I knew all the lyrics to “Gloria” before I even knew who Britney Spears was.
The Jonas Brothers? Think more Bad Company.
I was dancing to “Killer Queen” well before I knew what half of that song actually meant.
When Michael Jackson died, I was 9 and I straight up cried.
“Do you listen to Boston? How about Foreigner? Led Zepplin? Billy Joel? Kansas? THE BEATLES?!” That’s what little Gabrielle asked her new friends when they talked about music. And most of the time, the answer was a solid no. They were jamming to music that actually had come out in our lifespan, but I was head-banging to the electric guitar of classic rock.
I don’t think I had “better taste” than other kids or something like that. I think I was raised on the crooning voices of the 60s, 70s, and 80s, and my taste reflects that. I’m comforted by Elton John and guitar riffs I don’t remember not knowing. For some, “Highway to Hell” by ACDC might not be soothing, but it’s a pretty quick way to relax me.
We’re shaped by our environment. I’m obsessed with classic rock because it’s the music I know the best—I don’t remember not listening to it. When I was little, that’s what my parent’s played in the car. The radio was set to “70s on 7”, unless it was getting to redundant, when we’d switch it to the 60s. I remember singing along to “Werewolves in London” with my mother and sister one late night coming home from dinner, when I was 8 or so. I wasn’t “born” with a specific affinity for classic rock; it was entirely created by the home I lived in.
Our identities are so tied to our likes and dislikes. And music, especially, creates the mood for our very life in that it’s quite literally the soundtrack to our lives. Because, at the end of the day, when I say: “I love classic rock”, I’m not saying anything about classic rock. I’m saying something about me. I’m asking for the world to understand that my point of view comes partially from Meatloaf, and ABBA, and The Doobie Brothers. I hope someone else will say they love the song “American Pie” because then maybe, maybe we have together felt the same feeling that song gives. Our feelings on music is our arm out into the world, asking: “Do you feel the way I feel? Do these notes strike a chord in you too?”
Hell yeah, I’ll tell the world that the song “Shooting Star” is one of my favorite songs, because it’s objectively awesome. But in reality, it’s one of my favorite songs because it makes me feel something, and when I talk about it, I hope someone will tell me it makes them feel something too. I’ll smile like an idiot every time someone turns on some Otis Redding, because his very voice warms my heart. A beat that reminds me of the 70s will make me jump up and dance, and it’s not just because a great drum beat makes me want to move. It’s a beat my heart want to sync up to, that pounds with familiarity and that has been used to express joy my whole life.
Someone’s taste in music is a personal testimony. Mine just has a whole lot of classic rock.
Image credits: Feature, 1, 2, 3