RECORD TIME!
As a kid I had no concept of how to be cool. I’d like to say that I
only knew how to be myself, but that would be putting a brave face on a
childhood that was beyond awkward. Take, for example, my participation
in the weekly “record time” session of my third grade music class. In
what I now recognize as a time-filler, our teacher invited us to bring
in records (typically siblings’ or parents’ LPs) to play for the class. I
still blush when I recall the day I submitted a Chuck Mangione record
amidst the Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac albums of my peers.
It never occurred to me that the typical 8 year old didn’t listen to smooth jazz. It was just what I was into at the time. I think I had already been to my first Mangione concert at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center. I was mortified by the sneers and eye rolling of my classmates, wanting nothing more than to leap to the front of the room and rip the record off the turntable. But it was too late. My weirdly sophisticated musical tastes were out in the open. I might as well have sprouted a second head. It’s amazing that any of those kids ever spoke to me after that.
It was only after I abandoned my hapless attempts at being cool that I truly appreciated my parents’ record collection. From an early age, listening to that eclectic array of music was one of my favorite pastimes. Sitting there with the giant, inflatable headphones on my little ears, I delighted in everything from Miles Davis to Credence Clearwater Revival and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. My parents immersed me in classical, jazz, folk, rock, bluegrass – just about everything. And later, my brother’s collection (8-tracks!) introduced me to Metal and Prog (for better or worse).
Today, with Spotify, every day can include “record time,” but the virtual sharing of music with friends is more ephemeral and low-key. I still get the occasional playful sneer when I indulge in guilty pleasures but forget to turn on “private session.” But hey – sometimes you just need a little Chuck Mangione. And sometimes you need a little Black Metal.
It never occurred to me that the typical 8 year old didn’t listen to smooth jazz. It was just what I was into at the time. I think I had already been to my first Mangione concert at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center. I was mortified by the sneers and eye rolling of my classmates, wanting nothing more than to leap to the front of the room and rip the record off the turntable. But it was too late. My weirdly sophisticated musical tastes were out in the open. I might as well have sprouted a second head. It’s amazing that any of those kids ever spoke to me after that.
It was only after I abandoned my hapless attempts at being cool that I truly appreciated my parents’ record collection. From an early age, listening to that eclectic array of music was one of my favorite pastimes. Sitting there with the giant, inflatable headphones on my little ears, I delighted in everything from Miles Davis to Credence Clearwater Revival and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. My parents immersed me in classical, jazz, folk, rock, bluegrass – just about everything. And later, my brother’s collection (8-tracks!) introduced me to Metal and Prog (for better or worse).
Today, with Spotify, every day can include “record time,” but the virtual sharing of music with friends is more ephemeral and low-key. I still get the occasional playful sneer when I indulge in guilty pleasures but forget to turn on “private session.” But hey – sometimes you just need a little Chuck Mangione. And sometimes you need a little Black Metal.
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