Music Stinks

I am rabidly defensive of my music choices.

See, I don’t much like music.  I mean, I like music, sure, but just not much of it. I don’t own music.  I might have owned maybe 10 music cds in my entire four decades of existence. So this Christmas, 14 years after iTunes was created and 3 years since I’ve had my ipad, I finally asked Darling Husband to teach me how to buy music on iTunes so I can listen to all the songs I like.

For the past two months I’ve been creating a list of all the songs that I like so I would be ready to download them on Christmas day when I got my iTunes gift card.  There are 109 songs on the list.

That’s it.  That’s the complete list.

Some people adore music and play it all the stinkin’ time.  Drives me nuts.  I told you about that one time I went to a therapy session and the therapist had some quiet music playing in the background.  I couldn’t help my eyes from glancing at the cd player. She said, “Is that too loud for you?”  “Yes.”  “You can turn it down.”  I did.  But still kept glancing at that irritating noise. Why do people play noise when they’re trying to talk to someone? Irritating. She said, “Is it still too loud?”  “Can we just turn it off?”  “Sure.”  “Has anyone ever asked to turn off the music before?”  “No.” I’m a trendsetter, I am.

With only 109 favorite songs in all the world, this music must be something else, huh?  It must be the best of the best.  The most beautiful or meaningful music in the world. Right?

Nah.  I’m rabidly defensive of my 109 music choices because they stink. They’re really bad.  They’re terrible songs. They’re cheesy. The only reason I like them is because they’re catchy and easy to sing along with.  That’s it.  That’s my criteria.  Super catchy; can sing along.  Done. Only 109 songs fit the bill.

While the rest of you are listening to a cool jazz medley while cooking some exotic foodie meal in the kitchen, I’m listening to Play that Funky Music White Boy and eating my Royal Farms chicken on a tv tray.  Yes, really.  Play that Funky Music is one of my all-time top 109 favorites. Already been purchased and downloaded.

Two days ago, for the first time EVER in 22 years of marriage, Darling Husband asked me what songs were my favorites–what songs had I bought with my Christmas gift? Ooo. Risky. He pressed the issue. “Why are you so afraid to show me your list?  What do you think will happen?”

What did I think would happen?  What did I think would happen?!

What would happen is that he wouldn’t be able to help himself from losing respect for me.  I mean, Play that Funky Music??  That’s a horrible song!  (Oooo!  I’m sorry, Funky Music! You’re not a horrible song! Forget I said that! I still love you!)

He said, “It’ll be fine. You can show me.”

So I did, with trepidation.  He was ok with many of my song choices, but he did say that Play that Funky Music was really bad and just couldn’t be forgiven.

And then he showed me the songs he likes.  Oh yuck.  They’re classical Chinese music and I don’t know what else.  Bizarre stuff.  I made fun of them. Darling Husband pointed out, ‘Looks like the only person making fun of the other person’s music choices is you.”

Ouch! He was right.

Since my tastes are pretty juvenile, let’s end this post with a song I’ve loved since I was 8 years old.  Stray Cat Strut.  Ooo.  Such a great song!  I love you, Stray Cat Strut!

If You Want the Baby to Sleep, Ditch the Mozart and Play that Baby Some 80’s Rap.

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.

Lovely lightbulbs.

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.

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Here’s one more illegally gained picture from the Fulton Theater in Lancaster:

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Dinner tonight:  Empress Garden Chinese Food.  House Mei Fun.  Oh yum!