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my bedroom or sometimes in the living room. I didn’t hide my playing and singing; they were part of the sound track of the house.
    I met some other kids who played guitar, too. We learned old folk songs like “All My Trials” off my father’s Kingston Trio records, complete with counterpoint melody. “Sounds of Silence” was huge for us. In fact, Simon & Garfunkel were a real mainstay, but our big hit was “Atlantis” by Donovan. We couldn’t wait for the end and the anthemic refrain of “Way down below the ocean, where I wanna be, she may be …” The beginning of the song was all talking, and it was kind of a chore to get through. And no one wanted to chirp “Hail, Atlantis!” but the ending was worth it.
    My friend Janey’s older sister, Robin, introduced me to Laura Nyro. Then, at summer church camp, an older girl (fifteen) told me point-blank to get “Clouds” by Joni Mitchell. It was like an edict, should I ever want to understand anything. Not since the Beatles had my world been so shaken by music. Joanne, my closest guitar-playing pal, and I set out to learn Joni Mitchell’s entire catalog, but because Joni never played in standard tuning, we were stymied. Then a miracle occurred. Joanne met a college student named Vicki who gave guitar lessons at the local music shop— and she knew Joni Mitchell tunings. We practically moved in with her. The code was cracked, and the gates of heaven flew open.
    Joanne and I took turns meeting at each other’s house, all through junior high and high school. We played “Rocky Mountain High,” “I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore” by Phil Ochs, Joni Mitchell’s “Conversation” and “Chelsea Morning,” “Someday Soon” and “My Father” by Judy Collins, and Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne,” as sung by Judy Collins. Joanne had an older sister, Tina, and she could sing, so sometimes we’d add a third part.
    There are artists who just seem to spring out of the wild with a ready-made vibe, but most of us have to copy people for a long time in hopes of developing our own style. James Taylor was one of those artists who seemed to have emerged fully formed. I remember baby-sitting one night when Janey tore over with the 45 of “Fire and Rain,” insisting that the second coming had arrived—and she was right.

    Me and Liz, 1975

    Me and Joanne, 1975

    Jane, 1975
    I went through this phase of writing songs when I was fourteen or so. I’d fallen in love with a guy who didn’t know I was alive, so I channeled my unrequited love into songs. I ended up writing maybe ten. They were based primarily on Joni Mitchell and Laura Nyro songs. Some were about being home, at my parents’, and feeling misunderstood. I can still remember some of the titles: “Hey, J,” “Tell the Clouds to All Come Home,” “I Want War,” and “Thought of You.” They’re not anything I would play now, but back then I played them for Joanne, Liz, Mandy, and Jane. Joanne was writing songs, too.
    My repertoire was expanding, and I actually got a gig at a hippie-dippy student church called the Newman Center in Carbondale when I was fifteen. I think I played Joni Mitchell, “He’s a Runner” by Laura Nyro, James Taylor, and Simon & Garfunkel. After my set I was too jazzed to quit, and my meager audience followed me into the ladies’ bathroom, where the acoustics rocked. But, mostly, more and more of us got together just to play, in our rooms, at Saturday-night church youth group get-togethers, and whenever our parents had parties.
    I took my guitar to school often, and I’d play with my friends, sometimes outside on the lawn at lunchtime or in one of the listening-room cubicles in study hall. Joanne and I even managed to sneak our guitars into French class, further goading poor Miss Crow, the most tortured teacher in the whole school. Phil Ochs, Dylan, John Denver, Cat Stevens, Dan Fogelberg, Elton John. Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Jackson Browne. I learned songs by Linda Ronstadt,