Music; "Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins"

       

           My knowledge of music began in the form of records and tapes.  Dad would thumb through his collection, as Mom would wait intently.  She would either vote "yes" or "no"; as a small child, I didn't get a vote.  On occasions, I can remember Dad putting in a tape of his desire and throwing on these gaudy, avocado green, headphones that covered his ears and then some.  Of course, as a young child, I wanted to be just like my Daddy.  He would indulge me and allow me to wear the esteemed, avocado green, headphones.
          As I grew and learned the ins and outs of the stereo-system,  I would put on my parents music and listen to it myself.  I remember those nasty looking headphones bringing me such clarity of sound.  I would lay on the living room floor all by myself with the headphones on; I would lay there, close my eyes, focus on the music, the beat, the words, and be enveloped by the sound.  I came to appreciate many different genres of music through this.  When Mom cooked, we listened to music.  When Dad relaxed, we listened to music.  We. Just. Listened to music.
          My first memorable tape was Nirvana's Nevermind.  I came into possession of this by pulling one over on the neighbors dad at Meijer.  I was in 2nd grade.  GRUNGE.   I felt like a dirty 7 year-old  smuggling that tape in with the cover of a baby and his penis.  This was the first album that was mine; MY music.  This was a simple precursor for what was to come.
          I became a writer of poetry at age 10.  Songs would either inspire me to write or would accompany me as I wrote.  After all, music is poetry of the mind and heart put to a tune.  As I grew older and moved through different emotions and experiences, the music that I listened to started to put to words what I could not.  Music served as my voice in a mind filled with questions; it served as my answers as well.  Bare in mind that all this was before the digital age.  During these times, we knew the album names, we had the next song on the album playing in our heads as the current one was fading; we knew the character of the album.  Some albums became our friends.  We would know them deeply and rely on them in difficult times.  I sought my albums many times for answers unknown.
          All I needed was a song to give someone.  Even if it was something like Ice Cube's You Can Do It, I knew what I was giving would make my friend dance, rap, or whatever else some adolescent white kid would do with a song like that.  I made CD's for everyone in my life.  My writing wasn't the best gift I could give someone; music on a CD seemed eternal.
        Video didn't kill the radio star; digital music almost has.  We no longer know the names of albums, let alone the CHARACTER of an album.  I'm hard put to learn the words to song now.  We are in an era where our attention span is short at best.  A song begins and we immediately skip to something a bit better, and then something else better.  I miss the days where songs sank into my soul.  It didn't matter whether or not they had any great meaning; they were with me.  My adolescents is soaked in songs, albums, verses, words.
          As technology progresses, I can't help but wonder what love of music I will be able to pass on to my instantly gratified, (digital) kids.  Will they ever know the satisfaction of listening to an album from beginning to end?  Will they ever know the art and character infused in to the production of an album? I won't begin with those avocado colored headphones, but I most certainly will sit with my children while they connect with the wonderment that is in a piece of art that is known as music.