I've always claimed my mother's taste in music, which, in a pinch, I would describe to someone as "she don't like no pussy music." She likes the Stones and Zeppelin, Hendrix and Dylan (don't for one second think you can claim Dylan is pussy music even if it's more poetic and thoughtful). She's pounded these things into my skull and I'll always be thankful for it.
My father, on the other hand, likes the lighter fare. He listens to some country, which I abhor. He's been known to like the smooth jazz, which I can't get behind. He even likes some Beyonce, which I won't even comment on.
My dad's musical taste has always been a not-so-inside joke between my mom and I, which I know eats at my dad.
But here it is. My confession that he may or may not ever get to see.
I listen to Bonnie Raitt because of my father. I like Bonnie Raitt. A lot. I just remembered this. I remember this one day when he took me to work with him in his red Mitsubishi sports car in 1991 and played a Bonnie Raitt record the entire way to Las Colinas. I listened to "Not the Only One," originally written by an Irish dude, like 25 times. True facts, I just listened to it another 25 times much to the chagrin of Lauren.
This is, of course, a microcosm of my main point. I have my dad to thank for the other side of me that loves the lighter stuff. The guy who loves Azure Ray, Tracy Chapman, and Billy Joel has Bill Warren genetics to thank. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Word life.
So, remember this, Dad, the next time I bust your chops for blasting Shawn Colvin in your car, remember that deep down, I'm closing my eyes and singing "Sunny Came Home" as loud as I possibly can.
But I'll probably call you a pussy.
"Not the Only One"
Bonnie Raitt
Hashtag Blessed, Basically
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I blog less when I'm happy. A lot less. I think that's true of everyone,
really. You're too busy experiencing the moment and spend a lot less time
moaning...
10 years ago