Blogging has been a bit non-existent recently. I have a lot of stuff going on at work (some good, some not so good), and that stress is taking up some prime real estate in my brain these days. And it's not stuff I can or would blog about, so it's been difficult to mentally maneuver around.
So I'm sitting here listening to The Rolling Stones on Spotify, and I've been thinking about my relationship with music and how it's changed over time.
I've always loved music. There was always music in our house. I can still remember when my Dad got his first pair of huge 80s style speakers. He put on Fleetwood Mac's Rumours and tried to blow the doors off our house. It was awesome. And my brother is a musician. And two of my uncles.
I started out simply enough. My brother and I shared a Fisher Price record player. Well, share is a strong word. He kept it in his room, and about the only time I got to use it was when he was off in 2nd Grade, and I was at home waiting for afternoon kindergarten to start. But I distinctly remember going into his room everyday, putting on my Muppet Movie album and singing (badly, always badly) into a hairbrush. Every. Single. Day. Nothing made me happier.
Then when I was a savvy 7 year old in 1981, I saved up enough money to by my very first "real" album. I was SO excited. I remember the record store at the top of the escalator next to Sears in the brand new Fair Oaks Mall. And there it was: K-Tel's Dimensions compilation. I will have you know that before I googled that hyperlink I could still name 90% of the songs on the album ... in order. And man, I played that thing to death. I also think my parents are glad I never asked what "The Stroke" was. It will surprise no one that during this time I was also obsessed with the Solid Gold dancers.
As time moved on, the Fisher Price record player was eventually abandoned, MTV launched leaving my brother and I slackjawed and amazed. Music! On TV! And Live Aid. That was earth shaking. My brother stayed home all day to changes the tapes in the VCR (a Betamax, mind you) to try to tape the whole thing. Now, of course, I have the whole thing on DVD. It's still amazing. Regardless of what you think of Bono, go back and watch him. He was a 20-something with U2 just gaining popularity in the states, and he COMMANDED that stage and that audience. Charisma, FTW.
For Christmas in 1985 (a month before I was 12), I got a pink Sony "boombox." Complete with pastel-striped shoulder strap. And the first tape I wore out in that thing? Van Halen's 5150. All right. Fine. Go ahead and make your case for David Lee Roth. You won't convince me. Sammy Hagar is a MUCH better singer. Yeah, David Lee Roth might have better front man antics, but I require more from my music than dancing in assless chaps. Ahem. So 5150 is the one that set me on a path to loving music. I mean truly loving it. When you closed the door to your room, turned up "Why Can't this Be Love" to top volume, sang with all your might and thought that song was speaking directly to your soul.
I managed to hang on to that passion for music for a long time. A couple years later, someone gave me a Violent Femmes bootleg. Growing up in Atlanta there was R.E.M. The Black Crowes. The Indigo Girls. The Joshua Tree changed my life. And on and on. College brought a lot of live shows. Dave Matthews at The Flood Zone ($5!!! Every week!). Fighting Gravity at Trax. Sweaty, dancing, cheap beer, good friends.
And I kind of thought it would always be that way. New bands. New songs to dive into. Live shows to see. The same passion. The same release. But, you know, it hasn't turned out that way. Jobs and late nights at work and getting older meant weeknight live shows had to be REALLY worth it. Then kids means I listen more to Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Radio than anything else on Pandora, and I almost never get to roll down the windows and turn the music way, way up.
And that, more than anything, has changed the connection I have to the music. I mean, it's still there, but it's more of a nostalgic feeling. I still seek out new music, but the new stuff is never likely to rise to the level of the stuff of my formative years. I suspect that this is a common thing and is what leads to "old" folks telling all the young 'uns how much better music was in "their day." While I think there's some truth to that argument, I think the larger part of it is that we just don't connect and feel the music in the same way, so we hang on to the music from our past that we know sent us to a different place.
I'm not really sure what to make of all of it. I guess it could be sad, but music is still one of my favorite things in the whole world, so it's not all bad. And Gabe is showing great signs of loving music. Put on some Ramones, and he'll go to town shaking his little butt. I can deal with that.
