By Summit FM Contributor Marc Lee Shannon

I would arrive home, click on the Yamaha tuner that powers up the Klipsch speakers and subwoofer, and exhale—the simple joy of my favorite music station's at-home, end-of-day comfort. As I took off my jacket, put my backpack on the floor, and plopped on the couch, I would hear paw clicks on the vinyl wood floor and see the spy-like glide from the doorway into the room of my welcome ambassador, Martin the Dog. After a gentle nose nudge and a big-boy stretch, there would be a "Hey, how ya doin'? Woof," and a toothy canine breath smile.

There is just no feeling for a pet lover like walking in the door after a long day of adulting to find a furry friend to greet us and ask for a moment of attention, a salty, crispy thing 'accidentally' dropped on the kitchen floor, and a quick trip to the patch of green just outside.

Music and Pets —my Two Best Friends.

Last February, I got married, and my beautiful bride brought two loving senior dogs to Casa Shannon. Layla and Mika were very different: one skittish and scared of her own shadow, and the other a lumbering shag of orange hair and white whiskers, food-motivated and a constant, familiar presence at the squeak of the fridge opening. To say she was a foodie would not accurately describe her waggy, treat-loving long tail and never-satisfied belly waiting for an upside-down rub-a-dub.

Then it happened: my best pal Martin passed in April of 2022. I am sure my heart will never get over it. My wife Kim's pups were also senior dogs, and we loved them up, but unfortunately, we lost them recently within a month of each other. We both are still not over the loss and probably won't be for a long time.

The house has an eerie feeling of solemn quiet with no dogs. My wife and I promise to remedy this in the next few months, as we miss everything described above and have been preparing ourselves to begin the search. For sure, it will be a rescue that ultimately saves us from the loneliness we feel for our lost and loved furry friends.

It is said that we all want the same thing, all human "beans." That one thing is less suffering, and I get great satisfaction from a warm pet hug, the soft, familiar sound of a radio playing low but still present, and the knowledge that this day will be okay because of My Two Best Friends.

Ah, that other friend?

It's a voice I recognize in between songs, telling me the weather, the big concert announcement, or a Studio C session that, as a member, I can experience—a small format, one-of-a-kind concert from a traveler through the northeast Ohio landscape. An indie band or local heavyweight that shares an hour of stories and songs. The Summit FM is my homeboy, living room pal and background for all my car travels as I make my way on whatever the day brings.

There is comfort in knowing that when I get home, with a flick of the switch, The Summit FM will fill the space with music's energy and healing power. It's a constant in my world, like a cool glass of water on a hot summer day. You know, the one you slam after a long walk in the sun or mowing the back 40. I need to be restored and reset with the perspective of "that song" that somehow knows what my heart feels today—especially when missing our pet pals.

Music, like pets, can heal and repair my mental, physical, and even spiritual well-being in a way that nothing else seems to do. Both can anchor us in the here and now, help bring us back to the moment, and be the vessel that transports us to another place—a unique private village where we can close our eyes and imagine the things that build the bridges to our real-life dreams.

For me, music and pets are the friends in the room who comfort and soothe the soul after a weary day. Both are irreplaceable, undeniable, and unequivocally the best combination.

I’m on that living room couch with the music playing softly in the background, searching for our next best friend online. I hope they like adult album alternative (AAA) programming.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

By the time of his third album, Tom Petty's audience, along with his bravado, had been continuously growing. Gone were any hesitations or uncertainty, Petty and his Heartbreakers were here to stay! "That was a record where life was never gonna be the same again," said Petty, in a look back at this classic essential.

Released in October 1979, 'Damn The Torpedoes' was the self-assured ‘shot heard 'round the world’ we knew Petty had in him from day one. Over the course of the first two albums, 'Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers'(1976) and 'You're Gonna Get It' (1978), Petty had shown himself a powerful new force on the music map. The janglin’ yet raw guitars, mixed with vintage harmonies, and a rock solid premise, was a perfect fit for the era. In fact, when they first emerged, the press, and public, weren't sure what to make of T.P. and band. Reviews often threw them in with the punk scene, and later the 'new wave' tag was applied. Try finding the records in a record store, and you were just as likely to find him in the 'rock' section as in the 'New Wave' bins. Though that may seem quaint now, at the time it was serious business and honestly, the confusion made sense. Tom, and his back to roots and attitude, had much more in common with the new bands arriving like Blondie, Ramones, and so on, than they did with the likes of Kansas or Boston.

Radio favorites like 'American Girl' and 'Listen To Her Heart' set them apart early on, but by the time 'Refugee', from 'Damn The Torpedoes,' hit the airwaves, it was like a bolt of lightning. Here was all of Tom's ties to The Byrds, Dylan, the Animals, and so on, rolled into one track, a track that connected with radio and fans, setting the stage for phase two of Petty's journey. Written by Petty, and guitarist Mike Campbell, 'Refugee' hit the American charts at number 15, setting the stage for the follow-up, 'Don't Do Me Like That,' which would bust into the Top 10 shortly thereafter.

"We may have recorded 'Refugee' a hundred times,” recalled producer Jimmy Iovine. "It was just relentless, and I don't know if that was everything just coming together, but I tell you what, it came out great. I'm proud of that record and it sounds great every time I hear it." The album was recorded under stress brought on by a band lawsuit. Earlier in the game, Petty's label, ABC/Shelter, had been sold to MCA Records. Petty contested that his contract couldn't be sold or adopted by another company without his go ahead and sued the label. In the process, the label countersued for breach of contract with the whole legal mess spilling out into the recording process along the way. The venom and anger brought on by the legal woes may have ultimately added fuel to the fire, found evident within the recordings of these classic songs. "I think it made the music sort of anthemic," recalled Petty.

The album plays like a greatest hits record! In addition to the aforementioned singles, we've got 'Here Comes My Girl,' 'Shadow Of A Doubt,' 'Century City, 'Even The Losers,' 'What Are You Doin’ In My Life,’ and 'Louisiana Rain,' among others. "It was a real mission," said Petty. "We were gonna make this record, and it was gonna be great!" The album went on to sell multi-platinum, as it hit number two on the Billboard charts, held status as one of the year's top sellers, and has taken on a life of its own over the 45 years that have followed. In many ways, it remains the signature Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers album. Essential doesn’t begin to cover its significance, not only in his catalog, but in the story of rock and roll.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

Released in 2007, the third album from Canadian singer-songwriter Leslie Feist went a long way to solidify not only her artistry but also her fan base. Having released her debut album, Monarch, in 1999, she soon had listeners take notice of her signature, somewhat haunting vocal style, mixed with deceptively simple songs.

She was taking the pop song and twisting it into her own shape, combining a variety of elements and making them her own. Let It Die followed in 2004, launching her even higher and winning her two Canadian Juno Awards for 'Best New Artist' and 'Best Alternative Rock Album.' Somewhere in between those first two albums, she joined forces with Canadian indie rockers Broken Social Scene, with whom she played for several years, both live and in the studio.

The Reminder arrived in the spring of 2007, entering the US Billboard charts at No. 16. It brought her yet another round of Juno Awards for 'Best Pop Album of 2007' and 'Best Album of 2007,' as well as a Grammy nomination for 'Best Pop Album.' "One record really just dovetailed into the next," she said in a 2013 interview. "I recorded The Reminder while I was on tour for Let It Die, and then just sort of continued touring, but with a different record."

Unlike her previous works, The Reminder featured all songs written or co-written by Feist. The previous album included covers of songs by Ron Sexsmith, the Bee Gees, Françoise Hardy, and others, as well as Feist originals. On The Reminder,she made a conscious effort to keep it all coming from within. "I think I knew I didn't want to sing any covers," she said in an interview for the album. "I had a hard time singing other people's lyrics, more than melodies. Melodies are sort of like a waterslide; if it's someone else's melody, it can just be like you're along for the ride, and it's really fun."

As her songwriting developed, she took note and ran with it. "As I got older, the people I was playing with, we all started to get a little more proficient, and melodies became more interesting," she noted, adding that her lyrics developed in their own way as well. "I go a lot to using nature symbolism—things like storms, volcanoes, lightning, thunder, and earthquakes, the massive movements of the earth—to relate to emotions." The songs had more layers upon first listen, with even more uncovered with every spin. Songs like ‘My Moon, My Man’ and ‘1-2-3-4’ stood out as unique alongside others of the era.

Though Feist continues to make music, having released three albums in the 17 years since The Reminder, it is that album that people still talk about as her golden moment. Check it out here on The Summit FM Album Essentials.

By Summit FM Contributor Marc Lee Shannon

March 15th, 2015. It’s my first solo all-original singer-songwriter gig—sober.

Location? A downtown bar that used to be the late-night palace of promises to myself to quit my drinking, and here I was on the stage, tuning, pacing, and panicking.

Tonight, I was flying without a net.

The previous November, I finally managed to string together consecutive days, weeks, and months without booze or anything, and I was on a roll. An old friend, a kind and generous matron of the establishment, had promised a Benjamin for a one-hour set, and I needed it—the money, the lift of playing my songs, and the knowledge that it could be done by me stone-cold sober.

I won’t get into the nights of debauchery and the tales of my inebriated escapades, as I have spent many clicks on my Mac telling those stories. How I rarely drank on stage at the end of my time using alcohol; instead, always afterward, a seemingly innocent water bottle filled to the top under the front seat. Only it wasn’t water. Yeah, that was me, and I was the guy frowning when you called for "one more song" at the night’s end. I wanted to get to my car and work on the pre-buzz to get me to the real buzz at home, where the giant bottle was waiting like a lover, peering through the blinds. "Are we there yet?" my brain would plead as I turned into the driveway where I could finally drink my fill, and my spirit could rest until tomorrow.

Years later, I learned that scientific studies consistently show that when we listen to (or play, in my case) music, the brain releases a chemical that gives us a sense of pleasure. Dopamine is the same neurotransmitter that helps us savor the joy of food, the depth of intimacy with a loved one, and the euphoria from alcohol, tobacco, and, in my case, other substances that I was ingesting daily. Because of my consistent use over the years, my brain had developed a habit that would require a long period of abstinence before it could finally reset and recover. Like someone trying to quit smoking, the way to remove the urge was to get treatment and work a program.

That incredible feeling I had as a teenager strapping on a Gibson guitar, plugging in, and playing those first chords had morphed into something completely different over the years. Now, in early recovery, I desperately wanted that sense of satisfaction, that rush, to return. I was determined to get it back, and tonight, without drinking, I was on the high wire.

Thankfully, I had sober support in the house and some good rehearsal under my belt, and I let it loose. In the first song, my voice was pitchy, and I messed up the chords in the verse, but I got through it. Somewhere in the middle of that first solo set, sober, it hit me: that feeling where one plus one equals three for a performing artist, and I was in the zone. Bruce Springsteen described it as something of a magic trick in his Broadway show, where suddenly you "got it."

The audience was with me, nodding and smiling, and my guitar playing and singing were perfectly in sync and in tune. It was like that first gig as a sophomore in the Irish Troubadour Club at St. Vincent-St. Mary’s all those years before. I was back.

In the next few months, I would join my bandmates in Michael Stanley and the Resonators on stage with a different vibe. Resilient and confident, I would experience an almost intuitive sense when playing in that ensemble with those other incredible musicians—the enchanting intoxication of playing sober with the knowledge that you have prepared your mind and spirit to be here, and no artificial inspiration is needed.

Looking back, like many in the recovery fellowship have repeatedly told me, "It just keeps getting better." Just like "the Boss" said…

It is a magic trick.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

Way back when, soundtracks to movies were usually a film score with the occasional vocal track for the title tune. Often created by one composer or artist, these soundtracks served as a sonic companion to the film. From the countless brilliant Henry Mancini soundtracks of the 1960s (and beyond) to the great jazz and classical scores, they captured the mood perfectly. At some point, the soundtrack became a thing unto itself. For the sake of argument, I’m going to cite the 1973 American Graffiti double album as one of the first to not only stand alone while still serving the movie but to become a significant release in its own right. The film, set in 1962, fit right in with the '50s revival happening at the time—Sha Na Na, The Lords of Flatbush, Ringo covering '50s pop hits, and eventually Happy Days. The hippie hangover had caused many to dive backward several years.

As the years went by, the soundtrack album became not only a significant companion to the film it represented but often a moneymaker in its own right, sometimes enjoying a longer life than the movie. Flash forward to the mid-1990s, and those kids wanted their own soundtrack. Call it what you want—slackers, Generation X—but they were primed for their moment in the spotlight. Two such soundtracks that come to mind are Singles and Reality Bites.

The film featured a cavalcade of hip actors of the era, such as Winona Ryder, Ethan Hawke, Ben Stiller, and Janeane Garofalo, making it a box office hit. Plus, what could be more '90s than a cameo from Soul Asylum's Dave Pirner and druggy poster boy crooner Evan Dando to seal that MTV vibe?

The soundtrack covered similar ground, with one notable exception, leading to the Reality Bites album becoming one of the best-loved soundtracks of its time, if not one of the biggest sellers. Tracks from Juliana Hatfield, the Posies, Lenny Kravitz, Dinosaur Jr., Lisa Loeb, and U2 all resonated and helped push the album into the Billboard Top 20. Reggae band Big Mountain scored a bona fide hit with their cover of the Peter Frampton classic "Baby, I Love Your Way," and the 1981 Squeeze gem "Tempted" ensured the '80s were not forgotten.

However, it was a classic song from 1979 that perhaps defines what the soundtrack—and the film—is fondly remembered for. While grabbing snacks at the mini-mart, the radio starts playing "My Sharona" by the Knack, causing the girls to get excited and start dancing. It’s charmingly cute in all its rapid vapidness, and then it’s over! This brief scene caused, if only momentarily, classic rock radio to revisit the Knack song, giving it a nostalgic boost. Thankfully, Knack leader Doug Fieger was still alive to bask in that moment of glory. The band, who had reunited a few years prior, released two killer post-Reality Bites albums. Like any good product placement, it certainly didn’t hurt! I could easily continue rambling about the Knack, but if you’re interested in more about them, please check below.

As for the film being some sort of Gen X profile, one of the actors saw it differently. "They're going to try and market it as a Generation X story, which is the stupidest thing. It’s not," Garofalo told David Letterman upon the film's release. "It’s just that the cast happened to be in their twenties and the director is in his twenties. It's just a love triangle story; it’s not Generation X. It’s not whatever the studio is deciding they're going to hook into whatever buzzword to market it. It's just a normal small story."

Regardless, Reality Bites, the album, captured the mood of the film as well as that moment in time—the 1990s, before smartphones, talent shows, reality shows, auto-tuning, AI, alternate facts, and 9/11. Yeah, I guess it was a simpler time.

By Dave Swanson - Summit FM Contributor

What happens when your “side project” gains momentum and takes off down the road unexpectedly? You roll with it, and let it go! Just ask acclaimed singer/songwriter Ben Gibbard, of Death Cab For Cutie, who in 2003, took a break from DCFD to work on some other ideas, which would become The Postal Service. Eventually, an album, 'Give Up,’ was created, which would capture the hearts of many, selling over a million copies. Not bad for vacation from their day gig!

Released by Sub Pop, in early 2003, 'Give Up' was the culmination of a collaboration of Gibbard and musical pal James Tamborello (sometimes known as 'Dntl'). Though the duo hardly pursued this as a full-time thing, little by little, fans began to notice there was something interesting going on here. Singles like 'Such Great Heights' and 'We Will Become Silhouettes' helped gain indie/college radio play, while well placed appearances in various ads, films, etc., gradually got the Postal Service noticed. Though it may have taken a longer road to get there, the album would ultimately sell over a million copies.

The electronic based style of the duo seemed to stand alone, while simultaneously sounding familiar and sparklingly new. It was, in many ways, the sound of 90's 'electronica,' bringing along 80's synth pop, on a cinematic road trip. If it weren't for the electronic instrumentation, 'Such Great Heights' could/would have been a Death Cab hit with its upbeat, catchy vibe. In fact, it did become a 'hit' by a less traditional set of criteria says Gibbard. "It was a trip for me to have this song become, not so much a hit in the Billboard sense of the word, but certainly a hit in the sense that, every coffee shop I walked into, it was playing," recalled Gibbard. "Every bar, every store I walked into, it was playing. It just became this ubiquitous piece of music."

The colors in the paint box may have changed, but the pop instincts of Gibbard remained in place. With Gibbard in Seattle, and Tamborello in L.A., the collaboration took shape via home demos sent back and forth to each other via, you know it, the U.S. mail. "We just worked like that off and on," recalled Gibbard in a recent interview. "I would do these demos in Pro-Tools, do a bunch of vocals, guitars, maybe some keyboard bits, do a rough mix, then send it back to Jimmy."

The creative process would continue on this path until this batch of material would become the album 'Give Up.' Gibbard had become a fan of the band Rilo Kiley, and out of the blue, he approached their singer, Jenny Lewis, about adding some vocals to the songs. Rilo Keily and Death Cab were, at the time, on the same label, so Gibbard tracked Lewis down and asked her if she would be interested in taking part in this project. Much to his surprise, she was "totally into it," with her distinct vocals adding a much needed element to the sound, and creating an ongoing friendship.

It was a case of the right music at the right time, and it just caught people by surprise. It is interesting to note that 'Give Up' remains Sup Pop's biggest selling album in their history, second only to Nirvana's 'Bleach.'

By Chad Miller - Summit FM Music Director

What's everyone been listening to out there? So much new music coming at us, so little time... However, these songs that might fly under the radar to most are what I've been diggin' these past few weeks!

Like what you hear? Please email me at chad@thesummit.fm and let me know what you think!

By Matt Anthony - Summit FM Contributor

We had just checked out at one of the local chain grocery stores, the one with lower prices but a limited selection. As anyone who takes on the chore of food shopping can attest, it doesn’t seem to matter much lately where one shops. (If you’re a devoted fan of olive oil like me, you understand. The price of that golden-green liquid is just extraordinary!)

We had just filled our worn bags with our minimal provisions and were starting to move towards the exit when a woman ahead of us, who had also finished checking out, mentioned to a store employee that she had forgotten something. In this store, a metal railing separated the 'in' from the 'out,' so she was instructed to go through the exit, make a 360-degree turn, and come back in to retrieve her forgotten item.

We were exiting as she was making the wide circle with her cart to re-enter. The woman and Donna made eye contact briefly, and with a forlorn expression, the woman said to Donna, “I forgot my bread.”

All three of us paused for several seconds, and Donna smiled and replied, “I do that too.”

It was an odd and strangely poignant moment, and I thought about it several times that day as we made our way back home. Did this woman also suffer from dementia? Was Donna able to recognize it instantly? And in that moment, was there an immediate connection? I’ll never know for sure.

Kamala Harris is fond of saying, “We share more similarities than we do differences,” and I believe that’s true. Having a seemingly inane conversation while waiting in line at a store, a friendly but brief exchange with a ticket-taker at a show or a ballgame, or simply nodding at a fellow rider on a bicycle as you pass each other on a path—there’s comfort, I think, in knowing that we’re all just muddling through, trying our best to do good, not harm others, and appreciate this once-in-a-lifetime chance that we have.

My friend Marc Lee Shannon speaks and writes eloquently about ‘finding your tribe.’ I’ve always agreed with his premise. I think he’s right. I wonder, though, if we truly need to search that diligently. Are we making it more difficult than it needs to be? And is the common bond we share—as just mortal beings slogging through the muck and trying to get to the other side—hidden in the walls and complexities that we’ve constructed ourselves?

Why do we high-five a stranger sitting next to us in a sports bar when the Browns score? (If they score, that is!) Why do we sometimes nod or smile at others in the waiting area of a doctor’s office? These actions may seem random and nonsensical, but in that momentary burst of a shared human experience—however rudimentary or abrupt it may be—I feel almost a twinge of gratitude. It gives me solace to know that, perhaps, I’m not alone. And neither are you.

I recall having a quick chat several years ago with a guy at a motorcycle dealership who was also waiting to have his bike worked on. I just liked him. He looked me in the eye when he spoke and had a certain ambiance about him that seemed to mesh with the patois we shared on that humid day in the customer-service waiting area. I’m not sure why, but when the service manager announced that his bike was done, we shook hands as he left.

Riding away later in the day, I felt as if I had known him for a long time, as if we could have been friends in a past or future life. What bike he rode, where he went to high school, or what he enjoyed on his pizza—those are just details learned over time. But that exact moment of a shared experience can be something moving and enjoyable.

Or, in Donna’s case, at the supermarket, something subtle and powerful.

I’m not always successful, but I try to remind myself that the seemingly bored person exchanging out your DVR at the cable store may have something unique to add to your day if given the opportunity. The soft-spoken lady on the phone assigned to help you understand the extra charge on your utility bill might just need a not-so-angry voice on the other end to keep her from chalking up her day as a total disaster. Or the disheveled person holding the sign at the red light might be looking for you to roll down your window and ask ‘what happened,’ instead of just needing a couple of bucks.

A tiny extra fiber of gratitude might be lurking, along with the next close encounter.