I Get Around” and it “kind of” sounded like The Beach Boys – but Gloria was another story – almost as bad as when your uncle got drunk and tried to sing “I Want To Hold Your Hand” to a room full of horrified cousins and neighbors.
Gloria was a staple on every bands song list – clearly, if you attempted to do an accordion version you’d be put up on a murder charge.
The one thing you had going for you was you were the only one in the band who could read music; picking out chords was a snap. So the band put up with you on the proviso you wouldn’t touch a solo with a barge pole. Fair enough.
Most gigs you were staying close to the amplifiers and not making eye-contact with anyone – if you bent your ears in the right direction it would tough to spot the difference between you and a Farfisa and that worked for a while.
But.
The Spring Shindig; the big deal school dance, the one that marked the mid-point in the semester – Summer was on the horizon and you could already smell Coppertone in the air. The Girls League set up a table with party food. The lead guitarist was starving so he wolfed down a Chicken Salad sandwich, lovingly prepared by an awe-struck 10th grader who giggled a lot and quivered.
Two songs into the set and the lead guitarist began to turn a shade of concrete before horking everything he ate for the past five years behind one of the amplifiers. The rest of the band stared in dumbstruck horror as he went on a bizarre and loud search for “Huey”. The dancing stopped dead in its tracks.
Normally this would have been a disaster, but as a battle-hardened professional from the age of six, you were a firm believer that the show must go on.
So you stepped into the spotlight and out popped an accordion rendition of Louie-Louie.
The rest of the band, convinced you had lost your mind but facing no other choices, joined in and the audience gazed perplexed at the disaster unfolding a few feet away from them.
But since you had ham bred into your DNA from the word Go – you immediately launched into “I Get Around”, oblivious to the fact that you were managing to do what you always did; clear a room.
The cavernous Boys Gym was empty by the time the song had gotten to the first chorus.
Your career as Lead Accordionist in a rock band lasted all of half a song. The Student Council voted unanimously to not pay you since you only played for ten minutes. You got kicked out of the band and became the object of pointed fingers and nodding heads from the entire student body.
The only upside was the 10th grader who was responsible for delivering the poison sandwich had developed a crush on you. You were perplexed until she confessed she also played accordion.
You inspired her.
Maybe life was just weird that way.
Here is what April 18th sounded like on KRLA from 1964 with Bob Eubanks.
