I tell jokes and write things because I am bad at sports.
Hello City. I’m going to be continuing my self-indulgent ramble about my unimpressive (and surprisingly light on ska) history of musical taste. It’s going to be an avalanche of text and Primitive Radio Gods inspired dick jokes, so there’s no shame in passing this by to look at new and exciting developments in the world of streaming pornography. That said, I recommend all my internet pals (Tumblr enthusiasts and otherwise) think about doing their own silly little post about their history of music listening. If nothing else, it will trick you into falling down a rabbit hole of delightful YouTube clips. Also, I would read every single one of those types of posts because I’m a colossal nerd that is interested in these sorts of essays/rambles/MS Paint Projects/manifestos.
Turn the internet crank and check out Part 1 here, Part 2 here and Part 3 here. Or check out this Wikipedia page about the cotton gin. You’ve been meaning to get around to that, so now’s your link-based chance!
Armed with an RCA Lyra (plays up to 32 songs if you have the right card) and an unearned sense of music snobism, I entered adulthood. I was keeping up with the trends, digging into pop history and having sex soundtracked that was soundtracked by Ying Yang Twins and Kenny Loggins. That last thing isn’t really all that important, but it seemed like a big deal at the time. Like the cotton gin was in its day.
In University, my tastes shifted with whatever new things I was discovering and I became increasingly honest with myself about what I liked and didn’t like. I still went through bouts of know-it-all posturing (I apologize to everyone I pushed Northern State on, history has proven your disinterest right) and had to break some bad habits. For this final installment in the Guided By Gordon series, I’m going to touch on elements of my music history from 2003 to present day (2187, Rigel Calendar).
Music For Girls
I make a lot of mixtapes. Or mixdiscs or whatever. I like doing it and I’ll make them for friends, relatives, sick diplomats, inanimate objects or anyone who wants one. One thing that I wasn’t prepared for was giving/sharing music with girlfriends. Sure, I made mixtapes for girls I liked (note: this is how Prince Ranier snagged Grace Kelly), but it’s something else to share music with someone. This is probably because there’s more value to my passable collection of 80s new wave singles than there is to having access to my sexual majesty.
It can be strange to see an act that you like become the act that your girlfriend likes. It can be even stranger when they still like that act after you’ve broken up. It’s occasionally brought out an incredibly shitty part of me. My internal monologue has sometimes been: “Sure, my taste is brilliant and of course you would like whatever it is I’m listening to, but that’s my band. You’re supposed to give me back all my things and I’m supposed to give you back all your things. That’s how it works.” It’s really petty, but sometimes that’s the immediate visceral reaction I’ve had to an ex continuing to listen to the incredibly popular music star they could have easier found on their own anyway.
I’m an exceedingly lucky duck because I’m seeing a girl that’s the love of my life and we’ve been sharing songs that I can’t imagine sharing with anyone else. There’s something incredibly special about that sort of chemistry. It’s even extra sprinkles special-er if you have a shared love for campy music videos featuring drag queens. Cue Pandora Boxx!
Genres! Not To Be Confused With Music Flavours!
My palate as a music fan was one that got more diverse over time. Part of this was because of increased access to new things, another part was related to recommendations from writers/publications/talking animals that I liked and another one was coming clean with accepting that I just didn’t like certain genres. When I was fourteen, I tried to force myself to like jazz. I’d go to CD shop in the mall thirty minutes out of town and ask to listen to Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue at the listening station. I’d listen to it so goddamn hard, but I just didn’t connect with what I was listening to. I recognized that it was good and challenging and all that, but I didn’t really let myself admit that it wasn’t for me. When Paul F. Tompkins explained jazz on Impersonal, I felt like he was speaking directly to me.
Growing up in the prairies, I treated my dislike of country music as a badge of honour. I felt so hip and cool writing off country music as the music of bumpkins (not like how I was super cerebral as a twelve year old for liking The Prodigy’s shoutier songs) and my Ma had a similar attitude as well. I never really came in contact with country that much in my day-to-day aside from the big crossover hits and I felt comfortable dismissing all those as being utter shit.
As a university student (more accurately as someone enrolled in university but only showing up to class about 10% of the time), I fell into the same trap as a lot of my ilk. I started getting into alt-country (which was an extension of Whiskeytown and Nickel Creek high school fandom) and getting preachy about how I only liked “old country”. People who say they only like “old country” are insufferable asses. There’s a lot of self-important posturing involved and I think it’s more so the avenue of people wanting to demonstrate how cool they are by picking artists that fit their desired persona. I used to do that and be the dickhole who was all like, “I like Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn and Merle Haggard. That’s the real country.” What the fuck do I know about the real country? The one time I was asked to help at a friend’s farm (which I explicitly did not want to do in any capacity), I fucked up the immunization of a calf so bad that it may have resulted in its death shortly afterward.
I started wading into “new country” very slowly. Trusted sources like Blender and Stylus spoke warmly about Gary Allan and Miranda Lambert. I started running out of things to grab from their year-end lists, so I ended up seeking Allan and Lambert out. The results weren’t just great, they were intoxicating. One thing I love in music is directness and country music just oozes it. Allan’s See If I Care crackled with stories of heartbreak, longing and resiliency in the face of adversity all meshed in with some pretty love songs too. Miranda Lambert’s “Kerosene” was just pure snarly ass kicking with a thumping scorned heart and acid on the tongue. If this was just something I stumbled across, what else could I be missing?
I started to relax my prejudices and try out more country. Like all genres, I found myself having to cherrypick to find something that works best for me. This meant combing through reviews, year-end lists, All Music recommendations and sassy song titles to help immerse myself in something that I feel like I’m missing out on. Country will probably never be a default setting in my listening habits, but I like having it included in the big ol’ cluttered pinata that is my iTunes library.
Where I’m At Now
As 2011 becomes 2012 (which it will do in a dual cocoon/Bar Mitzvah ceremony at midnight EST), it’s kind of neat to reflect on where I’m at as a music fan. I like to think that I’ve gotten to the point where I’m 100% honest with myself in what I like. My best of 2011 singles list has both LMFAO and Toby Keith on it, for goodness sake. There’s a part of me that wanted to “get” all the critically acclaimed stuff, but that seems to have been eradicated by the part of me that just enjoys liking what I like. I’m pretty happy about that.
It feels good to accept that I don’t care about the quality of instrumentation on an album and I would prefer if there was a law prohibiting songs from being over five minutes in length. I’m more proud of my guilty pleasures than I am of anything else that pops up on my shuffle. I’m as carefree as I’ve ever been as a music fan and I couldn’t be more thrilled to have that be the case. Here’s to 2012: a year where I’ll keep cultivating playlists, falling down All Music rabbit holes and singing along to Gordon from start to finish over and over again. I’m looking forward to it.
