On Classical Music, Heavy Metal, and Parenting :: Non-Fiction Essays

On unstained Music, Heavy Metal, and Parenting You know, much to my parents chagrin, I used to hate classical music. In retrospect it makes perfect sense. I would get up on weekends, and when Id come downstairs, instead of being whisked away by the light, gay strings of The Red Priest, I would instead be jolted perk up by the sound of my dogs howling. Soon thereafter we got a second dog, and then, not only were the decibels doubled, but the howling of two dogs would smash together as their respective sound waves mingled. Maybe I neer same(p)d the music itself. Too soft, too boring. However, Ill conveniently exempt myself of guilt and say that I hated the music because it was too oftentimes complemented by the throbbing beat of my dogs objection. I mean really, dogs deport no shame. I took piano lessons for six years. Rather, they made me take them. This was not a voluntary undertaking. Ironically enough, that seemed to help precise little to further what should have been lo ve for the classical. No, I wasnt studying Jazz piano. I was very much ensconced in the works of Bach, Chopin, Bartok and the like. I practiced a lot. I suppose that I should also mention the fact that I couldnt play the instrument, and that my technical control over it wasnt worth a damn. My teacher, who was and still is a wonderful woman, would sign me up for piano examinations. They were like aptitude tests. I would play before a judge, and in auxiliary to memorizing and playing a few pieces, I would also be asked to shaft out scales and progressions that I was expected to know. Which I didnt. It was hard to become hearty of such music when I began to associate it with recitation, obligation, and the cruel, brutally honest creative thinker of my abilities, that glorious, ripe fruit of my toils. I think the judges would pass me because they felt up sorry for me. My musical tastes went through a few unfortunate years. My parents openly refused to take my musical sensibility se riously. They thought I was a joke, and with unfluctuating stubbornness, and I suppose ignorance, I would pitch my nose in the air, imperativeness no no, this really is good music. In an effort to distance myself from what I thought was the pretentious, classical bore, I moved to the other side of the continuum, and discovered grunge and alternative rock, a musical genre that deliberately essay to be non-musical and crude.