![]() ![]() But dipping a toe into adulthood late summer nights on the beach I grew up near, smoking cloying clove cigarettes and mulling over the future's myriad mysteries with my high school pals, Stevens' music tasted just right. Those songs were the melodic equivalent of the treacly wine we liked so much then, before our palates knew any better. "Hard Headed Woman" - hormones a-ragin', I'd imagine all the shades of love that lay before me. "Peace Train" - achingly earnest, I was right there dreaming of peace with him. "Oh Very Young" - the world seemed to have big bulging pockets of possibility. Whereas James Taylor - if you were into one, you were into the other - and his "Fire and Rain" pain poked at my teen angst like a bad-news-toting messenger, Stevens' songs made my chest feel curiously carbonated. ![]() I knew only that his music echoed happily in my highly adolescent hollows. He had also long since changed his name to Yusuf Islam and given up the pop life to do the work of Mohammed and spread the word of the Koran, but I didn't know that then. ![]() By the time I went through my high school Cat Stevens phase, the singer was already a musical compilation of his former self. ![]()
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