
I love music- a lot. I appreciate it, I treasure what it means, and I’m always in awe of how sound and words come together for artists.
My love affair started as a baby. My dad, a musician who played with someone famous many moons ago, used to sing Neil Young songs to me instead of nursery rhymes. Some of my earliest memories are coming home after morning kindergarten and my mom and I would listen to classical music as we had lunch and recounted our day. Music was always the background to life.
In middle school, I hit the ultimate stage of cool when I was gifted a stereo! It probably weighed 30lbs, it played tapes and CDs (CDs! How progressive!) and I got to work with my fresh Columbia House subscription. I found this fantastic guitarist and couldn’t stop listening to him. I asked my dad if he had ever heard of Jimi Hendrix. If you haven’t, I said, I’d highly recommend getting experienced.
My first real concert was Billy Joel. I’d fallen in love, not just with him (at age ten I’d tell you my life goal was to marry him, live on Long Island, and drive a navy Mercedes) but with his music. As he went on and dabbled into classical stylings, his lyrics drew me in more than the sound. I was in awe that someone could not only write, but make it sound GOOD. And, in public!
I tried my hand at chorus, which was a fail. My singing hasn’t gotten any better- my kids constantly interrupt my Sabrina Carpenter covers and tell me to pick a key and stay in it. I played the oboe for a few years, letting the sound of an injured fox float out of my bedroom for everyone to enjoy. I didn’t like making music. I just liked everything else about it.
I’ve been fortunate to see some great artists. I saw John Mayer and Macy Gray before they hit it big. I’ve eavesdropped on Soundgarden’s soundcheck, saw The Boss play the first ever show at Lincoln Financial Field, and trekked to MSG to see one of many Billy Joel shows. From Dead & Co to Don Henley, Okkervil River to Beck, Phish to Pennywise, Blues Traveler to Steely Dan- I’ve seen a lot of live talent!
A few months ago I thought about trying to play. The problem is, not only can I not sing or read music, I can’t even clap to a simple beat. My brain isn’t wired that way, but damn it I was going to try.
At the end of one of Elise’s cello lessons, I asked the teacher if I could try. She obliged so I could live out this fantasy. I picked up the bow with my left hand, and she immediately placed it in my right. I’m a lefty, I told her proudly. She kept the bow in my right hand and moved my left fingers to the neck. See, she said. You use your left hand here! I tried for a long ten minutes until I quit (but out of sight of Elise, because there is no quitting when lessons are already paid for).
Time for a fresh start since the cello and I didn’t see eye to eye. The drums! I’ve watched The Dance, Fleetwood Mac’s live concert, more times than I can count. I really think I could sound like Mick Fleetwood as he opens Everywhere. A few YouTube videos later….nope. I couldn’t even consistently tap on a few numbers in an eight count.
Maybe I’m just made to appreciate. I wrote so many papers in college about music, dissecting lyrics and how sound complements words. I will die on this hill, but Candy’s Room by Bruce Springsteen is about drugs and no one can convince me otherwise. I wrote about how a story changes when an album is played backwards, and how some songs are meant to trail into others as if they were one.
Go back to The Dance, and watch Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks lock eyes and say so much while singing Silver Springs. Watch Michael Stipe gaze in admiration at Mike Mills during his piano solo as they sing Nightswimming on Later….With Jools Holland. Watch anything Chris Cornell sings, and how he makes his pain momentarily beautiful. This is appreciation.
I was listening to Running to Stand Still, by U2, on repeat the other day. Something caught my ear, so I asked a musically talented friend to tell me what I heard and why it jumped out at me. She said he used a natural instead of a sharp. This didn’t mean much to me but I was satisfied knowing that at least I recognized it. Progress!
My writing has changed over time. I find inspiration in different things now and sounds that used to turn me off are now things I gravitate towards. It used to break my heart that my children didn’t appreciate my music, but now I’m happy that they’re listening to what they love. Music is every emotion, and one of the easiest ways to express yourself. If you can’t find the words in your own mind, let someone else take over and just close your eyes and listen to the things you can’t quite articulate.
My 2025 goal of playing music has come to an end before it’s really started, but that’s ok. Maybe by December I can clap to a beat without having to watch someone do it. Or, perhaps I can air guitar forever (left handed).
We all march to the beat of our own drum anyway, and if it sounds good to me, then I’ve been experienced.