Listening In

As you might have ciphered by now, we listen to a lot of music. We listen to music the way most Americans watch TV, which is to say, it’s almost always on, even if we’re not really paying attention.

The boys are big into music. Rye doesn’t play much but listens a lot. Fin listens a lot and plays his guitar frequently. He’s not big into structured practicing, although the other day I was walking across the field and I could hear him running through the opening riff to Crazy Train time and time again. I couldn’t help smiling. I love that riff.

Obviously, my tastes are eclectic. I like the old time stuff; lately, I’ve been listening to the Steel Wheels a whole lot and loving it. They’ve got a really nice old time/gospel/folk thing going on. I like good ole rock n’ roll, and particularly literate, story-telling rock n’ roll like Isbell or James McMurtry or the late, great Jason Molina and his band Magnolia Electric Co. That’s some fine song writing, right there. Or how ‘bout them Wrinkle Neck Mules? And Fred, of course. And I still like the heavy stuff, the vintage Metallica and Motorhead and Bad Brains that saw me through my teen years. I’ll spare you those links.

What don’t I like? Jazz. Don’t get it at all. Rap. Not my thing. Mainstream country and pop don’t ring my bell, either. Not a big reggae fan. Too bouncy and stoned.

Penny likes most of the same stuff I do, though she’s sadly lost her taste for head banging. She likes some stuff I really can’t stomach, like James Taylor and a few other simpering mewlers. Oh well. No one’s perfect.

Fin’s definitely drawn toward rock, but he loves the old time stuff, too. In addition to the new Waylon Speed, he’s been listening to a lot of AC/DC recently, learning some of those simple, chunky blues riffs they use. Interestingly, he seems to be losing his affection for the really fast stuff. “Can you turn that down, Papa?” he asks when I dial up something like Ace of Spades. I can’t really blame him; that stuff’s really obnoxious if you’re not into it.

Rye’s not into anything heavy. He’s ok with good, literate rock, but I can tell he barely tolerates the louder stuff. If he had his druthers, it’d be Sheesham and Lotus, Steel Wheels, and Fred pretty much forever.

We all like live music. At least a few times each year, we find a good live show and stay out ‘til the wee hours. Penny and I like to point out to the boys that they’re almost always the only kids in attendance. We then wait for them to gush with gratitude for their wickedly hip parents, but for some reason, this never happens. They just shrug their shoulders, as if it’s perfectly natural that their parents would bring them along.

Hell, I don’t know. Maybe it is.