blog.Adonis.net

Another carry-over from my page at Last.fm:

Turns out you can learn all kinds of new things by blowing away your MP3 collection and listening to other peoples’ radios.

For example, I’ve discovered that stoner rock at near-deafening levels is just about perfect for here at the office, where I have a horde of really obnoxious developers sitting in the cubes behind me. All day, I haven’t heard *one* geeky argument about whether Ubuntu is better than OSX, whether C or Java would win in a cage match, or whether Libertarians get more chicks than Democrats.

There were a few minutes with Neil Young where it all came flooding in again, but then the fuzzy guitars cranked back up and all was blissful noise again.

Thanks, ‘66. I owe you one.

My musical taste, schizoid though it may be, has always been very much shaped by the people I care about. When I think about who my favorite artists have been throughout the years, I almost always associate them with the person who introduced me to them.

Take, for example, the Beatles, Cat Stevens and the Rolling Stones. When I was a small child those were just names in the stack of 33’s my mother had stashed in the linen closet at the top of the stairs. Then, one day, I got brave enough to pull out a few of those albums, and got hooked. I’d imagine my parents listening to Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, Tea for the Tillerman, or Sticky Fingers, and it made me feel very grown-up to actually be enjoying some of the same things they did. I still love them, and can’t help but think of my mother tapping her rings on the steering wheel of her gigantic sky-blue station wagon, driving my brother and me to school, every time I hear one of the songs from those albums.

Tom Jones is another example. Just out of high school, I got a job in the mail room of a law firm. I worked there with someone named Rock who became a very close friend. I later moved in with Rock and his wife, and while we spent most of our time playing things like the Cult and Pink Floyd, every once in a while we’d throw on some Tom Jones and talk about how one day we should become an act in Vegas. He could play guitar, I’d do the lounge lizard vocals, and we’d both go through legendary amuonts of Tanqueray between sets. We were never serious about it, but I still have a hard time not breaking out into a song and dance routine every time I hear It’s Not Unusual.

Joan Armatrading was introduced to me by an ex-boyfriend named Rob one night over a lot of wine and a little candlelight. While Rob turned out to be psychotic, that night was something special to me. I’m reminded of it, and all the things I liked about Rob, every time I hear Willow, or Love and Affection, or even I Love it When You Call Me Names. I also confess that I really started to love Me, Myself, I after we broke up, and I still consider it a theme song of mine.

The guy who turned me on to Pansy Division probably doesn’t know he did it. Charlie and I were talking, as we often did back when we were working for AOL in Culver City, about how his taste in music was almost stereotypically guy, and how strange that was considering that he was straight. I always found it a cruel twist of fate that, while all the bands I liked were full of straight guys who’d never give a guy like me a second look — or even a first one — he was constantly being sung to by gay guys. He seemed to be quite an authority on bands with guys who might want to sleep with me, and at one point mentioned Pansy Division. While I’ve never managed to actually get one into bed with me (if you’re reading this, Jon, call me), I’ve been listening to them ever since. I can’t help but associate them with Charlie, even though it might disturb him slightly to know I think of him when I hear songs like “Fuck Buddy” and “Cocksucker Club.”

When I think of Joni Mitchell I think about my former roommate Jerry’s pot-smoking former-hippy mom, who introduced me to “Court and Spark.” 10,000 Maniacs was a gift from my brother’s ex-girlfriend Jacque, who also gave me Squeeze. They Might Be Giants? I think of my friend Mark. My recent increased fascination with German punk bands like Die Ärzte and Die Toten Hosen? Those remind me of the other Patrick, even if he’d never listen to them himself.

Some of my favorites I’ve found myself, but the ones that remind me of the people who have meant a lot to me are the ones I seem to keep playing over and over, year after year.