On Music...
Sunday, February 13, 2005“Music: The only cheap and unpunished rapture upon earth”
Sydney Smith
I love music. I adore music. Live concerts make me cry. I am obsessed, and I can’t understand why others aren’t. I have dedicated “Little Wing” to my youngest daughter, but she has not managed to sit through it once, and turns to me and says “daddy, why are you crying?” I have dedicated “Four Seasons in one day” to my ex girlfriend– I can’t understand why she didn't appreciate this act of love. Same for “Who’s gonna ride your wild horses”. At this stage she just got pissed off and went and had a bath. I have often said to friends and family that “Somewhere down the crazy river” by Robbie Robertson is me – they all smile indulgently and agree with the crazy part.
I am, however, very selective as to what music I am so passionate about. You can therefore imagine my frustration at living in a house with a seven year old, a twelve year old and (untill recently) a twenty-one year old. I like The Stones – but not if sung by Britney. On one of her Albums (a word that gives away my age) she wails about getting no satisfaction. Well get laid, girl, don’t ruin my memories. The only positive thing about Britney, Christina and whoever, are the posters my daughters put up. Playboy was less revealing in my day. As for the twenty-one year old boy, he likes Gangsta Rap. I don’t have any understanding of this music, I’ve never been beaten by an LA cop. Certainly there is no melody that I can identify with.
Oh God, have I turned into an aging rocker? Do I look as desperate as those Ozzy fans? I don’t think so; I just appreciate good music. I like Dylan, Van Morison, Queen, Yes, Genesis – oh hell it’s true, I am an aging rocker. But I do appreciate new music. I even have a Robbie Williams CD – and not only the swing tunes. I go to clubs and love the work of Roger Sanchez, Faithless and all those other dance music producers. I just don’t play it in the car.
Talking of the car, thank the Lord for the advances in car hi-fi. I have a retreat in which I can listen to my blues, rock and jazz. As soon as I put a CD on at home anyone would swear I turned into Satan’s choirmaster. The kids complain, the ex goes berserk and they all go to McDonalds for diner – and heaven help me if I haven’t put their CD’s back in the shuttle.
The thing I am hoping for is that the twenty-one year old starts hanging out with art students, because then I know that at least we will move from Gangsta Rap to Rodriguez, Dire Straits and Bob Marley. Actually, the other day I forced him to listen to “A whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin while giving him a lift. Now my Led Zeppelin Two CD is missing – either destroyed or being appreciated in some student commune.
Suddenly it has struck me. I am a musical snob. I am no better than those boring idiots that only listen to “Classics” or the “Operaah”. I have always been one. At school I wrote a record review about an album by Yahzoo – an eighties pop band, - and said if they were still around in ten years I’d eat the album. I saw them last night on VH1 – and actually enjoyed the song, although the indigestion of eating 12 inches of vinyl was hell – hey, I’m a man of my word. It brought back memories. I now realise that a lot of this music is supposed to be temporary. It is only to be enjoyed for the moment, and then years later as a form of nostalgia. One day I will hear a Shakira song and say to my daughter’s boyfriend “ I remember, that was her first CD – do you remember CD’s?”
Deep inside I just wish that I could have written a song that will be played in 20 years time – but then maybe that is what the artists I despise are trying to do – create something meaningful for their generation – a generation I don’t understand.
Well, my daughter is now calling me to watch her sing along to the new Christina song. I will watch it, because anything my daughter sings is perfect in my mind, I will store it in my memory banks for the fond moment in the future, and then write a letter to Britney and, in no uncertain terms, explain exactly how she could get some satisfaction.
Sydney Smith
I love music. I adore music. Live concerts make me cry. I am obsessed, and I can’t understand why others aren’t. I have dedicated “Little Wing” to my youngest daughter, but she has not managed to sit through it once, and turns to me and says “daddy, why are you crying?” I have dedicated “Four Seasons in one day” to my ex girlfriend– I can’t understand why she didn't appreciate this act of love. Same for “Who’s gonna ride your wild horses”. At this stage she just got pissed off and went and had a bath. I have often said to friends and family that “Somewhere down the crazy river” by Robbie Robertson is me – they all smile indulgently and agree with the crazy part.
I am, however, very selective as to what music I am so passionate about. You can therefore imagine my frustration at living in a house with a seven year old, a twelve year old and (untill recently) a twenty-one year old. I like The Stones – but not if sung by Britney. On one of her Albums (a word that gives away my age) she wails about getting no satisfaction. Well get laid, girl, don’t ruin my memories. The only positive thing about Britney, Christina and whoever, are the posters my daughters put up. Playboy was less revealing in my day. As for the twenty-one year old boy, he likes Gangsta Rap. I don’t have any understanding of this music, I’ve never been beaten by an LA cop. Certainly there is no melody that I can identify with.
Oh God, have I turned into an aging rocker? Do I look as desperate as those Ozzy fans? I don’t think so; I just appreciate good music. I like Dylan, Van Morison, Queen, Yes, Genesis – oh hell it’s true, I am an aging rocker. But I do appreciate new music. I even have a Robbie Williams CD – and not only the swing tunes. I go to clubs and love the work of Roger Sanchez, Faithless and all those other dance music producers. I just don’t play it in the car.
Talking of the car, thank the Lord for the advances in car hi-fi. I have a retreat in which I can listen to my blues, rock and jazz. As soon as I put a CD on at home anyone would swear I turned into Satan’s choirmaster. The kids complain, the ex goes berserk and they all go to McDonalds for diner – and heaven help me if I haven’t put their CD’s back in the shuttle.
The thing I am hoping for is that the twenty-one year old starts hanging out with art students, because then I know that at least we will move from Gangsta Rap to Rodriguez, Dire Straits and Bob Marley. Actually, the other day I forced him to listen to “A whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin while giving him a lift. Now my Led Zeppelin Two CD is missing – either destroyed or being appreciated in some student commune.
Suddenly it has struck me. I am a musical snob. I am no better than those boring idiots that only listen to “Classics” or the “Operaah”. I have always been one. At school I wrote a record review about an album by Yahzoo – an eighties pop band, - and said if they were still around in ten years I’d eat the album. I saw them last night on VH1 – and actually enjoyed the song, although the indigestion of eating 12 inches of vinyl was hell – hey, I’m a man of my word. It brought back memories. I now realise that a lot of this music is supposed to be temporary. It is only to be enjoyed for the moment, and then years later as a form of nostalgia. One day I will hear a Shakira song and say to my daughter’s boyfriend “ I remember, that was her first CD – do you remember CD’s?”
Deep inside I just wish that I could have written a song that will be played in 20 years time – but then maybe that is what the artists I despise are trying to do – create something meaningful for their generation – a generation I don’t understand.
Well, my daughter is now calling me to watch her sing along to the new Christina song. I will watch it, because anything my daughter sings is perfect in my mind, I will store it in my memory banks for the fond moment in the future, and then write a letter to Britney and, in no uncertain terms, explain exactly how she could get some satisfaction.
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