Musings on Music

Since the beginning of musical recordings, music has been primarily pressed or etched into a record that people could take home and play. Even before the radio existed, broadcasting music into people's lives, phonographs existed, allowing people to enjoy music of their choice in their homes.

From the phonograph, to the record player, and then a flurry of changes -- 8-track tapes, cassette tapes, CD's, to streaming services. Nothing has changed the way people enjoy music like streaming services. Artists no longer need to sign a record deal to get access to those magical machines that etch songs into discs, they can just record it and release it. As such, consumers no longer purchase entire albums, nor even know all of the songs that may be released at once in the artist's vision of a story arc or flow.

I grew up during the era when music was moving from 8-track to cassette tapes. My Walkman was my most prized possession in high school. I'd had the unfortunate experience of having a tape player "eat" a cassette tape one too many times to want to buy my music in that format. I insisted on buying albums that I would then dub onto cassette so I could take my music with me. At least if the tape wore out I could re-dub the album again. 

Sure enough, those albums lasted for decades. I foolishly gave away or donated most of them in my 30s, when our home was overrun with children's toys and supplies. How ironic, making a wise investment decision in my teens to a foolish one as an adult. 

One of my favorite bands of the 80's was U2, and I could not wait for their newest release, The Joshua Tree, to come out. I asked for it for my birthday, and was thrilled to open it. I unwrapped the plastic wrap and carefully slid the album out from the cover. I took in the smell of a new record, a combination of ink from the lyrics written on the sleeve and petroleum from the record itself. 

After the birthday festivities were done, I took the record over to our record player and played it song by song. I laid on the floor with a pillow and read every word of the lyrics, gazing at the photos of the band members, reading the credits and imagining the process of writing songs with The Edge, Bono, and other contributors whose names I didn't know. 

Which is why, when my dear friend Lisa, who I first met when I was in 6th grade, asked me if I'd like to go to a concert called "Classic Albums Live: U2's The Joshua Tree," I immediately said yes. Of course. And yes, it was not Bono on stage. And yes, it was in a concert hall with people who politely sat in their seats, instead of dancing, even though I wanted to dance. The goal of "Classic Albums Live" performers is to play a classic album note-for-note, word-for-word, as close to the original as possible. 

I remembered every single word to every song, even those that never played on the radio. I was transported back to high school, specifically my drive to my saxophone lessons, the one time each week when I spent 20 minutes in my mom's Mazda 626 by myself, able to play any music I wanted as loudly as I wanted because she wasn't a passenger in the car.

My friend Lisa has a distinct memory of "One Tree Hill," because she was listening to it when a coach or someone important in her life told her she was a really good runner (she was a member of the high school cross country team). She associated that positive feedback and the encouragement it gave her to that song, which happened to be playing in her ears at the time. 

Together, she and I sat in a darkened concert hall and were transported back immediately to our high school days, which, thankfully for us both, were some of the most memorable and special years of our friendship. 

What a gift to share this special evening with a long-time friend! 

Hey Drunk Guy in Section 201, Row SS Seat 122

You were my greatest concern as I planned a solo trip to Wisconsin to see Rage Against the Machine. And there you were, trying to ruin my night. 

I bought a single ticket to see the show about a week before the show. It was a last-minute decision to see a band that, while others have been fans for years, I only recently discovered after the killing of George Floyd. Their lyrics about police brutality and racism were, sadly, as relevant 30 years later as they were when they were first written in the 1990s. 

And so I made arrangements with a friend and with family to stay with them, to connect in person and spend time before and after the Saturday evening event at Alpine Valley.

That night, I made my way to my seat and there you were in all your drunken glory, weaving back and forth as you struggled to keep your balance. The minute I saw you I thought to myself, "This guy is not going to make it to see this concert." (Spoiler alert: I was partially right.)

You asked my name, insisted on a fist bump (which you almost didn't pull off because you nearly fell over trying to connect your fist to mine) and asked if I was ready to RAAAAAGGGEEEE!!!! 

The guy on the other side of me was the opposite. Focused. Serious about his music. Nothing was going to keep him from enjoying this concert.

Sure enough, when the music started, the guy to the right of me was standing as close to the seat in front of him as possible, fist pumping, focused on the stage, rapping every word to every song. Damn. That's a fan.

And you. You started dancing. Dancing? Who the f*ck dances at a Rage Against the Machine concert? No, this is fist-pumping, head-banging music. But then I feel the ulterior motive behind your dancing. Because with every swing of an arm, you touched me.

You touched me on my shoulder. My buttocks. You actually grabbed my waist once, I am sure you don't remember that, you likely don't remember any of it. 

I turned to you and yelled "Don't touch me."

You ignored me.

It got worse, like you were pawing at me. You put your hand on my shoulder as if I was there with you. I shoved you away and yelled "Stop touching me! I'm here to enjoy this concert, don't ruin this for me."

"Okay okay, I'm sorry, I'll stop," you said. But you didn't. 

Finally your friend changed places with you, putting a barrier between you and me. He was drunk too, but not as bad as you were.

If there had been a security person near the end of our row I would have sought them out and asked to have you moved. But I didn't want to miss a single song, so I did what women in our society are taught to do. I tolerated it. I tried to ignore it. But the people both in front of and behind us could see my irritation and would push you back toward your seat when you kept making your way nearer to me. (I found this out later.)

And eventually, the movement that I could sense to my left stopped. I turned and you were gone. I can ony assume you threw up, passed out, or did something else to get ejected, because you were no longer "raging" at this concert that you were so excited to see. You missed it. And likely, the part you did see you don't remember. 

Before this trip my husband expressed his concern about my going to this concert alone, about my driving 6 hours across Wisconsin, driving to the venue alone, being there by myself. I was confident that I would be safe. After all, RATM fans are now in their 40s and 50s...like, seriously? 

But here you were, drunk, 40-year-old white guy, trying to ruin my night. Instead, you ended up ruining your own.

You may normally be a nice guy in life, maybe with a wife and kids, kind to people at work, but to me you will always be an asshole. I'm sure you don't remember the concert. I hope to hell you woke up the next day with a raging headache and a nagging sense of regret for the way you acted that night. 

I enjoyed myself very much that night, despite you being there. In the words of Rage Against the Machine, "Fuck you." 

Nostalgic for Jesus Christ Superstar

This is the album cover that was in our cabinet under our record player.

A live performance of "Jesus Christ Superstar" played on NBC last night, and I was the only one in our household interested in watching it. Lindsey watched the first five minutes, declared it "noise" and went upstairs to watch a movie on her kindle in her room.

Not that I'm religious, I just really like a good rock opera. Actually, I think JCS is the only rock opera I know. There is no dialog that is not set to music, and the whole thing is all electric guitars, drums and screaming solos, I'm pretty sure that's the definition of a rock opera.

I first got to know Jesus Christ Superstar as a kid. It came out as a record in 1970, and my parents had the album. It was a two-album set, with sides 1 and 4 on one record, 2 and 3 on the other. Our record player let you stack up to two records and it would play two sides one after another, and then you had to flip the records and re-set them to play sides 3 and 4. I still remember the anticipation of hearing the second record drop, the click of the needle picking up and then the scratch as the needle hit the starting groove and began to play. I would sit with the lyrics, which were written like a script, and study the words as it played.

Original performers in the 1970 Jesus Christ Superstar album.

The original album featured Murray Head as Judas and Ian Gillan as Jesus. Ian Gillan was the lead singer for Deep Purple, and later joined Black Sabbath. You can just imagine the initial recording, right? Literally screaming vocals, funky guitar rifts, slap bass solos.

The live performance last night maintained much of the original rock performance, but updated with today's vocal talents and instrumentation. I've only ever listened to the music, never watched a performance of it, and it was only last night that I realized that "Jesus Christ Superstar" is not about Jesus, it's about Judas. Judas has more solos and attention focused on his very human angst at not wanting but needing to betray Jesus.  

Brandon Victor Dixon as Judas in NBC's "Jesus Christ Superstar." He already killed Alex Hamilton as Aaron Burr in "Hamltion," betraying Jesus was next on his to-do list.

In Judas' final solo, he has ascended to heaven and is accompanied by angels. Dante Alighieri would not have agreed with this idea, as he put Judas in the final circle of hell in his epic poem "Inferno." But in this interpretation, Judas did a necessary deed to make a martyr of Jesus, and his payment is ascension to heaven.

I knew every word and completely enjoyed this interpretation of this classic. I thought Ben Daniels, who played Pontius Pilate, was weak on his final proclamation sentencing Jesus to death, and Alice Cooper was not the energetic King Herod as he should have been, but he did add entertainment value.

Cast and costuming of the 2018 NBC live performance of "Jesus Christ Superstar."

Of course, I smiled thinking that Paul Gilles was a huge fan of Alice Cooper, Deep Purple AND Black Sabbath. I think he would have cringed seeing the great Alice Cooper in this diminished role. But perhaps not, maybe he would be happy to hear that some of the classic rock sound that he loved is being embraced by a new generation. I know I did.

Viva City Revisited

The emcee, AJ Friday, was fantastic at
keeping the crowd entertained while groups set up.

Marissa was given the opportunity to perform at Viva City, a celebration of music and dance put on by Minneapolis Public Schools. Lindsey had the same opportunity in 7th grade, and truly loved the experience of seeing and hearing from so many different schools across the city.

This year they were able to perform at the Guthrie Theater — the Guthrie! Marissa did not even know what it meant to be performing there.

The night began with a rocking drum line, made of boys and girls, thank you very much. Bands and orchestras, then choirs. Unfortunately we had to leave at the 2nd intermission, so we did not get to see the theater and dance performance troupes, which I remember as being impressive.

I loved how supportive the crowd was. If there was a beat, there were people clapping along. The acoustics were challenging as they were in a large theater and the accompanying instruments came through the sound system, but they had not put microphones over the singing groups, so most groups were drowned out by the instruments. Students were unaccustomed to singing to such a large audience; I could see each of the directors encouraging their students to be louder, louder, LOUDER!

I'm so glad that both of our daughters had this opportunity to see music from other groups, and to showcase their talents as well.

The Music These Kids Listen To...Harumph!

True story: This is a joke that the principal told over the loudspeaker at Lindsey's school. Please note that her school is for kids in grades kindergarten through 2nd grade.

Q: How do you wake up Lady Gaga?

A: Poke her face.

Get it?

You wouldn't if you didn't know that one of Lady Gaga's top hits is the song "Poker Face."

Everyone in Lindsey's class laughed. They ALL got it. Second graders.

Have you seen Lady Gaga?

And I have to admit: I have purchased some Lady Gaga songs for Lindsey. I've listened to them and paid attention to the words, and deemed them if not exactly appropriate, at least not offensive. And I have to say I love the message of her song "Born This Way," for people to accept themselves the way they are.

I also love P!nk. She embodies all the things I love: she's a strong woman with an amazing voice, rebellious, who laughs at herself and is soft on the inside. And like Lady Gaga, I let Lindsey listen to a few of her songs.

But I didn't intend for the entire album to get downloaded to the iPod she listens to.

It's not like I purchased the P!nk album for her. I bought it for me. Which means that I bought the "explicit" version. And there are some clearly audible words that she absolutely should not be hearing.

So the other night I hear the song "Funhouse" start up on her iPod in her room, and I immediately have her turn it. I let her know that there are words and songs that she shouldn't have on there, and that I am going to re-sync her iPod. That's when she informs me that she listened to the entire thing on the drive to Tracy last weekend.

Crap. Or something a bit stronger.

Turns out the last time I synced her iPod I had the settings from syncing mine, so she got all of my songs. I've rectified that now, and have also added a few songs that I think she might like, to try to replace the ones she liked that I've now taken off her iPod.

It's time she get exposed to The Beatles. No hidden messages in "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," right?

I joke, but I love sharing music with Lindsey. She's at an age when she wants to discover new music, and I love sharing with her. Music was an integral part of my growing up years. I remember hearing Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" on my new stereo and getting completely absorbed in the opening guitar solo.

I wonder if she listens to Lady Gaga and P!nk now, what will she be listening to when she gets older? Only time will tell -- all that she wants right now is a really good beat and a catchy chorus.

Name That Tune, Any Tune

Think back to your earliest memory, to some of your first impressions in life.

The first thing I remember
I was lying in my bed
I couldn't of been no more
than one or two.

Maybe it was a book that was read to you over and over, or a special toy you played with for hours on end.

Jesus, I am overjoyed
To meet you face to face
You've been getting quite a name
All around the place.

Or, if you're like me, it's a song. Or two. Or two hundred.

Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Moments so dear
Five Hundred Twenty-Five Thousand
Six Hundred Minutes
How Do You Measure - Measure A Year?

My iTunes account has 2,350 songs in it, and I can sing probably 80% of them when I hear them. Isn't that amazing? Actually, it's not. A quick Google search on the number of songs a person memorizes indicates that I'm about average.

Just a small town girl,
Livin' in a lonely world.
She took the midnight train going anywhere.

As a grade schooler, I remember a weekend when I was stuck inside the house because I was sick and my parents spent the day doing chores outside. They had an 8-track playing (yes, I remember 8-track) of the soundtrack to Jesus Christ Superstar. The only other 8-track I could find was John Denver's Greatest Hits, and I spent the day alternating these two 8-tracks on the stereo. They heard it here and there as they passed through the house throughout the day, but I listened to both albums, over and over.

Pick any John Denver hit, or any track from that controverial play, and I will sing it back for you.

Look up on the wall baby,
hand me down my shootin' iron
Call your mother long distance,
tell her to expect your body home.

Okay so I didn't really want to shoot myself, but I did learn most of the lyrics to Stevie Ray Vaughn's songs on the day he died in July 1991, when his helicopter went down in Alpine Valley WI and the Milwaukee radio station I was listening to played only SRV songs for the next 24 hours. I hadn't heard his music before, but fell in love with it and have been listening ever since.

I like that boom boom pow
Them chicks are jackin' my style
They try to copy my swagger
I'm on that next shit now.

And my musical memory continues to grow, as I discover more and more new music. What would happen if we put facts to those melodies? Imagine how smart we would be. Instead, we've captured our own lifetimes in snippets of silly, stupid, somber or serious songs. None are exactly like the other, making us all unique in our musical memories.

You always reached out to me
And helped me believe
All those memories we share
I will cherish every one of them.

I think I'd rather have a musical lifetime of memories than a bunch of facts set to music in my head. 

Psst. Without scrolling back up, how many minutes are there in a year?

"Any Time of Year" Resolutions

Ringing in the New Year, Dec 31 2010.

This may seem surprising to some, but I've never really made personal goals for myself. Professional ones, sure, lots of those, some of which have been realized and others of which are still a pipe dream. But I'm not usually one of those people who sets an annual goal for myself come January. I'm not planning on losing 20 pounds, getting out of debt or quitting drinking (heavens, no!).

Resolutions are created to be broken, in my opinion. And what's so special about January anyway, that makes you want to do something then? Why not September, or whenever the thought pops into your head?

This is the time of year, though, that I tend to look back at the year that was and reflect on whether or not I've made any progress on the objectives I've set for myself.  It turns out that many of my on-going goals are also some of the most popular New Year's resolutions. Who knew that I was so predictable?

1. Spend more time with my family. Done. Well, maybe it's a work in progress, but my job change has done a lot for me in spending time with my family. Not being on the road on a nearly-weekly basis has been incredible for all of us. It's allowed me to have a social life, my children to spend more quality time with me and my husband to take his running to a new level.

My next iteration of this is to spend more quality time with my family. I can honestly say I spend too much time glancing at my iTouch, reading the latest Twitter feed or commenting on Facebook. I love social media, but I need to have conversations with my kids while looking them in the eyes.

2. Be more patient with  my kids. Hmm, maybe there's a connection -- I start spending more time with my kids and suddenly I need an extra helping of patience. Kids can test anyone's patience and mine seem to have a knack for pushing mine to the limit. This was one Wayne and I both had to commit to so we could literally tag team a situation before one of us lost our cool. It feels like we're making progress and our kids tend to get on the straight and narrow before my ears start steaming like tea kettles, but this is an on-going mission.

3. Learn how to sing or play guitar. Belting out tunes while driving alone in my car doesn't count as singing, at least not in my book. I'm not looking to be the next pop star, but I wouldn't mind being able to hold a tune in such a way that it doesn't make my kids say, "Mommy, stop singing."

If not that, then I would really like to learn how to play guitar. I nearly got guitar lessons for Lindsey and I but then it fell through and I haven't pursued finding a different teacher. It's on the list.

4. Get more competitive with my skating. I surprised myself by completing a half-marathon inline skating race last summer, and averaging 14 mph in the race. (Go 14 mph in your car, then imagine doing that on skates with no vehicle surrounding you.) I learned that I underestimated myself, that if I had the courage to get out there I would be quite competitive and have a damn good time, too. I plan on discovering more of the biking/skating paths through the Twin Cities, and also doing my first full inline skating marathon this summer.

5. Read classic books. I realized several years ago that my reading list was so long and my free time so short that I would never in my lifetime read all the books I wanted to read. In my lifetime. Every time I turn around I'm putting another book on that damn list, but only taking one or two off every month.

Life is full of choices and I realized I was filling my head with garbage. Entertaining, schlocky garbage, but garbage all the same. I decided that I would pick one book every other read that would be a classic, something I either was forced to read before but didn't enjoy, or one I've never had to read but probably should. After all, why not expand my horizons instead of reading yet another vampire series?

This year I devoured more novels by John Steinbeck, my new favorite author. Love, love him. I discovered "Anna Karenina" by Leo Tolstoy, the first Tolstoy I've ever read. I read "Giants in the Earth" by O.E. Rolvaag and "The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass," which was heartbreaking in its truth.

I re-read "Walden Pond" by Henry David Thoreau, which I had to read in high school but didn't understand. This time I highlighted passages -- his philosophy only makes sense to those who have been on this earth longer than 17 years and comprehend life's brevity. I read "The Sun Also Rises" and another Ernest Hemingway, then re-read a William Faulkner which was just as senseless the second time around as the first.

For Christmas my dad gave me Volume I of the autobiography of Mark Twain, just published, at his direction, 100 years after his passing in 1910. It's massive, 650 pages of text alone (approx 50 pages of appendices, indices) in what looks like 9 pt type. Apparently there are two more in the works (thus the designation "Volume I.") Can't wait to dig in.

So I guess I do follow the typical New Year's resolutions: spend more time with friends and family, learn something new, and get fit (not necessarily in that order). I just don't decide in January to do these things. Guess I'll report back next January and let you know how I did!

The Beat Must Go On

The other night I was helping put Marissa to bed. She often likes to play her little music CDs from her music class to go to sleep to. She was turning on her CD player, opening up the CD drawer to put her CD in when she accidentally hit the button that opens up the tape player.

She looked at the front of the radio that had become unhinged, looked into the area where a cassette tape would go, turns to me and says, "What's that?"

I tried to explain to her what tapes were, but she couldn't grasp the concept. Sigh.

Here's the march of music technology that I've known in my lifetime:

LPs (albums, vinyl, whatever name you call it you know what I mean)
8 track tapes
cassette tapes
CDs (which stands for Compact Disc if you didn't remember that)
iTunes/MP3 digital format

I remember all of these -- yes, I do remember 8 tracks, but from the standpoint of my parents playing them, not me. My kids will know CDs (maybe, vaguely), and the digital format of music, i.e. music you can't touch or feel, just hear.

No gazing at the incredible art that used to grace the cover of those huge albums, art that had someone's  blood sweat and tears into it, because they knew that good art helped sell music. Now you just need to put the artist's face on the album, big enough so that when you see a thumbnail of the cover on iTunes you'll recognize who the artist is.

No little booklets of lyrics to paw through as you listened carefully to each song...in order, getting the full sense of the album concept that the musician was trying to convey. Now, if there's a digital booklet available you can read through the 7 pt font lyrics online when you first download the music, but after that you'll probably forget that the digital booklet is in your media player and you'll just have to guess at the words. And if you're like me, the new music you just bought goes straight into your "shuffle" format -- you probably don't even know what order the songs are in, or if the musician had a story s/he wanted to tell you through the song sequence. Or even better, just download the two or three songs from the album that you heard on the radio and scrap the rest.

Remember "B" sides? What do you call them in iTunes, those unwanted tunes that rarely get downloaded but belong to the same collection as some Top 40 hit that's been downloaded 12 million times?

Do I sound curmudgeon-y yet? Because I feel it.