On Music: Part II You've Got a Friend in Me . . . as long as you hate Randy Newman, too
I told Kevin about the James Taylor conversational sidebar and asked him his opinion of James Taylor. Of course, he agreed with me, stating that James was an over-hyped hack. My husband knows a lot about music, too—more than me, I confess, especially when it comes to specifics. I value his opinion. Especially when it meshes with mine, which is blessedly often.
He said that James Taylor rode the wave of really talented singer-songwriters like Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, and Carole King. (I say that his marriage to Carly Simon didn’t hurt, either.) He was a cute guy with a good voice in the right place at the right time. Kevin spoke of him in the same way that he speaks about Clapton. That is not good news for James Taylor (I know—like he cares!).
The bottom line here is that music is THE reason that Kevin and I are together in the first place. We met at KZMU in Moab, Utah, a public radio station where we were both volunteer DJs. When he played Devo’s version of the Stone’s (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction during his otherwise kick-ass cowpunk and welfare music Lizard Skinner show, I took a second look at this physical manifestation of Lennon’s glass onion. This really cute onion. And I found myself a husband.
If Kevin had been a big James Taylor fan, or if I had been, we would never had dated, let alone gotten married. It’s a harsh world.
Yes, music is THAT important.
Think about it. Think about your spouse, your significants, your closest friends. One thing that you probably have in common is your taste in music. You might not like all of the same stuff, but I’d be willing to bet that you like most of the same stuff. (For those of you who don’t care much about music one way or the other, I bet those closest to you don’t care much, either.) How did you meet your friends and lovers? Was there music being played? If not, did you discuss music soon after meeting? Did you check out their CD and/or record collection when you first saw their pad? Were you happy, or did you see their extensive Styx collection and run the other way?
My taste in music has defined my friendships, my social status, and just me throughout my life. One of my first important musical moments occurred when I received AC/DC’s Highway to Hell for my 10th birthday. I still sang along to Grease with my girlfriends at slumber parties, but I was destined for rock ‘n’ roll. My girlfriends? Most of them were destined to buy Top Hits of the 80s! compilation CDs when they were older. We parted ways.
In my ‘tween years, I listened to Judas Priest and the Scorpions and pasted their ugly posters all over my red-ceilinged room. I saw the horribly lovable Rock and Roll High School and got a live Ramones album. I saw Urgh! A Music War and got my first earful of the disturbingly wonderful Cramps. My teenage brother listened to classic (and, at that time, current) rock on Q FM 96 and I did, too. Still do. I vividly remember listening to Neil Young’s Hey Hey, My My on my brother’s treble-heavy truck stereo. I felt cool. Loving Neil Young still makes me feel cool. I watched Night Flight on the new phenomenon that was cable TV and was introduced to Bob Marley (legendary) and Grace Jones (um . . . interesting!).
When I was 16, I met my best friends Jon and Ted and my intense musical education began. And so did the social stigmatization. Music’s power to separate people into groups is remarkable. If you don’t listen to Hank, you ain’t shit. I listened to Hank—I grew up listening to Hank!—but I didn’t live Hank, so I was as good as out in Podunk High. In turn, I rejected those backward shitkickers for not getting The Jesus and Mary Chain, the Dead Kennedys, Swans, and the Sex Pistols. I hung out with the very few people who did. We dressed weird. Our social views broadened to the world outside of prom. I was one of the first people in the Midwest to pierce my nose, or so it seemed.
Out of high school, I went straight to Crazy Mama’s and Staches. I didn’t sneak in to drink; I snuck in to listen and to dance. I discovered the Butthole Surfers—THE band of my late teens and early twenties. I hung with other people who loved the Butthole Surfers, and Sonic Youth, and Mudhoney. We wore the same shitty Salvation Army clothes—ironically, the same clothes the former hippies and listeners of Jimi Hendrix, the Who, and the golden era of the Rolling Stones wore. My friends and I listened to—hell, well-nigh worshipped—those bands, too. And classic soul. And acid house. And rockabilly. And anything else that you’d never hear on the radio or be able to buy at some soulless, sell-out music store. No, you had to go underground to get this stuff. And by going underground, you became part of the underground. It’s this distinction that forges connections and the closest relationships.
Throughout our 20s, we looked like the people we listened to, we did the same hallucinogenic drugs as the people we listened to (no heroin, though, despite my fascination with the music of junkies. I saw the needle and the damage done), some of us were the people we listened to. Pretty much all of my boyfriends throughout this era were musicians. We had no interest in getting to know people who listened to whatever was popular then. None! Judgmental, huh?
It was, and is, so easy (and amusing) to peg what people listen to. Metalheads, Goths, Deadheads, Punks, and followers of Dave Matthews and Tobey Keith give it away with their clothing alone. Young people who are on a truly alternative musical path almost always start with drunken and embarrassing renditions of The End by the Doors at some skanky party. There are many pathways from there but, thankfully, they usually lead to something good. People who rarely venture far from the Top 40 are often woefully boring in all other aspects of their life, too. After all, if you’re willing to settle for corporate schlock, well . . . good for you. White boyz with their underwear aglow listen to Eminem—is there anyone else? Others might take a little longer in the reveal, but it’s rarely surprising. The varied group of people that I eat lunch with have offered no shockers when it comes to their musical preferences. And I judge them accordingly. Wink.
I've got to wonder if your personality and worldview is shaped by the music you listen to, or if your personality and worldview leads you to certain music in the first place. I’ve lightened up considerably in my acceptance of those who don’t listen to the blues, Zappa, and my beloved Velvet Underground, and even of those who prefer the Beatles to the Stones (both great), but find that the people closest to me are those with whom I’m most musically compatible. It’s undoubtedly because the soundtrack of my life is not just background music. It’s actually important to the plot and sets a tone. Think Rushmore. Think The Graduate. (Oo—this is a great time to start thinking about the all-time greatest movie soundtracks!) Shared music means shared experiences. If I meet someone who loves White Light/White Heat, Exile on Main Street, Exile in Guyville, or Maggot Brain, we have an instant connection.
When Kevin and I were getting to know each other, it was a relief to both of us when we realized that we had music in common. Here was this very non-descript looking guy (you might have pegged him for a Boston fan!) from the small-town Midwest, yet he knew music. He had ventured further musically than his upbringing required, and while he loved Tom Petty, and Led Zep, and The Allman Brothers, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, he had traveled further on, educating himself about the influencers of those rock gods—especially the bluesmen. He knew the deep tracks. He preferred multi-talented Chuck Berry to over-hyped Elvis Presley. I was sold. Even now, six glorious years later, we can entertain ourselves for at least an hour by hashing out the 10 best rock guitarists of all time. Drummers, too--Keith Moon is undisputed #1. Or having Kevin guess the "top ten heavy rock artists of all time" according to VH1. Good times.
I am very curious to hear what you all have to say about this, if anything. I know these thoughts are not new, but it's OK to be derivative. Some musicians have made mystifying careers out of it (I'll refrain from saying who). And throw in those great movie soundtracks!
He said that James Taylor rode the wave of really talented singer-songwriters like Joni Mitchell, Paul Simon, and Carole King. (I say that his marriage to Carly Simon didn’t hurt, either.) He was a cute guy with a good voice in the right place at the right time. Kevin spoke of him in the same way that he speaks about Clapton. That is not good news for James Taylor (I know—like he cares!).
The bottom line here is that music is THE reason that Kevin and I are together in the first place. We met at KZMU in Moab, Utah, a public radio station where we were both volunteer DJs. When he played Devo’s version of the Stone’s (I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction during his otherwise kick-ass cowpunk and welfare music Lizard Skinner show, I took a second look at this physical manifestation of Lennon’s glass onion. This really cute onion. And I found myself a husband.
If Kevin had been a big James Taylor fan, or if I had been, we would never had dated, let alone gotten married. It’s a harsh world.
Yes, music is THAT important.
Think about it. Think about your spouse, your significants, your closest friends. One thing that you probably have in common is your taste in music. You might not like all of the same stuff, but I’d be willing to bet that you like most of the same stuff. (For those of you who don’t care much about music one way or the other, I bet those closest to you don’t care much, either.) How did you meet your friends and lovers? Was there music being played? If not, did you discuss music soon after meeting? Did you check out their CD and/or record collection when you first saw their pad? Were you happy, or did you see their extensive Styx collection and run the other way?
My taste in music has defined my friendships, my social status, and just me throughout my life. One of my first important musical moments occurred when I received AC/DC’s Highway to Hell for my 10th birthday. I still sang along to Grease with my girlfriends at slumber parties, but I was destined for rock ‘n’ roll. My girlfriends? Most of them were destined to buy Top Hits of the 80s! compilation CDs when they were older. We parted ways.
In my ‘tween years, I listened to Judas Priest and the Scorpions and pasted their ugly posters all over my red-ceilinged room. I saw the horribly lovable Rock and Roll High School and got a live Ramones album. I saw Urgh! A Music War and got my first earful of the disturbingly wonderful Cramps. My teenage brother listened to classic (and, at that time, current) rock on Q FM 96 and I did, too. Still do. I vividly remember listening to Neil Young’s Hey Hey, My My on my brother’s treble-heavy truck stereo. I felt cool. Loving Neil Young still makes me feel cool. I watched Night Flight on the new phenomenon that was cable TV and was introduced to Bob Marley (legendary) and Grace Jones (um . . . interesting!).
When I was 16, I met my best friends Jon and Ted and my intense musical education began. And so did the social stigmatization. Music’s power to separate people into groups is remarkable. If you don’t listen to Hank, you ain’t shit. I listened to Hank—I grew up listening to Hank!—but I didn’t live Hank, so I was as good as out in Podunk High. In turn, I rejected those backward shitkickers for not getting The Jesus and Mary Chain, the Dead Kennedys, Swans, and the Sex Pistols. I hung out with the very few people who did. We dressed weird. Our social views broadened to the world outside of prom. I was one of the first people in the Midwest to pierce my nose, or so it seemed.
Out of high school, I went straight to Crazy Mama’s and Staches. I didn’t sneak in to drink; I snuck in to listen and to dance. I discovered the Butthole Surfers—THE band of my late teens and early twenties. I hung with other people who loved the Butthole Surfers, and Sonic Youth, and Mudhoney. We wore the same shitty Salvation Army clothes—ironically, the same clothes the former hippies and listeners of Jimi Hendrix, the Who, and the golden era of the Rolling Stones wore. My friends and I listened to—hell, well-nigh worshipped—those bands, too. And classic soul. And acid house. And rockabilly. And anything else that you’d never hear on the radio or be able to buy at some soulless, sell-out music store. No, you had to go underground to get this stuff. And by going underground, you became part of the underground. It’s this distinction that forges connections and the closest relationships.
Throughout our 20s, we looked like the people we listened to, we did the same hallucinogenic drugs as the people we listened to (no heroin, though, despite my fascination with the music of junkies. I saw the needle and the damage done), some of us were the people we listened to. Pretty much all of my boyfriends throughout this era were musicians. We had no interest in getting to know people who listened to whatever was popular then. None! Judgmental, huh?
It was, and is, so easy (and amusing) to peg what people listen to. Metalheads, Goths, Deadheads, Punks, and followers of Dave Matthews and Tobey Keith give it away with their clothing alone. Young people who are on a truly alternative musical path almost always start with drunken and embarrassing renditions of The End by the Doors at some skanky party. There are many pathways from there but, thankfully, they usually lead to something good. People who rarely venture far from the Top 40 are often woefully boring in all other aspects of their life, too. After all, if you’re willing to settle for corporate schlock, well . . . good for you. White boyz with their underwear aglow listen to Eminem—is there anyone else? Others might take a little longer in the reveal, but it’s rarely surprising. The varied group of people that I eat lunch with have offered no shockers when it comes to their musical preferences. And I judge them accordingly. Wink.
I've got to wonder if your personality and worldview is shaped by the music you listen to, or if your personality and worldview leads you to certain music in the first place. I’ve lightened up considerably in my acceptance of those who don’t listen to the blues, Zappa, and my beloved Velvet Underground, and even of those who prefer the Beatles to the Stones (both great), but find that the people closest to me are those with whom I’m most musically compatible. It’s undoubtedly because the soundtrack of my life is not just background music. It’s actually important to the plot and sets a tone. Think Rushmore. Think The Graduate. (Oo—this is a great time to start thinking about the all-time greatest movie soundtracks!) Shared music means shared experiences. If I meet someone who loves White Light/White Heat, Exile on Main Street, Exile in Guyville, or Maggot Brain, we have an instant connection.
When Kevin and I were getting to know each other, it was a relief to both of us when we realized that we had music in common. Here was this very non-descript looking guy (you might have pegged him for a Boston fan!) from the small-town Midwest, yet he knew music. He had ventured further musically than his upbringing required, and while he loved Tom Petty, and Led Zep, and The Allman Brothers, and Stevie Ray Vaughan, he had traveled further on, educating himself about the influencers of those rock gods—especially the bluesmen. He knew the deep tracks. He preferred multi-talented Chuck Berry to over-hyped Elvis Presley. I was sold. Even now, six glorious years later, we can entertain ourselves for at least an hour by hashing out the 10 best rock guitarists of all time. Drummers, too--Keith Moon is undisputed #1. Or having Kevin guess the "top ten heavy rock artists of all time" according to VH1. Good times.
I am very curious to hear what you all have to say about this, if anything. I know these thoughts are not new, but it's OK to be derivative. Some musicians have made mystifying careers out of it (I'll refrain from saying who). And throw in those great movie soundtracks!
posted by lulu | 5:47 AM
9 Comments:
Well, that was a nice commentary on singer-songwriters. I am a big fan of that genre and love pretty much all of the people you mentioned (Dylan, Springsteen, Simon, & Waits are the pinnacle). I am not sure what I think of the whole James Taylor thing. I both like and hate his songs, pretty much an even divide. In any case, thanks for the post!
A few brief things to say.
Question the strength of my marriage if you must, but Tegan has no real interest in music. As I have said before, she grew up listening to the typical radio pop crap that I abhorred. In fact, one of my public personas in high school (to those that knew me well enough to recognize that I had a persona) was a complete avoidance of radio. Didn't listen to it at all during those years.
Anyway, T. has pretty much adopted my music, as I am the one buying it, borrowing it, burning it, whatever. She simply has no discernable musical identity.
I do have such a music id--to a degree. Certainly I have bands that I love. But I don't have the passion for it that you do.
As for James Taylor, I don't care. I enjoy his songs, but don't bother my pretty little head to much about him. I do prefer the Beatles over the Stones and tend to enjoy the quirkier, much-less packaged music of our modern era.
So, define me as you wish.
Don't we all define others as we wish?
I am glad, Burb, that you have helped your wife along on a very respectable musical path. Your marriage is that much stronger for it.
I would argue that you are at least as passionate about music as me (though much more subtle), as you are forever listening to something, are very open to new music, and were, after all, in band. That you prefer the Beatles to the Stones is one of those non-shockers that I referred to, and shouldn't serve as a "Freedom March"-like barrier to our friendship. (Or ours, Spec.)
Define you? Musically? OK! You are entrenched in REM camp, and I envision your musical world as swirling out from that to bands that are least reminiscent of that. And you have a quirky taste for the kidney-shaped table classics that transport you back to your happy childhood. I respect you even more for staying away from the radio in the 80s. Those were troubling times. How was that?
Yeah, that’s cool.I WAS in band. And I had a few percussion friends that tolerated a geeky French horn/mellophone player because I was a Rush devotee (all hail Neil Peart!). Plus, my love of Aaron Copeland's and Leonard Bernstein's classical music comes from experiences in band and love of Drum Corps.
My early musical taste was HEAVILY shaped by my two older brothers. MSquared listened to Rush, Journey, Boston, Billy Joel while Muleskinner leaned more towards KISS, AC/DC, Tom Petty, Bill Monroe. Muleskinner also introduced me to John Prine, though I don’t go out of my way to listen now.
My own personal tastes solidified in HS, as I mentioned, thanks largely to MSquared college introduction to REM, Uncle Green, and other late 80s, early 90s alternative groups. I also cemented my love of Simon and Garfunkel during this time.
Today, I can thank Spec and Jack Thunder and Raisinette for most of the new stuff I don’t go out and buy.
Neil Peart? Definitely #1 technically, and he writes such great songs. Keith Moon barely edges him out in my personal "best drummer" list because of my great love of the Who and his crazy, Animal-like energy.
AC/DC and Bill Monroe? Your brother sounds way cool!
Where to begin? I am a Patti Page Johan Strauss Sinatra Buddy Holly Kingston Trio Peter Paul and Mary Leonard Bernstein Beach Boys Bach Supremes Beatles Stones Simon and Garfunkel Doors Mamas and Papas Creedence Who Moody Blues Iron Butterfly Stravinsky The Association Miles Davis Sly and the Family Stone Crosby Stills Nash and Young Jefferson Airplane Marvin Gaye Cream Cat Stevens Plastic Ono Band Traffic John Mayall Tchaikovsky Richie Havens Commander Cody Randy Newman Velvet Underground John McLaughlin Fred Neil Dead Van Morrison Bonnie Raitt The Band Dylan Steve Goodman David Bowie John Prine Gordon Lightfoot Gram Parsons Zappa Jimmy Cliff Arlo Joan Armatrading Earl Scruggs Joni Mitchell Loudon Wainwright Siegel-Schwall Coltrane Telemann David Grisman Aretha Tom Waits Leon Redbone Pachelbel Billy Joel Linda Ronstadt John Hartford Django Reinhardt Joan Baez Dave Brubeck Hendrix Michelle Shocked Cowboy Junkies Clash Charlie Parker kind of guy, nice to meet you. No doubt it describes me, but it doesn't define me.
Eh, "define", "describe"--I say potato.
I should clarify that I don't totally hate Randy Newman. I don't like his music, and I get really tired of hearing his cutesy little songs at the beginning of seemingly all cutesy little movies, but I understand that that's not all he is. I once asked a musical friend "what's with R.N?" and he told me that he did some really funny and subversive and smartass stuff. I dig that.
And, Raisinette, I didn't say I was "never" surprised by a person's choices, just "rarely". I was very surprised by Kevin, for instance. But, for the most part, I have to say that I'm not surprised. People bore me so! ; D
Give "Sail Away" a listen, lush string arrangement and all, for added respect for Randy "Hollywood Hack" Newman. But that's just the view of another middle-class white boy from the suburbs. Wait! Did I leave out Bob Seger, Mitch Ryder, the MC5, J. Geils, and Grand Funk Railroad? Dude!
And now, and now it's time, it's time to . . .
Kick Out The Jams, Mo&*^($&%^er!
Best. Song. Opening. EVER.
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