Oh lord, I’m sooo tired! How looong can this go ooon?

Dad’s baritone reverberated through the concrete corridor of the 4th Avenue underpass like Zeus cursing Greek mortals. And then the chorus: 

Workin' in a coal mine
Goin' down, down, down
Workin' in a coal mine
Oops, about to slip down

It was 1992 and it was a classic Tucson summer Saturday night. The air was thick from monsoons and hotter than nighttime ever dared to be elsewhere. They named their five-man acapella group Catacoustic Groove: “Catacoustic” being the area of acoustics study that deals with echoes and reflected sounds, and “Groove” being “a long narrow cut or depression” (purposely contrary to the standard groovy → groove association and because they often found the best acoustics in narrow tunnels).

They never used microphones or powered amplification. Instead, and true to their name, each week their “stage” was chosen based on the available acoustics of the environment itself. All five members were physics nerds (if it wasn’t obvious already). Tonight’s venue was an underpass sidewalk in the bowels of downtown Tucson under a decommissioned segment of railroad track: 

Course I make a little money
Haulin' coal by the ton
But when Saturday rolls around
I'm too tired for havin' fun

My Dad sang bass in the group, and I bounced up and down mostly to the beat. Not much more could be expected of a three year old, but not much more could be desired either – I was, according to every witness, “the cutest damn thing you ever did see” and the belle of the ball for all these gigs. But this Working in the Coal Mine by Lee Dorsey was by far my favorite song. About halfway through the tune the high end drops out and only my dad’s bass remains for the bellowing solo: 

Five o'clock in the mornin'
I'm already up and gone
Lord, I'm so tired
How long can this go on?

This was the scene each Saturday night. They sang. I bounced. Groupies gaggled. A different location with different reflective acoustics, but always the same sweet sounds.

And though these wonderful nights no longer go on, echoes of fond memory reverberate still.