Saturday, September 8, 2012

Please Don't Stop the Music

My mom's parents live in western Pennsylvania. Growing up, we made the 8-hour drive 2-3 times a year. We drove in a Honda Accord 4-door. No DVD player, no video games, no personal space.

We passed the time mostly in nerdy ways-reading books, reading books out loud and playing travel games.

We were never cooler than when my dad turned on the music. Every trip was tinged with different musical favors. My dad listened to whatever struck him; he was loyal to no one.

Over several years, we listened to Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Vivaldi, Randy Travis, Duran Duran, U2, Alabama...the list went on and on. I am shocked by the diversity, honestly. It's quite a way to be born into music.

I will say, I have not retained love for country music. With few exceptions, I find the genre annoying and unnecessarily maudlin. I also hate that it purports to be more moral than non-country music. But I digress.

I usually loved the music of the hour. I sat by the radio, finger poised over the record button, waiting for that favorite son to come on. I enjoyed any music that allowed me to shake my booty.

As an orchestra geek, though, I also had a deep love and admiration for classical music. I would listen to Beethoven, Bach, Mozart. I adored Tchaikovsky's work and listened to it so much I could tell when it was about to shift keys. My dad rented Swan Lake from the library and I was honored to see Mikhail Barishnykov dance as the Prince.

I really do enjoy music. I love feeling it wash over me. It's akin to diving into pool for swim practice. The water is undisturbed, cool and feels wonderful over my skin. I enjoy turning up the volume and listening to a favorite song.

I listen to music when I run and there are now songs that remind me of different training runs. The second time I trained for the North Shore Half Marathon, I almost exclusively listened to the first disc of the Rolling Stones 40 Licks-Disc One. To this day, when I hear a Rolling Stones song, I'm transported to Highland Park.

My playlist during training for the Flying Pig Marathon was more diverse, but it was the same thing every week. It included the Black Eyed Peas, Paul Oakenfeld, Benny Goodman, Len, Stevie Wonder and more. I can tell you where I was on the MCCD trail when each song played.

Feist's song, 1234, came out right around when Jeremy was born. It was also the song that played during the iPod nano commercials. Between the commercials and video playing on VH1, I get teary-eyed every time I hear that song.

I don't understand why music resonates so much with me. There are songs that I like and I can't even explain why. I have a crazy habit of listening to a song over and over again. I like to listen for nuances. I enjoy listening to the lyrics, to key changes, to harmonies. I don't listen to music lightly.

I recently checked the movie Fantasia out of the library. I thought that Bekah and Jeremy would enjoy it. They did, but not for the reasons I thought they would. What I did notice is that Jeremy, while listening to some of the music, was able to provide accompaniment to it. There wasn't anything random or mimicking to it; he was making percussive noises with his mouth that complimented the music.

Nowadays, with DVD players and video games, I may not be able to bombard my children with music for hours. I am doing my part, though; Bekah has been known to give concerts in the toy room. She usually performs a version of Everybody Talks, by Neon Trees. She calls Maroon 5 "The Jaggers," because of the song, "Moves Like Jagger." Jeremy has requested me to play Adele and sings along.

Yep, they'll be just fine.

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