Once again, I’ve summoned the powers behind the mysterious iPod shuffle. What is in store for me? Eeny-meany jelly-beany, the spirits are about to speak (with much thanks to Rocky and Bullwinkle).
Sunday Papers by Joe Jackson
In Our Nature by Jose Gonazalez
White Lines by Grandmaster Flash
Mississippi Queen by Mountain
Born to Wander by Rare Earth
Tequila and Chocolate by Medesky Scofield Martin and Wood
Pioneer to the Falls by Interpol
Frank’s Wild Years by Tom Waits
Hmmm. Sounds a bit schizophrenic. Maybe I should stay in this weekend.
You know, in some ways, I’ve been divining my future by music all my life.
I am, after all, the daughter of a drummer.
I was raised on Big Band music. Nowadays that sounds quaint, because there are people (young) out there that assume someone in their 40s would naturally have been raised during the Swing Era.
That’s wrong. Get yer musical eras straight!
Anyway, while the rest of the kids in the ‘70s were listening to rock and/or roll, I was being schooled on the finer points of Krupa versus Rich, on the intricacies of a Goodman solo and why Ellington was a god.
You can imagine how popular my incredible knowledge of this genre made me amongst the other Big Band freaks in high school.
Other Big Band freaks in high school? Yeah. No. There weren’t any.
And this also explains why playing “air” clarinet is not nearly as cool as one would think.
I played “old time” music for Al Derke’s Melody Makers throughout high school in a band that could swell from three players to 30. Schottisches, polkas, mazurkas? I got yer happy-hoppin’ music right here! Ever heard of a "Polka Mass"? Polish Catholics dig it. Picture a cultural/religious event that, told as a joke, would start with the line "A polka band and a priest walk into a ballroom..."
This is yet another activity that does not garner admiration from, well, anyone.
I still don’t know how it happened, but my first “rock” album purchase, in 10th grade, was Kiss’s “Destroyer”.
It all went to hell from there. From the Dorsey Brothers to the Chmielewski Fun Time Hour to Kiss to the Buzzcocks to all manner of musical decadence, I slid into a tattered blue jean and palmed-up-hair world. Iggy Pop wanted to be my dog, and I wanted to let him.
Today, there are very few styles of music that I don’t like. When pressed, I will admit that I don’t care for house music. Tunes being smooshed into each other, stealing the musical “hooks” from one song to play endlessly to a synthesized beat? Where’s the passion? How am I going to dance properly without a live drummer?
You call that music?!
But, hey. Live and let live has been my motto since, well, since I killed that guy; and so far, it’s working. I don’t really mind what you’re listening to unless it’s coming through the floorboards at 3:00 a.m.
And that’s another post.
20 minutes ago