I am not old or anything, but I am old enough to have music that I listened to 20 years ago.
Tonight I am packing my house and naturally one needs music. These days about all I listen to is Brazilian jazz/samba and books on tape. But back in the day, I went to shows in Seattle and all, listening to bands in living rooms of dorm rooms, bands that went on to drug overdoses and infamy.
Since I was just tired of Samba, and it doesn’t do much for trying to pack up (except make me want to kick up my legs and rest) I put on some music of the young years. My goodness how it takes me back to a very very specific time of life.
Tonight it is Jonathon Richman and the Talking Heads. In that music, I am 17. My life is a mess. I am sad and young and when I look at pictures of me from then I think “I was so pretty and so messed up.”
A friend described it well when he bid me farewell, his nice, flaky croissant.
But Jonathon is always happy. And the truth is my life is happy now. Music though, it’s wonderfully powerful.
I tried to listen to some of the stuff I had listened to and it was a study in contrasts. Listening to Beck Odelay while playing with PlayDoh with my 2 year old. Um, no.
Smashing Pumpkins while feeding said kid? Um, no turn it off. NOW!
What about even Propellorheads? Massive Attack? Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan? Agh. Didn’t I ever listen to anything normal????
No, the answer is no. I didn’t. But Jonathon, well he is always good.