c. 2025 Cheryl Keller, Rod Ice
All rights reserved
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Note to Readers: Cheryl Keller is a local writer who sometimes offers content for this site. We have known each other since the middle 1980s.
Her Take:
Music, that universal language and expression of emotion; that communication style that has incredible healing, motivation building, and stress relieving powers. It has been an integral part of this mermaid’s life since I can remember. I am amazed at how so many memories, and poignant times throughout my life music has been there to help ease the heartache, quiet the sadness, celebrate the wins, and add joy.
I grew up in a household that always had music on and always had music as part of any family gathering we hosted. I was introduced to many different genres of music throughout my childhood and even today, I can say that there is not much music out there that I do not like. I have fond memories of riding in my father’s truck as a child and listening to The Grass Roots or The Guess Who on 8-track tapes, and watching parties wind down at our house when everyone knew it was time to go home when Dad brought out the Bob Dylan and Jim Croce LPs. Or watching Soul Train and American Bandstand and later, MTV on television; hearing the great sounds of Motown music, disco, pop, and rock fill the living room. All wonderful and meaningful in their own right, and all playing a part in making me who I am today. Every song I hear and sing along with takes me back to a time in my life where music played such an important role connecting me to memories that I think I would otherwise forget.
That early childhood exposure led to a deep love of music that followed me through my teens growing and evolving each year. It led to over 4 years of symphonic band and marching band through my high school years. I remember myself and my bandmates being so excited when our marching band was given the sheet music to “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by the group Yes to play at our halftime football games one year. We rocked that out on the field and felt so cool.
My bedroom walls were plastered with posters and my all-important jean jacket adorned with buttons of my favorite artists like The Romantics, Rick Springfield, AC/DC, and Prince. When going to concerts was finally allowed, I almost could not contain my excitement at the thought that I was actually going to see those artists I loved so much, and hear their music live. My first being Neil Diamond, I will never forget was at Blossom Music Center, and that started another passion for live music that I have today. I have been fortunate enough to see some greats such as Aerosmith, Rod Stewart, Bob Seger, Pat Benatar, John Mellencamp, and Def Leppard to name a few. Not to mention the many nights of dancing at the then popular clubs like the Cosmopolitan or the Akron Agora. The wonderful feelings of anticipation waiting to go out with my best friend and the joy of just getting lost in great music for a few hours. If only there was a way to bottle those feelings!
Even as I grow older, I find myself always listening to and searching for new music while always listening to my tried-and-true 70s and 80s that I grew up on. Alternatives like Death Cab for Cutie, The Lumineers, Mumford & Sons, and Nicotine Dolls grab my musical ear as well as some popular country artists like Luke Combs, Keith Urban and Chris Stapleton. It is truly a daunting task for me whenever I am asked to say who my favorite musician/artist or band is, or when I need to put together a song list for a party with family or friends. Trying to capture every song that has ever touched me in some way is almost impossible. Every time I think of an artist, another pops up in my head and I start careening down memory lane with song titles, lines and verses swimming around my brain; all the while watching the list grow bigger and bigger because I just can’t bring myself to call it complete.
I could continue down my musical memory lane, it has been fun, but I’d like to get to the actual point of this article. As a writer, I will say that I believe, unfortunately, lyrics often take a backseat to a great melody. At times they are overshadowed by catchy rhythms and beats.
Many times I have listened to songs with people who love it for the music, but miss some of the best written words of some incredibly talented and creative writers. Lyrics that I resonate with, that make me feel so much of what they must have been going through or thinking during that time of their life when they put pen to paper. Words that draw out every possible emotion a human can feel; words that, for me, are so well crafted that they outshine the best music notes played.
I have a few that are hanging up as pieces of art in my home that I love; one being the lyrics to the song Everlong by the Foo Fighters with the great line “breathe out, so I can breathe you in…” and another by John Prine that makes me smile, “In spite of ourselves, we’ll end up a’sittin’ on a rainbow…against all odds honey, we’re the big door prize…”. Each time I look at them it makes me think of a person who means the world to me, or takes me back to a time in my life when things were good. I can say truthfully that music is something that has been a constant throughout my life - like a friend that I’ve known since kindergarten who never moved away and has remained a part of my life to this day. It has always been a source of comfort for me through difficult times as well as a release for me when I just need to let it out and “scream from the top of my lungs, ‘What’s going on?’” Thank you 4 Non Blondes.
So, I ask you, lyrics or melody? Which one is the front man and which one is the backup for you?
His Take:
My answer to the quiz above seems to have penned itself. Though certainly, some talented performers have proven able to speak effectively without the benefit of many words. Miles Davis comes to mind, John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Duane Eddy, Chet Atkins, or James ‘Blood Ulmer.’ But, allow me to explain...
In the late 1990s, I managed to score a telephone interview with Associate Editor David Aldridge, of Easyriders Magazine in Agoura Hills, California. The intention of his publication was to add a staffer from the heartland, for features on biker events. Some of my published work had gotten his attention, and he wanted to find out more about my personal background. At first, his queries were somewhat predictable. I described owning a Harley-Davidson, growing up as the son of a former mechanic, and learning the craft of creative writing through the support of mentors inside my family, and beyond. With newspaper and magazine features offering an opportunity for hands-on learning. But then, he hit me with a perceptive broadside that indicated the depth of his intuition and insight.
“Rod, have you ever been a musician?”
The question had me gasping for air. I couldn’t guess why he would want to take our long-distance chat in such an unexpected direction. But when I replied in the affirmative, I could hear acknowledgement resonate in his voice.
“I get that in your stories. A sense of cadence and rhythm, almost like you were writing a song. There is a natural flow to your manuscripts. A perfect component for keeping readers attentive and interested...”
I did not quite know how to accept this compliment, but expressed my appreciation for his assessment.
In the Ice household, like that of my friend the Mermaid, music was always a constant companion. My father had an extensive collection of vinyl records, that spanned genres from Classical to early Rock pioneers. He was an enthusiast for Folk, Country & Western, Blues, and Jazz, with even some Gospel compositions and traditional chants on the roster. While often plucking out ballads from memory, on an acoustic guitar. My mother came from a bloodline where singing both in church and at home, was a regular habit. Her voice often filled our kitchen, while preparing meals. When visiting with her sisters, familial sing-alongs were common. Moreover, some of the brood actively performed in live settings. One cousin was a minor star in Michigan, delivering the sort of gritty, blue-collar tunes one might expect from George Jones or Merle Haggard.
Being a witness to this direct involvement in playing music had a strong effect on my own routine. I started writing songs at an early age, with a ukulele bought from the Sears catalog. I was not shy about attempts to emulate my heroes. In school, I participated in marching band, concert band, orchestra, and also assembled a group of friends to sing Doo Wop memories, a cappella, at football games. The height of our non-instrumental adventure was being featured on WKPA radio, a local station in Pennsylvania. Sadly, no recording of that achievement remains for posterity.
When possible, I attended concerts of all sorts. By Punk, New Wave, and modern artists, such as Elvis Costello, Joe Jackson, and Richard Hell with his Voidoids. The Police. The Cars. The B-52s. The Records. Bram Tchaikovsky. The Sex Pistols. The Pretenders, on their first domestic tour. Los Straitjackets. Southern Culture on the Skids. The Whiskey Daredevils. Rhinobucket. Additionally, I saw legacy performers such as Chuck Berry, B.B. King, Albert King, Wilson Pickett, James Brown, Dr. John Rebennack, and the uniquely talented Warren Zevon. The Fabulous Thunderbirds. The Rolling Stones. Buddy Guy. Even Grover Washington, Jr.
With my friend Paul Race from Corning, New York, I explored the concept of improvisation from a musical and lyrical standpoint. My cohort had been in many bands from his area, and knew a great deal about electric axes and their bottom-end, bass companions. I counted over 100 instruments in his collection, that were diverse and interesting for various reasons. His ability to score deals on vintage items was legendary in that region. And his patient tutelage allowed me to study and develop my own chops as a songwriter.
Eventually, I amassed a tape archive of 500 demo tracks. Something that gave me a lasting sense of accomplishment.
My focus was always on the lyric aspect, however. Therefore, masters of the pursuit like Bob Dylan, John Prine, Harry Chapin, and Patti Smith were favorite sources of inspiration. John Cooper Clarke, generally unknown on this side of the Atlantic, blended his poetry with musical experiments that also broadened my scope as a seeker of pure art. But perhaps most invigorating of all was the career output of Lou Reed. A fellow who once confessed to wishing that he could ‘Write the great American novel.’ His storytelling remained intact until the very end, through a divisive release captured with members of Metallica. A strange document that is hard to hear, but very provocative.
Still, the simple brilliance of his track ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ shines for all eternity. A signature tune which first appeared as a recording with the Velvet Underground.
“Jenny said, when she was just five years old
You know there’s nothin’ happening at all
Every time she put on the radio
There was nothin’ goin’ down at all
Not at all
One fine mornin’ she put on a New York station
And she couldn’t believe what she heard at all
She started dancin’ to that fine-fine music
Ooohh, her life was saved by rock ‘n’ roll
Hey baby, rock ‘n’ roll
Despite all the amputations
You could dance to a rock ‘n’ roll station
And it was all right
It was all right...”
In years of retirement and disability, this tilt toward the writing aspect of music has paid dividends for myself. But a personal interest in communicating ideas and reflections, in a metered, melodic context, remains strong. I am glad for the gift bestowed by my progenitors.
And, for our Silvertone hi-fi, where I first began to listen as a curious, young lad.
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