That’s a copy of my album Tapestry by Carole King. I was scrolling through Instagram, where the album is being celebrated for its fiftieth year since release on February 10, 1971. It was suggested people share their stories on a fan wall.
I already shared a story about “It’s Too Late” from that album. But before the incident described there, I can remember the first time I heard a song from the album, though I didn’t know the names of the artist, the album, or the song.
I was walking from Lynne’s house in our small town to my boyfriend’s house. I passed a field in front of apartments where college students lived. A bunch of them were outside enjoying the spring day, sitting on blankets or tossing a football.
Someone’s stereo was cranked up and the song I heard as I walked past was “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.” I had one of those “totally in this moment” experiences. I was young, happy, strong, and healthy, feeling like a pretty little hippie, going from my best friend to the boy I loved, my first love.
I knew that bliss wouldn’t last forever, but Carole assured me:
When my soul was in the lost-and-found
You came along to claim it
I didn’t know just what was wrong with me
Till your kiss helped me name it
What time, experience, and age would teach me is that a kiss is not always a kiss. A kiss is a good metaphor for whatever gives us that feeling of exhilaration in BEING, in knowing that we ARE. That day, that kiss came from a Carole King song, and I have never stopped loving her for it. She and her music have long outlasted my first love and love’s first sorrow.
When I think about it, my album, as shown in that image drowned by Harvey and headed to a landfill, is a great symbol. We survived a flood. I can get a fiftieth anniversary copy of Tapestry on vinyl, and I can listen to Carole again. Sadness to joy is always possible.