Saturday, June 11, 2011

A matter of taste

To say that I am a fan of music is a bit of an understatement. David Bowie, The Beatles and the Beastie Boys are my Holy Trinity of awesome, but my tastes are pretty eclectic. There is not a single genre that isn't represented in my collection at all, though some genres are more prevalent than others. If I had to pick a favourite album of all time, I couldn't - not even if you held a gun to my head. And even if you did scare me into giving an answer with that gun to my head, it'd out of date within a week. My "favourite" is entirely mood dependent.

I have always had a love of the written word and my love of music is just an extension of that - a love of poetry set to tunes that make the words resonate even more. On this point, The Husband and I disagree. To sum it up, his taste in music is... nonexistent. He feels that the voice is just another instrument, and in the case of say, Annie Lennox, he's right. But that's no excuse for the shit he subjects me to when he's listening to "music". Somehow I manage to love him anyway.

I was terrified that The Parasite was going to be her father's daughter in the musical realm because there is no way I could live with two of them. Luckily, she has taken to singing and has a deep and abiding need to get the words right. During my Mat Leave (which is a year here in the Great White North) we had theme days: Cuban Jazz; All Beatles, all the time; 70s punk; Rolling Stones Mondays; 0ne-Hit Wonders Wednesdays, etc. With any luck, she will develop actual taste and my ears will never be assaulted by the not-so-dulcet tones of whoever the equivalent of Justin Bieber is a decade from now. Hey, a girl can dream!