Music rEvolution

When I was a pre-teen and then teenager, I thought my musical taste was spot on: Vanilla Ice was a style genius, Debbie Gibson spoke to my adolescent heart, SWV sucked me in with their harmonies, and Aerosmith gave me and my friends the ability to rock out in my 1995 Dodge Neon on the way home from school and on our quick drive to Fells Point. I remember driving around Edgewood at night with the windows down, cigarettes dumping ashes on my car's brand-new interior, Green Day belting out our anthem for the week, and then my tape player blasting Beastie Boys until we couldn't take "Brass Monkey" any longer. When I rode with a few chorus friends (you know who you are!), we rocked the Les Miserables soundtrack and the tape recording of our performance at All County, much to the chagrin of my non-choral friends (see picture below). I thought I was a musical genius, indulging in all of these genres, surely years above my parents in wisdom about music and what classifies as "good" music. Boy, was I naïve.

Now, as I'm driving my children around from school to home and from park to play date, I'm discovering how oh-so-very-wrong I was for so many years. I have my radio tuned to a local station that plays what they call "homegrown" artists and those you may not typically find on Top-40 radio, except for the few talented musicians who have managed to appeal to the majority and minority with their unique abilities. My children have discovered their favorites among the limited selection while still begging for Justin Bieber (how did that happen?) and My Little Pony's Minty Christmas soundtrack. Occasionally I bend to their collective will and play a pop station to give them a little bit of fluff entertainment, and I won't lie and say I don't enjoy some of it. After all, I'm not a total music snob who claims to only like the indie stuff. I enjoy a diva's talent and ability probably more than most music lovers.

But now my appreciation for music has more layers. I not only look for the awesome sound that will be epic to blast with the windows down, but I also listen for that voice that stands out, an acoustic guitar mellowed performance that virtually takes me to a coffee shop, or a sound that, quite literally, makes me smile and instinctively reach for the volume knob. There are so few songs like that for me, and some of them happen to be Top 40, but my criteria for good music has increased over the years. While I listened to my mom and dad play '50s and '60s Motown music in the car when I was very young, I slowly developed a taste for it that now, in my 30s, I'm proud of. When I hear Wayne Cochran's "Last Kiss" or the Marvelettes' "Please Mr. Postman," it reminds me of those drives in our tan Dodge minivan listening to the oldies station and feeling like I was the only teenager who knew the words to the music from my mom's Jitterbugging heyday (see picture below for visual representation of said van image and shot of my mom in a hoop skirt). At home, my brother would jam out on his guitar to '80s rock ballads and '60s and '70s Vietnam-inspired rock, all of which I internalized but never really understood until now. If there's one thing I miss from that time of my life in regards to music, it's the few moments of harmonizing and rocking out with my brother in the basement (see picture below). I'll never get that back. We could have been awesome together. His first and only guitar lesson with me consisted of an easy tune: "More than Words" by Extreme, on which we harmonized to the point of complete distraction from actually learning guitar. He's my musical inspiration. If only he knew.

I have since developed a taste for older music, realizing that my parents and brother were right after all. Their music was better. But so are the artists I'm discovering today on my local station and through friends. It is because of that station and a few music lovers I know that I have latched onto and blasted repeatedly Ray LaMontagne's "Trouble," Mumford & Sons' "I Will Wait," and Gotye's "Somebody That I Used to Know" (before they all became huge). On my own, I have found refuge in Jewel's haunting childish-but-mature vibrato throughout the years and Jason Mraz's ability to appeal to the masses but also woo me with "I Won't Give Up." Adele is obviously a no-brainer, and whoever introduced me to her deserves a big hug. She provided me with hours and hours of sing-alongs on road trips to Maryland over the past year.

Everyone's taste in music is different. We all love different musicians and bands for different reasons. But my taste has evolved over the years, much as I have, and I wish to recognize the maturity that comes along with that evolution. Anyone who knows me knows I love change. This change, however, has been slow and necessarily so. I still love a good Katy Perry romper and classic Usher R&B feel-good song, but my heart lies with those who make me really feel something. That's what it takes to get to me today: an artist who can reach through all of the chaos and screaming children and still make me notice him or her. That takes true talent.

Now, as I drive around Charleston in my 2005 Honda Odyssey minivan, complete with car seats and children's books, I find myself turning the speakers to the front when one of my kids says, "Not this song again!" after I hit play for Jewel's "Fading." How young is too young for headphones and a portable CD player or iPod for the littles? :-) They do appreciate Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69," though, so at least they do have some taste.

No more cigarette ashes, tape players, and late-night trips to Fells Point. Now it's just me, the kids, the local radio station, and my collection of "mature" music that I hope someday, in their 30s, my kids will appreciate for what it is. They're lucky I don't torture them with my All-County Chorus tape. "What's a tape, Mommy?" I can hear it now.

For my rock-out anthem, click here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9f06QZCVUHg