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A version of me has been here before. Not this version. |
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This is my......bazillionth blog. Maybe it will last... Wish in one hand...  
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"The Soundtrack of Your Life"  I resisted for a very long time. I tried. But I DID in fact join the You Should Probably Leave bandwagon there toward the end of its recent radio run. It’s a sexy one. The sound of it makes me happy in a…someone makes me feel desirable kind of way. And that is literally all there is to it. It is country which I don’t normally enjoy - though I know, I know it's a bluesy country. And country songs of any type are not ones I generally describe as sexy. But that is the case here. The year of nitty-gritty honesty would demand some clarification though. Because if the only thing about this song was that it was sexy then I’d have been on its ass right from go. I’d have driven the bandwagon. I imagine that I started to listen to it when I actually listened to it. I'm sure the state of my failing marriage made it feel emotional to me. Some days probably sad and some days probably …wistful. A lot of days probably pissed off. Regardless, it is a good, sexy song - and here it is |
"The Soundtrack of Your Life" I have had the longest day in Earth’s history, so I am going with an easy one. A light one. One that represents fun. When Kid A was about five years old she saw an episode of Carpool Karaoke, in which James pulls up to a stop light and the car full of people next to him get excited and sing along as well. From that moment on she wanted that to happen to her. She wanted to pull up to a light and the people beside us be overtaken by the vibe and start singing with her. As the type of parent that indulges their weird quirky desires at any cost - I too wanted this for her. We tried and tried and tried. We pulled up to countless lights bumpin' like a Snoop Dogg video. We would do any song we liked or liked singing but we had some that we felt might entice our car neighbors. Things like, Hold On by Wilson Phillips, Rebel Yell or White Wedding by Billy Idol. Some Heart. Songs that make you wanna sing loud and emotionally. We tried for over a decade. We had ZERO takers. Once we had a dude in his twenties appreciate our performance but he did not join in. Though I will say - I certainly didn’t just name any songs a 22-year-old would necessarily know…and I am not about to either. Last year what had grown into one of our heart’s deepest desires was finally fulfilled. After eleven years. I will never forget it or how my daughter was suddenly five years old again, and it couldn’t have been a better song. And it was just some middle-aged man who we assumed was not even going to look in our direction. It was amazing - but it was also a stop light so it was pretty fucking short. |
| "The Soundtrack of Your Life" I decided to get pseudoserious and I used one of those playlist analyzer things to see what songs I actually listened to the most last year. Now I am all excited. This one? No, that one. No….this one? Ohhhh yeah, that one. You know when you discover a song and something about it touches something about you in a way that demands you repeat it an unnerving number of times, without tiring? It doesn’t even matter why. But I suppose I could try to articulate it. It took me a full dozen years to hear this song, but when I bring it up it isn’t like people know it well enough to be shocked. But I am sure that is due to the caliber of the people I surround myself with. It puts me in a place of nighttime campfires in an old western. Like a by-the-book standard western. Perhaps there is someone lying on the other side of the fire, feet crossed, cowboy hat tipped over his face as he sleeps. That kind of western. Some parts of it feel like saloon music from that same movie. Then he starts singing. The voice combined with that lazy feeling of dusty noon showdowns just soothes my soul in a way that is hard to describe. It isn’t that I love cowboys, though I do. It isn’t because I love the Old West, though I do. It certainly isn’t that I love country music, because I do not. But it is more that pieces of my soul that are so innate to my own being that were I to be reincarnated a thousand times, they would be there every single time - those pieces see something recognizable in the feeling of that time. The aura of the era. |
| "The Soundtrack of Your Life" I said I was going to work backward through the year but I lied. At some point last year Kid A and I had a…spirited debate…with someone regarding Axl Rose. A debate easily summed up by saying two things - I raise kick-ass children who appreciate things beyond their own little generations. And that I apparently hulk out when someone thinks the current Axl Rose is the right Axl Rose. Cuz lets be real - if someone says Axl Rose and you picture anything from any era other than the glorious hairband era that produced Appetite for Destruction then you have missed a class in the school of life. THAT is Axl Rose. When you are wondering if you will see the red bandana or if he used a can of Aqua Net. When his V lines and treasure trail were….there. When he could do the often imitated but never duplicated neck move because…he had a neck. What goes out on stage now needs a desiccant. Do not speak to me as if you understand anything about Guns N’ Roses if you only know them now. Slash went solo, Axl turned into a puffer fish….Welcome to the Jungle, We’ve got Rascal Scooters and denture cream. Flashback to this choice’s origin story….. This debate spurred on the very first sorting ever of my Spotify playlist which consists of 791 songs. This is a whole other issue since it had cemented itself in my mind and once I sorted it, even sorting it back….it isn’t in the same ass fucking order and my regret is palpable every time I open that shit. But - once sorted I had extreme focus on all things GNR for quite some time. I was in my teens when Appetite for Destruction and Use Your Illusion were released. I am a hair band fan for sure, but a lot of them…presented rebellion. Back then, Guns N’ Roses seemed like they perpetrated rebellion. And even today when I look back at all of them, I still wonder why the rest of them didn’t use better conditioner. If Axl Rose was the hair in your hair band it sets a really fucking high bar. Listen - I got perms with the rest of the world - it didn’t have to look like a horse might wander up to munch on it. (And no - Slash was not the hair. C’mon, Slash was the hat, maybe even the silence.) They have tons of great songs … and I even like November Rain. But my very favorite is from Use Your Illusion II. Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door. I mean shit - I am listening to it right now while I type this and it is such prime Axl. Every stereotypical Axl Rose noise that you can think of he does in this song. And it kicks ass. If 3:54 to 4:15 doesn’t make you wanna tease your bangs then there just may be a glass ceiling to our friendship. As I was previewing my entry to make sure I embedded the shit right - I am a double-double checker with that stuff….Kid A walked by and asked if I was writing something about Guns N’ Roses. I said yes that it was about the music of my life and she said it was not a good example. That if anything it was the exception that proved the rule of my musical tastes. She isn’t wrong… So, let it be said that I am a straight from the ghetto hip hop rap girl. Late 80’s hair bands indeed are the only music I can tolerate that even comes close to metal. I would be a fucking amazing metal head though. The music literally makes me mad. Raises my anger level exponentially - instantly. Actually works up the desire to explode rage, which I already love to do. Considering I idle at “you wouldn’t like me if I’m angry”.... constantly being in any elevated state isn’t fun for anyone. P.S. Kid A was on the right side of the debate of course - she too wants people who don’t understand that they don’t understand - to know that they don’t. |
| Today is my birthday. Less young, less happy, less fulfilled, less of all the things. More years, less shit. On the plus side - I got tacos, cinnamon rolls, copped a buzz, and was even able to sit gently in the satisfaction of getting shit done. I also got out of a celebration with my parents and sister which is all I ever want…to not do that. Celebrating things with my mother is a blog post on its own - that I am certain isn’t too far off. My house is sitting under a cloud of dysentery or a 13th-century plague. Something terrible - something straight out of every single mother and wife everywhere’s worst nightmares. And I am not even good at that. Mothering sick people, be they children or husbands, is not my jam. I find myself unable to not ask them how they don’t see me powering through. Telling them that life goes on, that sometimes we do shit even when we don’t feel well. That shit might fly when they have runny noses but it feels extra mean when they are actually sick. In Husband A’s case, I suspect it more than feels extra mean. "The Soundtrack of Your Life" I am gonna work backward here and in December (who am I kidding, starting in November) Kid B and I listened to this on repeat. There is no musical list of my life - no matter the theme - that would not include a Crooner. What is it about some Rat Pack that is so transportative? The world feels black and white with martini dripping off its edges. You can love you a little Harry Connick Jr or Michael Buble (and I do) but the truth is always going to be that they are facsimiles of something a little bit sharper, clearer, easier, and better. “Sounds like Frank,” “Reminds me of Sammy,” ….that kinda says it. And what it says is that you should be listening to Frank and Sammy. (Admittedly there are three more Rat Pack members, however soundtrack of MY life means I am going to reference my two favorites.) We love this song. We love it. We love the one single stutter lyric, it is our favorite part. We love the variation at the end of the chorus that trips up everyone except for us. And man do we fucking get down on spelling out the merriment. We switch from like….private dicks who frequently end sentences with…”see?” but have broken out into song…to chorus line ladies whose jazz hands cannot be contained and have spread to our shoulders (we are generally in the car.) I know the forum instructions are all.. Don’t just say things like, “It's a great song, I love it.” But I have to say that if there was going to be an entry on the soundtrack of my life that could have been summed up in such a way, to me - it is this one because…. Man I fucking love this song. Totally linking the version with the cartoon Frank and singing elves. Why the H-E-double L not? |
| Duuuuude. Someone somewhere has cast a Shakespearean style plague upon my house. I am finally better but it only serves to highlight my terrible, terrible bedside manner. But I live in one of those many houses where only husbands and kids are allowed to be sick. I wrote this Soundtrackers entry yesterday and then literally fell asleep on the couch with my fingers on the keyboard. However, the Soundtracker challenges are usually my very favorites so I am gonna post this shit anyway. "The Soundtrack of Your Life" I started thinking yesterday about what actually makes up the soundtrack of my life, with a theme of what I have been listening to over the past year, and in a haze of fever dreams and the ebbs and flows of that especially surreal semi-sleep, the answer was revealed to me. As I lay there and Husband A watched television rather than...oh, I dunno...parent or take care of their sick mother...what he was watching would permeate my sickness like a thick heavy fog. It would soak in after a few seconds of delay and cover my thoughts. For ....ever...Husband A and I have watched and rewatched and rewatched and rewatched Top Gear. And I mean ....it can play for 48 hours straight at this house before a couple of hours break for something dumb like an Ohio State game. (Husband A would hate it if I didn’t go….O-H…..) We can quote it, we can laugh at the same ass shit as last time, and we can even see tiny shit we haven't seen in the previous thousand viewings. Am I a car girl? HAHAHA. Not even remotely. I don't give a single fuck about cars. Just don't care. Have I learned many many things from Top Gear? Without question. Do they make me care about cars? Nope. But is there something about it as a whole, including the car parts? Fuck yes there is. WAIT! If anyone is reading this and thinking I mean that shoddy wannabe American version then shame on you. A plague upon your house this time. If there is no Jeremy, James, and Richard...that shit isn't fucking Top Gear. So, a clear entry on the soundtrack to my life is the opening music to Top Gear. I couldn't even fathom a guess how many times I have heard it in the last year. Whatever outrageous number I guessed would be found lacking. I am gonna link to the coolest version first. I heard the nasty shit on the radio once and realized it was a real song. I didn't even know it had words and went on past the 17 seconds or whatever. But here is that too. |
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