I was cooking dinner the other night when Alex walked up to me with his iPod.
"Have you ever heard Ozzy Ozbourne's music?"
"Are you kidding? "Crazy Train" is one of my favorite rock songs of all time."
From the time I was a wee girl, music was always a very big part of my life. Even though I lack absolutely any musical talent, it's never diminished my appreciation of all different genres. My parents had a hi-fi console with a turntable and eight track in the living room. My father favored the early pioneers of country music-Roger Miller, Johhny Cash, Buck Owens and Waylon Jennings to name a few. I complained loudly at the offensive sounds but later in life I find myself drawn to Raul Malo and The Mavericks, Dwight Yoakam and Lyle Lovett. Something about that music on the turntable must have become embedded in my subconscious because when I hear their modern day successors, it's as if something is resonating in my soul.
I was part of Sesame Street's earliest group of viewers, and my first introduction to classical music was through this show. One of the segments on Sesame Street showed a dew kissed flower while Vivaldi's Concerto in D played. The music was etched in my heart and I was finally able to determine what it was thanks to the delightful movie A Little Romance. The delicate notes are the perfect accompaniment to the plot line. To this day, it remains my absolute favorite piece of music.
When I was about eight, I found a stash of my mom's 45's-The Beatles and David Bowie, then her 8 tracks of The Eagles and Carole King. I never asked her about the 45's and her eclectic tastes or why the singles were buried in the basement instead of upstairs with the rest of the records. Did she conceal them because it wasn't fitting music for a mother of three? Was it too wildly different from my dad's taste? I'll have to ask her.
My best friend Lori introduced me first to Elton John, and to this day I know the lyrics to every single one of his songs recorded before 1980. I studied the album cover art for Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road for hours on end. Lori also sparked my interest in Kiss then later to Ozzy Ozbourne and REO Speedwagon and Def Leppard. My cousin Holly who babysat my sisters and me loved Fleetwood Mac and The Cars and Peter Frampton. So many pieces of music are memory triggers for me, they transport me to events in my life as if I'm reliving them.
When I was ten, I stayed home from school one day, and my mom took me to see Saturday Night Fever-the R rated version no less. My God...the opening scene, "Stayin' Alive", Travolta's bravado-I was hooked. In addition to beginning a lifelong crush on John Travolta (my exhusband at the time of our courtship possessed more than a passing resemblance to Tony Manero. Accident? I think not.) I fell in love with the Brothers Gibb, then later with their younger brother Andy. Even when the soundtrack to Saturday Night Fever was derided as camp and passe, I still secretly loved it. I've never tired of the harmonies of the Bee Gees and I cried like a baby when Andy passed away, then again years later when Maurice died.
Our family was one of the first in the neighborhood to get cable TV and HBO. My sisters and I can still recite the dialog to Grease and know the words to every song in the movie by heart. In 1981, much to the horror of my father, MTV became the soundtrack to his daughters' teenage years. I remember him walking in from work and shouting, "Turn off that DAMN MTM!" and the chorus of his girls would correct him, "It's MT VEE, Daddy!" That same year, my subscription to Rolling Stone magazine began -and now that I think about it, my mom must have done that for me, I had no way of initiating such a thing. I discovered REM, Foreigner, Billy Squier, John Mellencamp, Bruce Springsteen, and U2, and with the release of Tattoo You, my devotion to the Rolling Stones was cemented. The Beatles are fine, their contributions to music can't be understated, but for me it's always been about the Glimmer Twins. I prefer their bluesy and raw approach to rock and roll more than their contemporaries. My heart nearly exploded with pride this morning when I took the twins to school and Mario asked me to turn down the radio, he was trying to listen to "Gimme Shelter" on his iPod. Favorite Stones album? Sticky Fingers, there isn't a bad track on there.
Summer 1984. I was at my friend Kelly's family reunion in North Carolina. We were sitting in her dad's van the first time I heard "When Doves Cry" by Prince.
Holy.
Shit.
What was THAT? It wasn't Huey Lewis or watered down Hagar Van Halen. The opening chords just blew me away and I couldn't get enough. That entire summer was all about Purple Rain. When Prince played the Super Bowl halftime show a couple years ago and jammed on the title track (in real rain no less) I had goosebumps. I'm amused that seemingly everyone here in Prince's home state claims to have no more than one degree of separation from him.
My real musical awakening happened in my friend Stephanie's basement in high school. She and her older siblings had amassed the most impressive collection of vinyl I had ever seen. In her basement I was introduced not only to incredible music-The Pretenders, The Clash, The Ramones, the Violent Femmes and the Velvet Underground to name a few-but also her mom's magnificent Greek cooking. Possibly, a sip or two of ouzo as well. No one ever yelled at us to turn it down in Stephanie's basement, which was a true haven of rock and roll.
My college years were spent rediscovering music from the past. I spent hours in used record stores and thrift shops, sorting through rows of vinyl, pulling albums that piqued my curiosity for whatever reason. I cultivated an appreciation for everything from Motown to Patsy Cline to Ravi Shankar to the Doors and Led Zeppelin. If I didn't like the product, I'd just trade it in on my next visit.
I'd love to tell you that I'm current with today's music scene, but it would be a lie. I've never heard a single song on Billboard's top 10 and I don't think I'd be interested in any of them. Occasionally, the kids will bring my attention to music that I enjoy, but I have an archive of several hundred CD's that will keep me satisfied for the duration. One of these days, I'll get around to purchasing an iPod with substantial storage and I'll catalog them neatly. I'm always open to an introduction to good, new music, but ultimately, I think my brain is limited in the amount of data it can effectively process. These days, my head is full of household budgets, children's schedules, productivity databases and a husband's business. I think I'm just at capacity for now and the music I have in my head and heart will be all I can accept until my responsibilities diminish. I like to think that instead of joining the Red Hat Club, I'll be a cool grandma who is up to speed with her grandchildren's musical tastes. I'll come full circle and trade in my subscription to Real Simple for Rolling Stone. I'll probably forgo the trench coats and combat boots, though.
