Skip to main content
Books, Gifts, CultureDomestic AffairsPosts by Andy

Let There Be Rock

By September 28, 2011February 1st, 201733 Comments

I spent fifteen years after high school pretending Led Zeppelin sucked. I was apparently too cool for Everybody Knows This is Nowhere. Something happened to me when I went off to college – well, a lot of things happened to me when I went off to college, but the most egregious was that I stopped rocking my a*s off. Not that I was ever in a band or anything. The closest I came to actual shredding was air-guitaring to “Whole Lotta Rosie” with my Arthur Ashe tennis racket in the paneled family room of our house in the suburbs of Northern Virginia. But college messed me up. Suddenly, music, like the books I pretended to read (waddup, Günter Grass?!) under trees on the quad, had become social currency, a signifier of intellectual heft. Suddenly, I was into the Cure and the Cocteau Twins, 10,000 Maniacs, and a moody Scottish troubador who called himself Lloyd Cole. I took long hangover naps to the gentle strains of Talk Talk. I DJ’d a radio show and inflicted Jesus Jones on the poor souls of Western Massachusetts, whose only crime was turning on their radios on Saturday morning, hoping to hear music. By the time I graduated, I was afloat in a warm bath of ambience and interesting lyrics.

A brief history of my descent, from there: In the late nineties, Jenny and I got married, and in the inevitable process of accommodation and compromise, my musical tastes changed again — Lucinda Williams, Matthew Sweet, Norah (gulp) Jones, Sheryl (double gulp) Crow, Ryan Adams, and many others I’ve no doubt repressed – and the soundtrack of my life down-shifted into what I call Music Couples Can Cook To. Then came kids, and I’ll spare you the grisly account of how my iPod was violated over the five year period that my kids were becoming sentient beings, but let’s just say that I know a few songs by Laurie Berkner. If we ventured outside of kid music during these years, it was into territory that felt family-friendly and safe yet still adult, that – if deployed in a car traveling at 60 mph – could lull a cranky child to sleep. In other words, we’d moved into the Music That Won’t Ruin Dinner Parties phase of life. This was thoughtful, smart stuff, sung by dudes in skinny jeans; this was literature set to music. And I participated, suffering through Bright Eyes, M. Ward, Andrew Bird, Jenny Lewis, Jeff Tweedy (solo), Neko Case, Elvis Perkins, and…holy crap, I nearly fell asleep just typing that list.

Then, in 2006, I was saved.

One day at work, a friend handed me a copy of the newly-remastered Live at the Fillmore East by Neil Young and Crazy Horse. I put it on at my desk, and in the course of the COMPLETELY BRAIN-MELTING SIXTEEN MINUTE AND NINE SECOND VERSION of “Cowgirl in the Sand” that ensued, something powerful rose up from the depths. It was like having spent ten years watching decent high schoolers play pepper, and then going to batting practice at Yankee Stadium. Oh, right. So THIS is how it’s done. The shock of recognition, the glimpse of your old, pre-kid, pre-married, less Starbucks-y self: that stuff is for real. I don’t want to overstate things, but something awoke within me that day, some long-lost part of the old me who enjoyed a gratuitous guitar solo and didn’t feel like wearing a scarf or being bummed out. Interesting lyrics are interesting, but I’m borderline middle-aged, with a full-time job and two daughters and a gray crossover vehicle, and I could use something more than interesting. Down the rabbit hole I went, digging up old CDs, trolling youtube for jams, burning tons of Stones and James Brown and Led Zeppelin , ditching the singer-songwriters and diving deep into anything that sounded good loud, from the three-guitar onslaught of The Drive-By Truckers to Jack White to “Check Your Head”-era Beasties to My Morning Jacket to The Jam to, yes, Duane F’ing Allman. And here’s the thing: For the most part, the kids came right along with me. I started playing this stuff in the car, on the way to soccer games and playdates – and with rare exceptions (see: Burma, Mission Of), I heard very few complaints. Instead, I heard, when the song ended: “Again.” Instead, I saw, in the rear view mirror, during those first thirty seconds of “Custard Pie”: Abby, her window down and her hair blowing back, doing her guitar face. She couldn’t have looked happier. Because kids, instinctively, know what feels good. Don’t believe me? Put on some Mason Jennings, and then put on “Hotel Yorba,” and turn it up. See what sticks. — Andy

Rock & Roll Illustration by Phoebe.

33 Comments

  • Avatar Chris says:

    careful…

    http://www.theonion.com/articles/cool-dad-raising-daughter-on-media-that-will-put-h,26132/

  • Avatar Kristina P-M says:

    We salute you Andy! I absolutely can relate, I am an AC DC fan and my husband totally does not get it, though I have to say supportive of my obsession. I oft expose my 6 year old daughter to what he terms not so jokingly, as get wasted, misogynistic and lewd music. Ahem, ok agreed but hey at least she will have exposure to range of music as he listens to Depeche and other what I term techno 80’s music…really do we have to cater to our children constantly by playing mind numbing children’s music? I think not.

  • Avatar Caitlin says:

    Love this post, Andy. And, Chris, your Onion link above is great. Seemed eerily familiar-at an early age my Dad taught me and my brother to be rock and blues kids. He wanted to save us from bad music (listening to bad music in high school was my form of rebellion against him). At 12 I named my hamster Albert in honor of Albert King who died the day I got him. I was a little weird, but Andy’s right, kids know what’s good!

  • andy says:

    Albert King! Damn. You guys have good taste. Talk about heavy shredding.

  • Avatar amber says:

    I can’t really argue your point, however throwing a bird and m Jennings under the bus is too much for me. Depends on what your in the mood for doesn’t it?

  • ElizaBeth says:

    Rock n Roll is king at our house. Or should I say Queen since the 5 year old has mastered the Freddy Mercury poses when singing along to his favorite band. Early on I found out the only way to soothe my crying daughter was a little Ramones or even some Henry Rollins. We are all enjoying reading Louie Licks and the Wicked Snakes together- a book about a Rock n Roll kid.

  • Avatar Maria says:

    This post brings up a wonderful memory: We were home on a rainy weekday afternoon, Led’s ‘Whole Lotta Love’ was playing (a bit loudly) and I turn to catch my 2 year old head-banging. She’s 7 now and still has awesome taste in music – rock and blues all the way. I hope it carries her through the tween Beiber-type music phase!

  • Avatar Tara says:

    Hahaaaa!!! I love your writing. Period! That made me guffaw. I must be the last person to have read this post (only 3 years later). So honest.

Leave a Reply

What is 5 + 10 ?
Please leave these two fields as-is:
IMPORTANT! To be able to proceed, you need to solve the following simple math (so we know that you are a human) :-)