Took the kids to see the Lancaster Symphony Orchestra practice today. During a pre-talk before the practice session, I put Clarisse on my lap, where she’s be discreet and no one would notice her, and used the swivel screen to get a few shots of the columns. I guess I wasn’t as discreet as I thought since an usher leaned over to tell me that photography wasn’t allowed. Whoops. They probably announced that during the first minute of the talk I missed because I was in the hallway taking pictures of the light fixtures outside the bathrooms.
We were at the practice session for the orchestra because I have to find clever ways to educate the children about music without actually educating them all by myself.
See, my taste in music is just dreadful. I rarely tell anyone what kind of music I like, because it’s such horrid and immature music for someone who’s almost 40. I’m supposed to like classy music by now, something soft with a jazzy drum in the background. But I don’t.
Part of educating the children is to expose them to beautiful music. Blech. I don’t like beautiful music. I like catchy tunes with lots of words to sing along to and maybe a few “oooo-oooo’s” mixed in. Commercial jingles are always welcome.
I might make some headway in teaching Boy7 about music, but I’m sure it’s a lost cause for Boy9. He has my same dreadful taste in music and apparently it’s inborn.
When Boy9 was a baby he fought going to sleep at night. He’d scream and cry and flail, even if you held him, and would not sleep. As the old saying goes, music calms the savage beast, so we tried playing music for him.
We started with Mozart. He screamed louder. Maybe Vivaldi? Nope. Bach? Uh uh. Perhaps some Disney Soundtracks? Celtic stuff? Nope and nope.
Until this song. Beastie Boys Rhymin and Stealin. No, don’t read the words. They are not words you sing as a lullaby to your tiny little baby.
From the first swoosh-boomp of the drums, he stopped crying and his little head perked up. After a couple of stanzas he was quietly cooing. And then, by the end of the song, he was fast asleep.
And he fell asleep to Rhymin and Stealin for the next year. He often went from a throaty all-out wailing to sleeping like a…er…baby by the second verse.
Darling Husband is the opposite of me. While I only like ridiculously obvious music with strong melodies and lots of drums and words to sing along to, he likes music that is so subtle and refined that most Americans can’t stand it. He especially enjoys Chinese classical music that is so oblique that it has no discernible melody. Just sounds of plucking strings and random twanging noises, maybe with an old man weakly warbling in the background. Oh, how he loves the stuff.
And, oh how I hate it.
Yeah, long road trips in our car aren’t a lot of fun.
Here’s one more illegally gained picture from the Fulton Theater in Lancaster:
Dinner tonight: Empress Garden Chinese Food. House Mei Fun. Oh yum!