Abigail Wheetley godiva42200@yahoo.com
I listen to Broadway music. Not exclusively of course; I also listen to Carly Simon, The Beatles and Whiskey Town. One of the first questions I get asked when introduced to someone at a party is, "What kind of music do you listen to?"
I usually dance around the question as best I can. I stay out of conversations about music the same way I do about sports. I know nothing about music, and have no real attachment to the music I listen to other than that I know all the words and it gives me something to listen to when I'm doing the dishes.
I hung around with a bad crowd in high school. I could never bring myself to admit to them that I was really excited about my "They Might Be Giants" tape that I had received for Christmas.
To my friends, you weren't really punk unless you listened to undiscovered punk bands. No one mainstream, only bands that it seemed to me played on pots and pans in their parents bathroom, screaming in pain instead of singing.
I always listened politely. Who am I to judge? My assumption was that there must be something that I was missing. I also hung out with hippies who would have 10-hour-long jam sessions. I always admired their stamina and their philosophy that actually knowing how to play an instrument was not as necessary as some would think. I was invited to join, and I tried to seem enthusiastic while banging a hammer against an iron spring someone had found by the railroad tracks.
I even went to a Grateful Dead concert and hung out in the parking lot. Even now it is a wonderful memory of peace and acceptance. The only real ordeal was the music. It was like being some sort of alien or impostor. How could I admit to these beautiful, accepting people that I thought the band they had dedicated their life to was terrible and dull.
A year later, while traveling, I climbed over a fence to sneak into a Crosby, Stills and Nash concert. The lyrics sounded familiar, but I felt no need to get up and pretend that it was anything to dance to. Phish, Michael Jackson, Metallica: there has been no popular music that has interested me at all.
One day, in a shopping mall, I heard Carly Simon singing 'You're so Vain.' All I wanted to do was dance. And so I grabbed a T-shirt and ran into the nearest dressing room so that I could do just that. When I came out I called to my friends, "Don't you just love that song?"
All I got back for my enthusiasm was blank stares. "What song?" was their collective response. I didn't care and I hurried down to Plaza records to buy the CD. Again, I was greeted with a smirk and a condescending comment. Again, I don't care.
Music does not define me; it's just what I listen to. I don't ask what you read, or what television you watch. And if Star Trek and Danielle Steele are your choices in that area of your lives, I say more power to you. So don't look at me sideways when I play Weezer on the jukebox, or buy the original London cast recording of Les Miserables. It's just what I like, and that's all.
Abigail is a junior in English. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the Daily Egyptian.
Published on 11/17/05; 12:24:44 PM
