Carole Wade took the microphone on a scorching July Sunday at my mother’s Dallas senior care home. I happened to be visiting for the karaoke event, and the line of residents eager to place their stamps on their favorite songs was so lengthy that the event had to be prolonged. ABBA’s “Mamma Mia,” David Lee Roth’s “Just a Gigolo”—they sang it all.
When it was Wade’s time, the microphone was delivered to her table. Like when the music started, she held it in her hands as if it were an extension of her fingers. The audience became silent as she proceeded to sing Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” with ease. Frozen. All eyes were fixed on her, the majority of which were moist. The lines are absolutely fitting:
“I’m afraid of change because I’ve built my life around you.”
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“But time makes you bolder; even children get older, and I’m getting old too.”
A man seated at our table saw how emotional I’d been. He leaned forward and said, “Never stop feeling the music.”
I had the pleasure of speaking with Wade, who, at 85, has been singing almost her whole life. She got her start in the profession as a backup vocalist for Elvis impersonator groups in Dallas and the surrounding areas. In and out of bands, performing in Deep Ellum clubs and nearby hotels, she says, “I’ve been singing since I was a young girl.” I’ve always loved music.”
She happened to be in a jam session at the time and began harmonizing with other artists. They would shortly create her latest band, Psychedelic Oatmeal. They officially stopped doing gigs when she was in her seventies, but they are still close. (She observes that her bandmates were all considerably younger.)
They covered famous rock songs by Stevie Nicks, The Eagles, Janis Joplin, and Led Zeppelin. The tracks include “Me and Bobby McGee,” “Seven Bridges Road,” and “Whole Lotta Love.” She chuckles that most of the males in the band couldn’t get the Zeppelin high notes made famous by Robert Plant, so she accepted the challenge—with tremendous success.
They even branded themselves at performances, manufacturing small Ziploc packets of oats and glitter and throwing them to the audience. That is, until a club owner told them to stop because the oatmeal was mingling with spilled beverages, “creating goo.”