Those of you who know me will know about my ongoing love affair with music. Well, when it comes to music it's more like a bit of outrageous sluttery than a romantic encounter. That is to say that largely, I'm not fussy about the type although I do prefer some over others (rock could be used here as a rather laboured metaphor for redheads...but my husband has dark hair. Hmmm, more on that later)
My Spotify playlist is testimony to my musical slut fest; Ministry are on top of Matt Goss who happily spoons Macklemore whilst Lawson nestle snuggly between The Lemonheads and Living In A Box. People frown at my speakers when, after having hummed along to Bananarama's 'Cruel Summer', they are aurally assaulted by Pantera's 'Walk'. I just smile and shrug. "I like it" I offer as a form of apology as they waggle their finger in one ear trying to get rid of the shrill shrieking of temporary tinnitus.
That's another thing - having spent years behind a music shop counter, I think that my definition of what constitutes 'normal' volume has been warped. "How do you work with this racket?" I would get asked at least twice a day. I answered honestly "I don't even notice it's on" So, in my defence if I want to really hear it, it must make the wallpaper begin to slightly peel and render all outside noise inaudible. "You'll go bloody deaf!" my dad used to bawl after shouting upstairs for ten minutes. Perhaps I subconsciously decided to learn sign language based on this threat. That's another thing for future pondering.
I make no apology for my lack of music snobbery - there are very few artists whose music renders me running for the mute button. Although it is worth mentioning here that despite his fabulous sense of humour and clear all round niceguyness, Michael Buble's music makes me want to push cocktail sticks in my ears. So does Jessie J's, though I have no idea why.
Before I had children I swore that I would ensure that when I did, they had a passion for reading and for music. So far so good. Indeed, it is a gorgeous moment with my then 10 year old daughter that inspired me to write this about it. She loves music too. Loves it. Also, my 7 year old son can sing the lyrics to pretty much any song we ever have on in the house and that covers a multitude of genres and eras. One child plays the drums, one plays the guitar. Mission Love Music is currently a success.
My now 11 year old daughter is almost as tall as me. Her emotional maturity far outweighs her life experience and she exudes a confidence that I would have paid good money to have when I was 21 let alone 11. She will have a listen to pretty much anything and makes good, rationalised reasoning for why she does or doesn't like something. So, when I came home early last year and tried to find a song called 'Chocolate' that I had heard on the way home and had taken an instant liking to, she sat with me and listened as we played it all the way through on Spotify. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfBKqaVk2Co
We loved it and now, pretty much a year later we love everything else that The 1975 have since and previously released. She looked them up and learnt everything about them. She searched for clips of them on YouTube and as their popularity grew and they played more and more events, so did her favourites list on said website. The fact that their lead singer has a bit of a swagger and is, ahem, quite handsome was not lost on her. Me? I might be 41 but I love a song that sends the dopamine flooding through your body as soon as you hear the opening chord. Also, can I hear anyone say cougar?
So, tickets went on sale for a gig at The Ritz in Manchester. It would be stupid not to go right? Wrong. Initially, we didn't buy them because sadly it was admission for 14+ only and Erin was only 10 at the time. Eventually though, we knew we had to. I had sweet talked security many times in the past and was sure I could do it again if need be. Doc Marten boots, eyeliner and a beanie hat made her look older than some who were actually 14 but there was a heart stopping moment at the door. "How old are you?" one massive security gorilla asked. "14." she replied without dropping a beat. "Is that your mum?" he continued nodding at me. "Yes." still utterly deadpan. "Go on then" he smiled. And we were in. No need to state the fake birth date we had rehearsed on the way there.
Eventually, they came onto stage, everyone goes wild, it is hotter than hell, there's beer flying everywhere, a creepy guy starts to talk to her but still she is just standing, staring awe struck at the band. She sings, screams, dances and smiles constantly. It wasn't her first gig by any means but the first gig by a band who she really loved.
Fast forward to the single song encore and here finally is the point of this blog entry. We had slowly been creeping further down to the stage having initially started close to the back as it really was heaving and I didn't want to traumatise my child in a mass of people standing too close to each other with no idea of where their limbs were flailing!
She stands in front of me and turns around as the initial chords of the song 'You' start with a look on her face that, even when I think about it now, I might cry. I could try and describe it but will never capture what it said so instead I will tell you what it felt like to me. It was like the moment where everything I love about music I could see etched on her face. We stared at each other and had it been a cartoon, a line of musical instruments, treble clefs and love hearts would have left my eyes and entered hers. It was like I was passing the baton. Here - take everything I have and use it to fill your life as much as mine has been with songs that you love.
The look was gone in an instant and replaced with me frantically trying to keep an eye on her as she moved further and further forward into the heaving mass whilst simultaneously trying not to slide on errant, one hopes, pints of beer.
We went to see them again this week, an even more swaggering 11 year old daughter whose love affair with the band shows no signs of waning. Indeed, the beginnings of a little indie rock chick are hatching out. Her wardrobe is full of black skinny jeans, hats and DM boots and her playlists are starting to tilt in favour of My Chemical Romance, Bastille and Imagine Dragons.
This gig was no less eventful than the last but for a whole different reason. Details on that to follow but for now, I am going to go and make a brew and bask in the knowledge that even though she may have inherited my freakishly large earlobes she has also inherited my passion for music and that, I feel, is a worthy trade any day.
The 1975 - You
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsGp64w3XsA
And thanks to some gorgeous person who filmed the entire Ritz gig:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlYahV2Wdts
Great blog!
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