My mother and I sang together. Pop songs, old songs, hymns and carols, children's songs. The record player was a turntable in a small case. Her classical records were kept in her bedroom closet, brought out to look at, but rarely played. Ballet music, I think.
I was allowed the turntable, and access to my children's albums, in my room, and when the older brothers left home, their leftovers. Mom refused to make the record player easier to access for the stated reason that my father would listen all day long to a single country record. She detested Grand Ole Opry. The explanation had the ring of bitter truth. He had no music in him, and rusted out a pair of songs, in bits.
"I love you a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck."
and,
"Mademoiselle from Amentiers, parlez vous. Mademoiselle from Amentiers, parlez vous. Hasn't been kissed in forty years, hinky dinky parlez vous."
That was it. In indecipherable tunelessness.
I devoured what recorded music I had. The soundtrack for Mary Poppins. (Loved the deliciously ironic Stay Awake.) Later, the left-behinds. A Crosby Stills Nash and Young live album. And Tommy, The Who. The latter, I had memorized. Tended to skip the long guitar solos, since I couldn't sing along. I had very few records of my own, an expense not often indulged. A couple of John Denver albums - I had a friend who was obsessed, a huge fan, so I picked it up to have common ground.
What I really loved was folk music, what is now called international music. Difficult to find then. Lively, minor key, complicated rhythms, the odd, the unusual, the genuine un-processed sounds. I went along with pop because it was easy, omnipresent, I could sing along, a subject of conversation. I interned at a NICE radio station when I was going through broadcasting school. I couldn't stomach it today. Such pap, musical cheese-whiz.
When I met D, found out he was a guitarist, and a big fan of The Who. And here I was, with one of their albums in my head. I learned to appreciate guitar solos. He learned to like Klezmer. Both of our tastes have changed and grown. We have days of music, MP3s, today. Much of it is mine.
No taking the easy paths to nowhere.
12 comments:
Proves definitively that the music inside you is yours. No one can keep it from you forever--no matter how high they place the stereo.
Come hear my music collection some day Zhoen.
I have a recording of Aboriginal Australian music that puts you in another universe. And a smattering of Indian, Middle Eastern, Persian etc. Fabulous stuff, isn't it?
LJ,
I'll be right over with pie.
Like lj, I have some Aboriginal Australian music and become completely entranced when listening to it. And how about a little Afro celt Sound System,Turkish Belly Dance music or some old favourites, Steeleye Span or Fairport Convention?
Your post has literally had me pulling out some of these cds, dusting them off and enjoying them again. Thanks!
The Who. Yes, indeed. And Steeleye Span (when Maddy Prior and Tim Hart were with them)! May I humbly suggest Oyster Band?
I credit you with introducing me to a couple of genres I might not otherwise have developed an affinity to.
There is a Steeleye Span version of Bob Dylan's Lay Down Your Weary Tune that just sucks me in.
PMP, I'lll check those out. 3Mutaphas3 is another amazing band.
Moira, always a pleasure.
Blue Light,
So glad your memories of that song were happy ones.
Mine were... not.
Zhoen, I keep coming back to this post. It's so full. And provokes so many memories of my own, making me realize how patch-worked and chock-full of music my childhood was, in different ways... tied to the good, the bad and the ugly. But like you (I think?) the music became my own eventually, or maybe always was, and is now a source of absolute joy. And of course, our tastes overlap, which makes me smile.
I forgot to mention, this line cracked me up:
"Mademoiselle from Amentiers, parlez vous. Mademoiselle from Amentiers, parlez vous. Hasn't been kissed in forty years, hinky dinky parlez vous."
Really? Seriously?
I certainly didn't make it up.
Hinky-dinky words. It never occurred to me to actually look this up. My father was in the Army, though never left for... anywhere. As for the rest of the words to the song, I imagine my mother put her foot down very hard about not singing those in front of us kids. Or he may well have forgotten them after a decade or so.
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