Deliver Me from Light Rock Radio

I had a revelation in the car the other day. A small one but a revelation none the less. It was this: I am listening to light rock radio. Yes, it’s true. How did this happen? I’m not even a radio person. Was I somehow being brain-washed through the air waves? Highly possible. Does the bearing of children render one’s taste in music bland and conventional? Likely. Am I just merely old? Well, that would a resounding NO! Still, I felt like an old, conventional, brainwashed light rock listening fool.

I’ve never even liked the radio. During the 80’s in my music loving teen years any song on the radio was like too much cotton candy followed by gallons of strawberry soda. When everyone else was Walking on Sunshine (the absolute worst song ever—why do people like this song? The very existence of it offends me), I was Blistering in the Sun or going through Ch-ch-changes waiting for Love to Tear Us Apart Again. I also wasn’t Walking Like an Egyptian or feeling Like a Virgin—um, yeah. Well, you get the idea. I wasn’t listening to the radio.

Like most teens, I felt like an alien. Music was such an outlet. I felt that someone else in the world knew what I was thinking, knew what I was feeling and put these seemingly deviant thoughts to driving drumbeats, funky bass lines and raging guitar riffs. The songs said things I couldn’t say or things I wish I’d said. They were sometimes funny, sometimes sad or scary or just mundane but always true. Not superficial or cheesy like say The Greatest Love of All but really true like Too Drunk to F***. Now that’s something to sing about.

So how I found myself driving in my car listening to bland light rock radio is beyond me. It’s the same 20 songs playing over and over with maybe one new song thrown in every once in a while to keep it interesting. The most remarkable thing is how non-offensive this music is. Mostly, I don’t even notice it. I often can’t tell you the name of the song, who sings it, what the lyrics are or even what the songs are about even though I’ve heard them at least 100 times in the last month alone. How sad.

So when did I give up? Is it really because there are kids in the car? Is it because the music the last 10 years has been so awfully horrendously bad? Because my mind is on other, seemingly more important things? Or because I think that grown-ups don’t listen to that kind of music? Maybe all of the above, but I do know that I feel dull and uninspired and well, kind of old.

If this is being a grown-up, being a responsible person, I want none of it.

So I try an experiment. No more radio—particularly when the DJs’ idea of humor is making fun of how people spell their names (how old are they anyway? Is this high school?). I put in the new Green Day CD. It’s loud and hard and angry and I love it. Sing it Billy Joe—I love you, you skinny makeup wearing rock star! Why does that type do it for me (much to the chagrin of my husband who is nothing of the sort)? Don’t know, don’t care. Ooh, or Beck. Funky, funny and also skinny with that surprisingly mellow voice. Or Ben Folds who sings about really heart -wrenching stuff but you have to listen close because the music is so happy he couldn’t really be singing about mental illness. Could he?

I know all the parts now where I have to turn down the sound because even though I don’t want to be a grownup, I’m still a mother and don’t want my kids repeating the F word back to me with the excuse that they were just singing American Idiot. I used that one on my mother, I know how it works. But a minor glitch easily solved. My soul sings! It’s not dead. And it works for the classics, too. David Bowie (always a good idea), The Clash (who can go a year without London Calling?) and The Cure (hey, we all have angst and it’s fun to sing falsetto, wail, whatever). What the hell took me so long?

The best part though is when my daughter says “Mom, turn it up. I love this song.” Now that’s music to my ears.