(no subject)
Seven years old, I take the Kansas record from a plastic crate and stare at the cover. There is a picture of an old man writing something, his head aching in frustration. I am riveted by the familiar cartoon imagery, but I don't understand what the hell is going on.
This is my first memory of discovering music.
For God knows what reason, I started listening to these records. My favorites were Joe Walsh's Seems to Me, to which I made up a dance, and this particular dark and scary Steely Dan album:
I loved Black Cow the most.
Music, to me, is pure bliss. I don't like the work of discovering music, but I enjoy the experience of listening and especially singing and dancing. It makes me happy to think back on how much music was a part of my childhood experience.
For instance, singing with Joanna and Ben in Joanna's room, perfecting the harmony to "Let's Go Out to the Kitchen." When you are with people you love, making something beautiful that is uniquely your own, that is bliss.
Or calling in to radio stations to sing and laughing hysterically over how my voice would crack on the Beatles' "If I Fell." Or singing Boot Scootin Boogy with the sibs, only to have the radio announcer say, "Nice job, ladies!"
Probably the longest stretch of music came from spending time in our basement with records and the Super Nintendo. This is the definitive Joanna/Molly/Ben album:
My God, so many hours of hearing "Strawberry Fields," "Penny Lane," "Sgt. Peppers," and everything else. But it was wonderful to have your heart be carried away by music day after day. It was lifesaving, in fact.
This is my first memory of discovering music.
For God knows what reason, I started listening to these records. My favorites were Joe Walsh's Seems to Me, to which I made up a dance, and this particular dark and scary Steely Dan album:
I loved Black Cow the most.
Music, to me, is pure bliss. I don't like the work of discovering music, but I enjoy the experience of listening and especially singing and dancing. It makes me happy to think back on how much music was a part of my childhood experience.
For instance, singing with Joanna and Ben in Joanna's room, perfecting the harmony to "Let's Go Out to the Kitchen." When you are with people you love, making something beautiful that is uniquely your own, that is bliss.
Or calling in to radio stations to sing and laughing hysterically over how my voice would crack on the Beatles' "If I Fell." Or singing Boot Scootin Boogy with the sibs, only to have the radio announcer say, "Nice job, ladies!"
Probably the longest stretch of music came from spending time in our basement with records and the Super Nintendo. This is the definitive Joanna/Molly/Ben album:
My God, so many hours of hearing "Strawberry Fields," "Penny Lane," "Sgt. Peppers," and everything else. But it was wonderful to have your heart be carried away by music day after day. It was lifesaving, in fact.