The Utter Joy of Not Being a Snob
Love what you love
I’m listening to a music playlist I created called All Time Favorites. It’s over 7 hours long. I’ve been consciously and deliberately listening to music since I was nine years old and a friend played Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock” for me on her glittery pink portable turntable. That song didn’t get any rotation on the easy listening radio station that played all day in my house. I was hooked. That was 50 years ago.
When Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” comes on I am immediately transported to my senior year of high school and the yearning to leave my sleepy little island home in my wake. Martina McBride’s “Independence Day” takes me to the humid summer of my divorce. I dance to Britney, sing with Milck — okay, I dance and sing to just about everything — and swoon when Shawn Mullins’ gravelly voice croons anything. Still.
I have no discernment when it comes to music.
I had some music training in my youth so I understand many of the technical aspects and recognize mastery when I hear it, but all I care about is how it makes me feel. That’s it. I listen to everything. Van Halen, Eminem, Thievery Corporation, The Clash, Billie Eilish… It’s an extensive list of genres and performers.
