Doing battle with daily dragons

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Rolling on Rock

My iPod is simply the best toy I’ve ever had. I love it so much I could lick it. I’m just sitting here at my computer with my groovy headphones hooked over my ears listening to some rather crunchy guitar rock.

I didn’t start out as a rock chick. My parents were more folk oriented and I grew up spending warm summer evenings at outdoor areas with aging hippies listening to the strains of Joan Baez, Arlo Guthrie, Pete Seeger and Peter, Paul and “How on Earth Have I Been in a Band With These Two Balding Guys For 35 Years?” Mary. I can also credit the parentals for a love of classical music. I’m a total goober for it. It makes the hairs on my arms stand up and with embarrassing regularity, makes me cry.

But I believe I might have caused a ripple of concern when my first cassette single turned out to be by Aerosmith. (Someday, I WILL see them live. The Rock Star says that when we do, I must bear my breasts at Stephen Tyler. “No wife of mine is going to an Aerosmith concert and NOT getting her breasts out,” he says. I believe he might be joking, but we’ll have to see.)

The college years were a bit of a musical journey. I lived in an all-girl dorm where absolutely every living soul (including me) on my floor owned one if not all of three albums:

Indigo Girls by the Indigo Girls
Graceland by Paul Simon
August and Everything After by Counting Crows

Not many of us shaved our legs for four years, if you catch my drift. It was safe, cathartic, melodious and could be heard coming out of just about any room at any given moment. It was female bonding music; perfect for late night ramen parties, studying or early morning showering.

It wasn’t until meeting the Rock Star that I completely understood the anarchic joy of a truly amazing guitar riff. The thrill of making such a terrible and exciting noise. I’m sure that anyone who’s ever written one experiences the same silver wire sizzle straight through the cerebrum.

This is why I am so utterly at a loss to understand some of the bland and soul sucking music the industry is turning out at the moment. “My heart leaps at nothing/when I turn on the radio…” A lyric from a song by a very good band that we know. Who DOESN’T want that electric, hot white energy in music? Who ordered the shipment of whiners?

May I just say again about licking my iPod? Mr. Brownstone. V. good choice.