Left behind in a large leather satchel following a Josh Groban concert in a Philadelphia music venue, these writings deserve better. After spending some time reading and making loving edits (and failed attempts to find the authors themselves) I am of the belief that these are the first musings that Kevin Holiday and a compatriot only referred to as Dolf or Adolf shared on the question of Soft Rock. I hope to publish more installments with you from time to time, as there are many . I will now let Dolf and Holiday speak for themselves:
K. Holiday writes:
The book is beginning to take shape now. Like Borges I have dreamed the tome in its entirely, but each morning before I awake I must watch it burn away. One morning, though, I'll find it on my night stand. Perhaps you will find it under a tree as you walk your dog. It will live. Of this, I am sure. And this is what it will say to the world: Why is it that only women are permitted to make soft rock anymore? The softest a man can get these days is in R&B and that's all about knocking boots, not "making it with you." That, or boy band stuff, which is more crouch grabbing than anything else. We need to address, no, to demand the eminent resurgence of the man who can stand barefoot on the grass and delight in the games of children while pledging an almost religious devotion to his "girl" or "lady" or "woman" and while remaining committed to exploration of the self through any natural or chemical means necessary and to changing the world with love, Eros, the big love, a guitar and a tambourine full of flowers in his gentle hands. I can see him approaching. Look at him. Eyes, nearly obscured by bangs of curly blond hair, glazed over in wonder, a ruffled poet shirt and stretch Levis, an enormous belt buckle that says Believe (and an expanded mind that does just that).
Adolf replies:
I see him, or is that I feel him...his spirit, gentle. Like the smoke rings of a fine pipe or the curve of a floppy brimmed hat. Yes, my friend I know this man, for he follows me through my journeys and in times of need says, "It'll be alright, baby, it'll be alright". Then, with a turn and smile, he walks away. He's makes it OK to cry, to laugh, to savor a woman's tender touch. That is the problem, the issue... men can't keep it all inside any longer. Liberation of the soul and emotions. Cathartic. We'll get there soon enough. And when we do, they will follow. Yes, they will follow. David Gates [of Bread] will takes us there. Just believe.
Holiday counters:
You can't forget love in your eyes and flowers in your hair. A look of earnest concern, of world transcending love, not the arrogance that so many rock stars project today, can take you places, too. Seals and Croft were no lookers, but I'm sure they got play (air- and otherwise) from that look. A jeff cap, slightly askew, never hurt either, especially when set atop feathered (or permed, as you so noted) hair. Get a woman, and keep her with a look like that. Sixty-five percent of marriages end in divorce, mainly because that look is frowned upon around the office or has been commandeered by Kyuss fans and Canadian soundmen.
Adolf continues:
I think it's time for a return to the days of sensitivity and tight fitting trousers. Not to mention chest hair and silver/turquoise jewelry. Not empty emo. As you so duly noted, Seals & Croft may not have been Adonis'; yet, they certainly put a lump in your throat (and pants) with their sensitive musings. Was David Gate's perm or David Cassidy's feathered coif any less sexy than our present day sex symbols? I think not... Do today's stars get the adoration that those fine gentlemen garnered from adoring fans? Cream magazine, Teen Hits, Teen Beat...where have all the flowers gone? And is Gilbert O' Sullivan's pensive
stare any less affecting than the androgyny of modern rockers?
Holiday adding more:
We would be remiss to neglect mentioning Carl [Wilson], the sensitive surfer, and Michael, when his nose was flat but his butt still a shelf of life-affirming joy. They and all their brothers were wholesome, milk-fed POA's with certainly more meat than modern heroes of the so-called softer sex. Let's recapture a time when Alan Alda strove to make men the softer sex. Sensitivity begins with the words baby, girl, and woman, sure, but it takes a man with a tambourine, a real man with a journal full of nuggets and flute full of inspiration, to see it to its fruition... No, to its inevitable beginning. Let us take the first steps.
