I was a 17-year-old dreamer in the year of 1979. A record album titled “Mister Magic” by Grover Washington Jr. was on the stereo. A new set of headphones, with the long curly cord, was stretched across the room. I was sprawled out on my bed with those headphones on so as not to disturb my parents, who were in other parts of the house. The best song on that album was the title song, “Mister Magic.” I am actually listening to it right now, as I compose this column. I have much better cordless headphones now.

While my friends of high school age were jamming to hair bands, I was grooving to jazz. My favorite artist being Grover Washington Jr. I had two idols back then, one was Grover, the other was Larry Bird. Larry’s poster was on my wall above my bed. But Grover was in my mind and ears. Most nights, I dreamed of being the next version of either Grover or Larry. Neither of those dreams came true, but I’m ok with that now.

“Mister Magic” is nine minutes of pure tonal bliss for me. It starts with a back-of-the-beat rhythm section with a brief sax chorus, then merges into a guitar solo by the legendary Eric Gale. At about the 3:45 mark, Mr. Washington kicks into the type of ad-lib solo he made famous. He skillfully goes and goes and goes. He could twist and bend phrases like no one else. I could feel myself lifted up to a peak of tension by his playing. Then he would drop me back down to earth with a theoretically correct and melodic completion of the riff. It was as satisfying as finishing a sentence with the most accurate grammar possible.

The next song on the album was “Black Frost”. It’s a deeper, borderline sensual, vibrating little diddy that jiggles my spine to this day. I really want you to search for that song on your favorite music app. Pay close attention as the opening section moves into his solo at the 1:27 mark. He wraps up almost three full minutes later, settling back into the groove that was established in the opening minute of the song. He mostly played tenor sax, while I played alto. But that did not matter. I worshipped the guy.

I would reposition the needle of the turntable back to the start, over and over. In my head, I was Grover….on that tenor sax, on stage. I held my hands in the proper position, left hand above the right, and tried to imitate the notes I thought he was playing. I was nowhere near the musician to be able to transcribe the song, but I had it memorized in my head.

One evening, while scanning the Salt Lake Tribune, I noticed an advertisement for a concert at Kingsbury Hall on the University of Utah campus. Guess who? No, not the 70s band The Guess Who, it was for Grover!! I humbly approached my dad and made the request to be able to attend. I already knew he would not let me take the car to Salt Lake on a school night. “Do ya think you could take me to Salt Lake for this concert? You know he is my favorite sax player.” He examined it for a few seconds and said, “Sure, I’ll do that for you”. He almost got his first kiss on the forehead from me for that favor. That turned into a magical night. It was a great venue for me to watch, listen and learn from the “GOAT” of saxophone jazz. Dad did me another solid the next year in 1980 by chauffeuring me to the Idaho State University campus to see my second favorite saxman, Tom Scott. What a supportive guy was my Dad!

At Grover’s Salt Lake show, I came unglued when he reached for the alto version of his instrument to play a hit from his just-released album, “Winelight”. The song is called “Make Me a Memory”... and boy did it! Please humor me and give it a listen. You will see what I have been trying to convey about his talent within the first minute of the song. In the opening stanza, he lands on the notes so tenderly and softly, with a breathy tone, that it defies my imagination. It leaves my mouth agape. That same album had the song you readers will most likely recognize due to lots of airtime on the radio, “Just the Two of Us” with Bill Withers on vocals.

For some unexplained reason, the past two days, I was not in the mood for my usual Pantera, AC/DC or Black Tooth Grin (a nod to the boys from Boise). I pulled up my playlist of Grover and drifted back to those days of my bed and headphones. How cool is it that tonight, when I climb into bed, it is in that same bedroom of 1979? Like I said earlier, I now have better headphones and the convenience of my Spotify app instead of a record player. Grandma Cindy is gone, babysitting out of town…so no headphones are required. I am going to blast it on my Bose Revolve speaker. Good thing there is no enforceable noise ordinance in Preston…doesn’t matter if there was, as I have diplomatic immunity!

Thanks for listening and for reading. Thanks, Dad, for driving and sitting in the car waiting for the concert to end. My saxman left us the same year as Dad, way back in 1999. Thanks, Grover, for all the joy and inspiration you have given me for the past 45-plus years. Job well done to you both.