Gratitude Journal: Music

A few years ago, JT gave me a little JBL portable speaker.  In the last 6 months, that little speaker has become my frequent companion.  I’ve got playlists-a-plenty and I’ve found myself enjoying a whole lot of familiar music - hello ’80s New Wave tunes - as well as music that JT has introduced me too - recent Red Hot Chili Peppers (I always enjoyed 1980s Chile Peppers), Goose, the Strokes, Billy Strings.  My tastes vary - they always have - but my enjoyment of music hasn’t.  It’s been nice to have music so easily in reach and when I wake up to a familiar song in my head, that’s even nicer.  

Bad Love

I’m a fan of Eric Clapton — I know, I know…but the music is so damn good — and this morning “Bad Love” came on my playlist.  It’s a song I’ve loved for years but this morning it made me stop.  There was once a time when the song made me think of T in a really fond way.  But this morning, rather than a reminder of a good and strong love, it was a reminder of a relationship that had gone, well…if not bad, certainly astray.  We were neither of us happy and neither were we able to be good for one another any more.  It's funny how time and events can change my perspective and add a layer on to a memory that I once had.  Hearing the song didn't make me cry, but it did make me feel a little more gentle toward myself.  That's a trait I need to demonstrate a bit more often.

Windows Down, Sound Up

Spring can come on slow around here and then the day arrives when Spring delivers near perfection: sunshine, clear skies, warmth enough to roll down the windows.  I lose my mind on those days.  I drive home from school with the windows down and the music loud.  I feel like 16 again.  And by feel like 16, I mean I am listening to the same music I listened to when I was 16...

I never tire of the feeling.

Monthly Gratitude: Roxy Music's "More Than This"

This month’s gratitude is a shout out to my favorite song: “More Than This” by Roxy Music.  The song was first recorded in 1982 and released on the Avalon album.  I don’t remember where I first heard it - though it was probably on KROQ radio in LA - but I do remember that I liked it straight away.  Over the years, the song has become my very favorite.  I play it when I’m happy and when I’m sad; when I’m celebrating or feel especially grateful to the universe.  I play it just because. 

At first, the song served as a way to mark a particular moment of joy:  getting my first teaching job while in grad school; when I moved into my first house; finding out that I was pregnant; celebrating the birth of that baby; getting my job in New Jersey; moving into Sassafras House on Second Street; falling in love; doing something from my bucket list.  “More Than This” has been there for so many happy parts of my life. 

In the last few years, this song of which I never tire has become less about a particular celebration and more of a reminder to appreciate the here and now, imperfect though it may be.  I listen to “More Than This” a great deal; in some patches of time, I listen to it every day. *I know every chord of the song, the way it begins and closes, the way the notes rise and fall.  The long bridge of instrumental music at the end of the recording, a sound that reminds me of the grace I experience in this life.  I never tire of the song nor its reminder that life, as well as its trials and joys, are fleeting.  There is nothing to be gained from wishing time away and everything to be gained by embracing - and loving - what we do have.  After all, as the song reminds me, “there is nothing more than this.”

Tortured By Tunes, Extra Credit New Jersey edition

Last weekend, T and I went to Sunset Diner, as one does when one lives in New Jersey.  My previous calls for public soundtracks to be cleansed of the most horrifying of songs have been ignored  and Sunday’s playlist started on an unsettling note with a song guaranteed to linger in your head long after the last note has sounded.

“Wild Thing,” by the Troggs.

A dining experience that starts there makes one understandably anxious.  We waited as the songs veered into an especially strange playlist.  We heard Michael Jackson recommend that we “Beat It” and Kenny Loggins told us we were “Footloose.”  With lightening speed we’d moved from the ‘60s to the ‘80s and then Smashmouth reported,“Hey Now, You’re a Rockstar,” which seemed patently unlikely under the circumstances.  Also, late ‘90s?  Back to the ‘80s as Billy Joel whined about his “Uptown Girl.”  Then we abruptly headed to 1960 with a Chubby Checker diversion…he wanted us to do “The Twist.”  At this point, T decided soundtrack predictions were in order.  She predicted we’d soon be treated to something by Elvis.  I predicted Cindy Lauper.  We waited.  The sound track delivered an inexplicable “Just a Gigolo” by David Lee Roth.

And now we were in terrifying territory.  Naturally, “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond followed.  T was preparing to tear out her eardrums when the Stones announced they could get no “Satisfaction.”  No kidding.  We were in a holding pattern.

No Elvis; no Cindy Lauper.  We made new predictions: T went with a solid: Elton John.  I optioned for Frankie Valli, always a sound choice when you live in New Jersey.  The soundtrack responded with Madonna, who remains “Like a Virgin” at the ripe old age of 60.  Then we achieved a new level of horror: Dylan’s “How Does it Feel” in …wait for it… instrumental-only format.  Who does that?  Why now?  Lunch was nearly over and then my most triumphant victory of all time settled over us when Frankie Valli delivered the goods with “December, 1963…Oh What a Night.”  

We laughed maniacally but as maniacal laughter is regular fare among the customers at the Sunset Diner, no one took note.  As we left, Boston was wailing about “More Than a Feeling.”  

Fair enough as we had a lot of feelings.  Angry feelings about the day’s confusing soundtrack.

Lifetime Limit, Edition 2

The backstory: As is the case with any sentient person, I spend plenty of time in the public places that feature music from the easy listening/classic rock continuum.  Over the years, some songs have lost their appeal.  To that end, T and I have compiled a list of songs which have achieved their lifetime limit, meaning that we never wish to hear them again.  Over the remainder of 2017, I will post nominees for this dubious honor.  

This edition is concerned with rock ballads, a genre that has a great deal for which to answer.  For starters, the tunes whine in your head long after the song has been heard.  Moreover, they all have horrifying videos that still come to mind when I hear them, even though it’s been a solid 20-plus years since I watched any of these videos. Or perhaps any music videos?  Do music videos still exist? But I digress…..the following songs are tiresome and I have reached my lifetime limit.  

1.  All songs by Whitesnake, but especially “Here I Go Again on My Own.” Just fucking go, already.

2.  Poison’s “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn,” which is both an appallingly trite sentiment and frightfully likely to linger in your brain long after the first thorn-related damage has healed.  

3.  I’m a bit reluctant to place Journey’s “Open Arms” on the list because if I never hear it again, I will never have the chance to share a timely laugh with my sister about the time my mother claimed the song was named “Velvet Arms.”  However, in the interests of the common good, I feel obligated to declare I’ve reached a lifetime limit on this damned song.  While I’m at it, I’m also declaring that we’re done with “Faithfully.” 

May your weekend be pleasant and ear-worm free.

Lifetime Limit

The backstory: As is the case with any sentient person, I spend plenty of time in the public places that feature music from the easy listening/classic rock continuum.  Over the years, some songs have lost their appeal.  To that end, T and I have compiled a list of songs which have achieved their lifetime limit, meaning we never wish to hear them again.  Over the remainder of 2017, I will post nominees for this dubious honor.  

First up, "Karma Chameleon" by Culture Club.  Nothing against Boy George, but this song has used up its time.  Also having achieved maximum annoyance with a minimum of value is Ozzy Osborne's "Crazy Train."  Is it just me, or does that song last 15 minutes?  Get me off that damned train now. Foreigner's whining effort to get into somebody's pants, "I Want to Know What Love Is," has also outlived it's dubious-in-the-first-place value.  Katrina and the Waves should stop "Walking on Sunshine."  And finally, having achieved maximum ear worm status (it's playing in my head right now), I declare a lifetime ban on Whitney Houston's "I Wanna Dance with Somebody."  

Real Life conversations with T: Tortured by Tunes edition

The backstory: Saturday’s steamy hot morning found JT out early, warming up for the first cross country meet of the year.  T and I headed out to IHOP to score some breakfast before we went to the meet.  We made our orders and then sat and talked while we waited.  Soon, the IHOP soundtrack began to intrude as we realized that it was an odd array of songs, all of them with an ear worm quality and none of them like one another.  Abba, Glen Campbell, Leonard Skynard…..it was a dizzying assortment of songs you never wish to hear again.  Pancakes arrived and we tucked in while the disordered playlist sang on.  We finished eating and T made an announcement:

T: Let’s get out of here before Karma Chameleon comes on.

We paid cash and got the hell out.

Road Trip

When I was a kid growing up in California, we made frequent trips up and down Highway 99 to visit grandparents and assorted relatives.   I have distinct memories of the songs and baseball games we listened to on the radio as we made those road trips. 

For 8 years running, JT and I have made an annual July road trip to Cape Cod.  We have lots of traditions for this trip, including lunch at Cracker Barrel in Rhode Island and listening to music that I select for the six hour drive.  Those songs become the soundtrack to our annual trip and evoke memories of the journey long after our yearly camping trip is complete.  

When the annual trip first began, JT sat in his booster in the back seat of the car and the music we played came from playlists I burned on to CDs.    Over the years, the boy grew.  His booster seat was retired and eventually he moved up to the front seat.  My silver SUV was replaced by a blue station wagon.  My co-pilot came to have specific music preferences and he's no longer the seven year old who rocked out to Lenny Kravitz as we sped through Connecticut, though the memory of that trip is forever in my mind.

This year, he's made a playlist to join my collections.  We have some podcasts of This American Life, Radiolab, and the Moth Radio Hour to help keep us company.   We've got a loaner car while my VW is in the shop getting repaired and we're rolling north in a spacious Nissan Pathfinder that we've already named the Behemoth.

But the boy remains my co-pilot companion, getting tall so quickly that I can now envision the time when he will share the driving obligations.  This morning, we'll make the familiar drive north singing and laughing and listening to songs that will become our soundtrack for the summer of 2013.  Certain songs will come to evoke this year's Cape Cod trip and we'll have some more memories to share.  Let the journey begin!

99 Problems, But Music Ain't One of 'Em

For some time now, JT has enjoyed music.  I'd make playlists for us to listen to in the car and he'd share some of my favorite songs.  He'd makes playlists of his own from my music and listen to those on his iPod.  We'd talk about the songs we both liked and I have many memories of songs he has loved to sing with me.

All of this came to an abrupt halt about two months ago when he discovered rap.  Other than the occasional Jay-Z or Eminem song, I'm not a fan of rap.  So my boy remained blissfully unaware of the genre.  Then something happened (that something is called turning 13) and he began to request rap songs.  I made my preference clear:  we shall never speak of those songs and those words and the insults to women shall not ever be repeated by JT without dire consequences.  Then, like the fan of the freedom and the first amendment that I am, I allowed JT to spend his own money on rap music.

Once Lil'Wayne got hold of him, our mutual music listening time seemed lost.  I figured this was temporary, but I still missed being able to share music with JT.  Then, the weekend that T got her new car, JT got hold of her iPod and discovered the joys of Heavy Metal: AC/DC, Guns & Roses, Def Leppard and more are now in his world of inexcusable music.

It is not lost on me that when I was in the 7th grade I too had a now inexplicable fondness for AC/DC.  The other day I made a playlist of this nonsense, mostly so that we could listen to music together every once in a while.  So if you see a middle-aged woman behind the wheel of a blue station wagon rolling down the interstate, know that it's me and my kid .  There's no speed limit and yes, thank you very much, we are on the highway to Hell.