So a few weeks ago, one of my best friends and I went to see James Taylor at The Hollywood Bowl. I sent my usual five people a selfie Snapchat before leaving with the caption saying something about the musician. One of my best college friends responded back saying, “You are 120 years old.” Of course I cackled upon reading that, but in my head I couldn’t help but think, “I kind of am an old soul.”
And he isn’t the first one to call me out on my music taste (though he is the one who calls me out on it most often).
I’m always listening to music before work and on my break, and sometimes my coworkers catch me in the act of lip syncing or dancing around the break room. When I tell them what I’m listening to (usually 1960s/70s rock, like Creedence Clearwater Revival and The Doors), they comment on how “old” I am, but I can’t help it that I love good music.
Music was a quintessential part of my upbringing and is still a very poignant part of my everyday life. My parents, aunts and uncle introduced me to the music they grew up listening to (The Eagles, The Bee Gees), and by doing that, they instilled this deep love and appreciation for the art. And even though I was born a couple decades after the height of this music, it evokes a sense of nostalgia that’s hard to conceive.
Let me put it this way: My first concert was Billy Joel when I was 3. In the early 2000s, my aunt, my two cousins, my brother, a childhood friend and me road tripped to New Orleans and we sang every song from Queen’s Greatest Hits album. Or there was the time my whole family went to SunFest and watched Chicago and Earth, Wind & Fire absolutely kill it on stage. I have concert T-shirts from Jimmy Buffett, Santana, Bruce Springsteen and others.
These memories are why the music I listen to is so important to me.
So of course in my first semester in college, I signed up for a class about the history of rock n’ roll. To this day I’m still unsure how it covered part of my required journalism curriculum I had to do, but it was the best class I ever took. Although it didn’t focus on today’s music, it allowed me to understand where music got its start. I learned about Fats Domino, Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry, and by doing so, I learned how other artists were influenced by the great creators of jazz, the blues and rock. I can’t listen to Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens without getting teary-eyed, and Don McLean’s “American Pie” can’t be listened to the same way ever again.
This class opened my eyes (and ears) to an art I’ve always been passionate about but never really knew, and I think that’s why I’m more driven to older music than today’s artists. I know music is an ever-changing form, but there’s nothing that irritates me more than house music and whiny voices. That being said, I do think there is fantastic music, and I actually owe credit to a couple of my friends for introducing me to it. (If you’ve never listened to YEBBA’s “Evergreen,” open Spotify right now.) But sometimes I manage to find great music on my own (see: Midland’s debut album On The Rocks). I’ve been obsessed with this album for, like, two weeks now because their sound is similar to classic Southern rock, a favorite genre of mine.
Do I currently have tickets to Harry Styles’ Los Angeles show next weekend? Yes. Am I a 26-year-old about to fangirl her way through his debut album and hope and pray he sings at least one One Direction song? Yes.
Am I also about to be there early so I don’t miss a beat of Kacey Musgraves’ opening with her new album, Golden Hour? You betcha.
But go ahead and call me an old soul for having a Spotify playlist with Fleetwood Mac and Chicago on it, but there’s something nostalgic and reminiscent about this music. I think about my family (most of whom live 3,000 miles away) and the stories my parents and aunt would share with us about their “Glory Days.” It makes me feel like they aren’t “so far away.”
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