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Phoebe Snow

I wore my mother’s records and 8-tracks out when she wasn’t home. Expressing womanly in view of a mirror. Didn’t even need a pretend microphone.  Learned every nuance of all her grown and sexy tunes. I wonder if she knew... 

Back then, there was no Googling lyrics. You listened, then stopped the record, wrote the words you thought you heard. And sang along.  I had a custom mixed tape concierge. My dad. He’d take my playlist to the record store every couple of months. But no songs like this one made the playlist.. Teach Me TonightPhoebe Snow’s version. My better judgment dictated I maintain some semblance of purity, for his sake. Then came Love Makes A Woman. I was hardly a woman in 1977, but this one imparted some  insight about womanhood.  Thinking back, Phoebe Snow was the Amy Winehouse of her day. Bluesy. Sultry. Transcending customary, to be vocally and lyrically daring.  Fucking talented and sincerely blunt. No missing her point at all. Phoebe was the Oracle. I was teachable. And very self aware.. Ages 15 - 18 in real time was the beginning of my unfolding to -try and redirect stupid teachers and spectators. 

Another guided meditation, Poetry Man  revealed a side to Phoebe I had to reconcile with as a young woman. No spoiler alert here. You’ll have to listen for yourself. But Teach Me Tonight? Was #dayumgirl! explicit as it could be at the time. I feel. It sold me on my personal sexuality as bottled and belonging innately to me. I didn’t have to finesse it. I wasn’t wrong for owning it.  Aware that it could work for me or against me amongst the wolves out in the real world I was headed into.  Though it taught me nothing - - about faring the sisterhood. You know? Those other preyed-upon? Cis sisters who loved men, too. The sister lambs? Vying for their own 180 pounds of d*ck. The ladies, like hungry female lions who will lit-er-al-ly cut you for saying happy birthday to the one she’s been seasoning.  Lordy. I was not some kind of lamb-chop when I entered adult dating & mating. I was a unicorn, even then, with a djembe beat I called confidence. And in my young life of getting got, I didn’t have to hoard, for trusting the bounty

Jackie’s of the world, now that you are older, do not seduce yourself with illusions about how to use your tenderness. You have already figured it out with some Phoebe speak. So BE tender, from your inner pachamama. It will give him/her, when he shows up, something he will feel. 

Now, back to Phoebe and that Teach Me song. Man, I wish she were still alive.




Poetic Memory # 7
Artist:   Phoebe Snow
Who/What/When/Where/Why in no particular order - Does it still do me that-a-way?
    Dallas late 70s
    Living Room
Yaaaas Gurl!    


Namaste.





Anyone can teach you about love. I can make you good at it.

| Photo & Prose by Jackie D. Rockwell |All Rights Reserved © 2008-2021 |