It occurred to me last night while out with friends that I have good taste in music. I just don't hear a lot of it or remember much of it.
For instance, I liked a song that was playing. I didn't tell anyone about it. I was too busy looking good, saying funny things, and being all around awesome. But, deep down, I told myself that I liked the song that was playing.
And, as conversations go, we were having a good one. We were (of course) talking about Jeremy Irons (because who isn't these days?) and somehow the topic derailed to the movie he was in where he played creepy twin gynecologists (because . . . yeah, I can't explain this one, either).
Aaany-who, none of us could remember the name of the film, which was especially odd for me because I am totally the person you want on your Trivial Pursuit team. I remember all the movies and co-stars and directors and even the years in which they were made. It's kind of strange.
While the direction of the conversation changed, one of my friends used new-fangled technology called a phone and "googled" to find the name of the film. I had mentally moved on completely, focusing back onto the song that was playing, while others kept talking.
She said (out of NO-where, might I add), "it's Dead Ringers,"and laid her phone on the table.
I replied, much to everyone's laughter at the table, "Oh! Is that the name of this band?"
So, yeah . . . I don't know a ton about music. Oops.
In my defense, I grew up with an eclectic choice of music in my life. My Dad listened to BIG D 103 and I grew up on what I call "do-wop-shooby-doo."
Because I'm 90% certain there is a song where that is the main chorus.
It was also what I call a "Beatles/Beach Boys childhood." And that's actually pretty great. To this day, I like the Supremes (anything Motown actually), the Mamas and the Papas (Cass Eliot had the world's most beautiful voice), and yes - the Beatles.
Patsy Cline. Lesley Gore. The Monkees. Chubby Checker. These are all the people that come to mind.
In high school, I listened to Bob Dylan and the Doors, and I think this made Dad extremely happy.
My Mom, on the other hand, listened to WMAS 94.7, which I believe proudly declared themselves "soft rock."
Dan Fogelberg. Crystal Gayle. Taylor Dayne.
Taylor Dayne's actually not that bad, and "Black Velvet," a song about Elvis by Alannah Myles, is actually pretty good. They played that one over and over, I tell ya'.
But, in the end, I grew up with a mixed bag of music to listen to in the 1980s and they didn't really involve Duran Duran, the Bangles, or anyone or anything you would ever associate to with the 1980s. It wasn't until the 90s when I had even heard of Duran Duran when they did their "comeback" album. "Where did they come back from?," I wondered. "Was England mean to them?"
I did know about Madonna in the late 80s, so it wasn't a total loss. (I mean - come on!! I'm gay. OF COURSE, I knew about Madonna in the late 80s. And Dad totally bought me Like A Prayer for my birthday. It was all pretty great.)
Otherwise, it's been a crash course in music that other people know and care about. And that's ok. Thanks to Pandora, I get plugged into some of the current tunes out there. Amazon also does a good job at keeping me informed of the latest hits. I even have been able to introduce new music to Drake and Delilah, my friends in DC who know and own way too music. In a dictator-led country, they would be the first to be spied on. I am pretty sure their music tastes aren't subversive to governments, but it just seems pretty excessive, right? When you have external memory drives and the biggest gig iPhone, and STILL FILL THEM UP, it's pretty evident that the secret police will be on their way to your house.
I really have no place to judge people on the amount of music, but I actually judged someone last night on their music taste. She-who-shall-not-be named (Suzanne) was swaying back and forth (in her chair, might I add) to a Coldplay song. I looked over at her and she immediately asked if she should be swaying to this song. I proudly said, "No, you shouldn't. Who do you think you are, Gwyneth? OK, Apple, go back to your Coldplay."
I am pretty sure I am going to Hell for that comment.
By the end of the night, at a respectable 11 p.m., I got onto the subway and waited for the G train, which stands for the "God help me" train. (If you have ever lived in NYC, you will know what I mean.)
Usually, the train is filled with degenerates at this hour and you hope for the best that everyone smells like they have showered today, because the whole train and platform and people are pretty grimy.
I suddenly heard this awkward looking woman singing "Ave Maria" while playing on a really big violin, which some musicians may correct me and say it was a bass. But it was a really big violin. (I think.)
She was not stylishly dressed, wore glasses, and she was overweight, and yet she had all the strangers around me - including myself - stopped in our tracks. The song was beautiful. She was beautiful.
The train across the platform came and she stopped, and she began a new song when it left the station. It was a beautiful end to the evening and, coincidentally, was also one of my Grandma's favorite songs.
Maybe I know a little about music if I was able to catch all of that.
In the meantime, I have totally decided to patent, and intellectual property and LEGAL WORD everything around the name Dead Ringers. Because that's totally the name of my new band. I won't know what kind of music we are playing, but I will probably like it.
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