It seems that every time I watch television in the precious few minutes of free time that I can scrounge up during the week, I see commercials for compilations composed of incredibly cheesy songs from the great genre of 1980s hair metal. These commercials are chock full of horrible love ballad snippets, sappy sere-nades, classic concert footage of synchronized perform-ances and all the aqua-net and leather pants one can stomach. Most people probably ignore these cheese fests, turn the channel to something less irritating or poke fun at the ever risqué use of the phrase ‘Cherry Pie.’ But me, well, I’m a little different from most people. I don’t just watch these commercials. I soak them in. I sing along to every song. I drool over Warrant’s lead singer Jani Lane’s dreamy eyes.
It’s safe to say that my father is the one to blame.
You see, the music created by these bands, as horrible as it may be, serves as remnants from my childhood. When I was younger, instead of just watching “David the Gnome” on Nickelodeon every day, I spent my time listening to Tom Petty, AC/DC, Guns N’ Roses and Motley Crüe. I thought Nelson was a kick butt band, and that Mr. Petty wrote “Free Fallin’” about none other than moi.
I spent any free time I had glued to a television or radio, enjoying any bit of noise I could get my ears around. I even carried around a cassette recorder everywhere I went, which I used to record my own amateur radio shows.
Yep, I was a total nerd. But who wasn’t when they were 8 years old?
Not much has changed since those golden years when I had a crush on Vince Neil. Well, maybe some things have changed.
Sadly, I no longer spend countless hours listening to gnarly ‘80s hair bands. I don’t watch MTV for updates on Poison or Bon Jovi. And much to my dismay, the tape recorder kicked the bucket long ago. But a few things haven’t changed. I still have Tom Petty and Cheap Trick cassettes hidden in the mess that is my car. I still appreciate the bands of my youth, and most importantly, I still live to be wrapped up in music.
Everywhere I go, I find myself surrounded by music. Most of the in-depth conversations that take place between my husband and me center on new discoveries we find about the musicians we love.
Music is more than just the background to my life story. Music is what drives my life story. I love to listen to music. I love to collect new music. I love the excitement of going to shows and seeing the songs that make up most of my listening time come to life. I love being surrounded by music on a daily basis.
Making spur of the moment trips to Hollywood to rummage through the treasures at Amoeba Records (the world’s largest independent music store) comprise a great many of my adventures. What can I say? I’m a sucker for music.
Well, not all music, mind you. I’d take silence over Coldplay any day.
When it comes to music, I’m quite the picky person. When asked what I listen to, I don’t hesitate to give a detailed response complete with band names and “sounds likes.” Simply saying, “I listen to everything,” is never the correct response when presented with such a question. And uttering that answer is nothing more than a cop-out. Sure, you may listen to the smorgasbord that is any given radio station. You may live to worship what-ever musician was No. 1 on TRL yesterday only to forget about them when the next big thing rolls into town. You may even be one of the crazies who always snag the lat-est volume of “Now that’s what I call music!” whenever it is released.
Sure, you probably are quite the eclectic when it comes to music. But let’s be honest here. You don’t lis-ten to everything. Admit it, there has to be at least one or two genres that you hate.
If I had my way, people would be more honest about their musical preferences. Don’t be afraid to let people know what you like and what you refuse to listen to. People may get offended but when won’t they?
Maybe it’s easy for me to say. I grew up knowing exactly what music I liked and what music reeked. Luckily for me, things haven’t changed.
