Songs in My Head

{Photo courtesy: Apple}

Since I left my job to stay at home full-time, I have found that music is becoming a bigger part of my day.  And it’s so nice to be able to hear it at times other than during the rush-hour commute.

For the most part, that is.  There are a few distinct problems.

First:  What’s Old is New Again.  But Not in a Good Way.

Can we talk about this phenomenon of adult music being re-purposed for kids?  You know — at the kid gym places, the birthday party domes, etc.  In such places, I’m increasingly finding that they take songs from my past and bubble gum them up into kid-friendly versions that make my spine contract in pain.

Maybe it’s a problem of associative memory, because here’s what happens.  I’ll be at the kiddie gym class with my one year-old, and one of these songs will start playing.  And in my head, I am taken back to its original version and related flashbacks, which inevitably involve a college party, a late night at a bar or other bad behavior of my youth.  It’s like an out of body experience.   This is what I see.

{Song playing}

Present:  My child playfully climbing up a mat.  Or maybe jumping on a trampoline.

Past:  Kegs.  Questionable choices in men.

Present:  Yoga pants, hair in ponytail.  Clapping along to chipper little song with the class.

Past:  Tight jeans, hair firmly intact.  Fumbling for Marlboro Lights with the hand not holding a dollar beer in a plastic cup.

{My kid falls off of trampoline}

These two worlds colliding really screws me up and I’m not sure how I can be expected to parent effectively in this moment.  If I have a mullet or a can of PBR on my mind, how can I keep my kid from taking a header in her gym class?  This is downright unsafe.  So let’s just stick with the Disney soundtrack or any bad Top 40 songs written after I became a responsible adult.  OK?

Second:  The Car Radio — A Place for Life Lessons?

These days, I find myself in the car a lot more to fulfill my domestic goddess responsibilities (note:  I have no affiliation with Charlie Sheen’s goddesses).  This means unprecedented exposure to the car radio.  And some bad music.  Not to sound all AARP with “How do these kids listen to this shit?” — but really — I don’t know how else to ask the question.

So I feel some obligation to expose my kids to better music, since it’s such a big part of what P and I enjoy.  I’m not talking about extremes.  I didn’t play classical music for them in utero, and I’m not looking to begin a formal musical education here but — all things considered — I think I’d rather have them hear some Led Zeppelin over Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry.

This presents some obvious ethical concerns, since I’m not ready to tell them the meaning of Black Dog just yet.

Here’s a brief sampling of songs that, in the past week, I’ve found myself singing along with — loudly — while my 1 and 4 year-old sat in the back:

• Helter Skelter
• Personal Jesus
• Bizarre Love Triangle
• Whole Lotta Love
• Son of a Preacher Man
• Welcome to the Jungle
• Captain Jack

It’s not really a wholesome collection to build good moral fiber in a child.  Thankfully, nobody in the back seat is asking me what any of them mean — yet.  But, to be honest, it wouldn’t be any easier to explain Miley.  I’m still confused by the whole dual persona Hannah Montana thing and feel she should seek therapy.  But her inevitable descent into hallucinogenic drugs — now there’s a lesson for you kids.  And Katy Perry, you lost me a long time ago.  I just don’t understand you, your boobs, your husband or your paycheck.

Third:  The Grocery Store Needs a DJ.  Now.

It’s not that I didn’t go to the grocery store when I was still working.  We did have food in the house.  Somehow, I now notice the grocery store music more, and here is my assessment. 

It’s unfuckingbelievably bad. 

Marketers of America, I implore you to unite and fix this — because I can’t make an informed purchase with this root canal soundtrack in my ears.  Note to Shop Rite:  People under 89 are in your market.  And their ears are melting off of their skulls. 

To illustrate my point, I jotted down every song I heard in the grocery store today along the side of my shopping list.  I swear, this is 100% what I heard:

• Never Be The Same (Christopher Cross)
• Time in a Bottle (Jim Croce)
• Just the Two of Us (Bill Withers)
• So Far Away (Carole King)
• For Your Eyes Only (Sheena Easton)
• Everybody’s Talkin’ (Harry Nilsson — you know, that song from Midnight Cowboy)
• I Can See Clearly Now (Jimmy Cliff)
• On My Own (Patti LaBelle & Michael McDonald)

Are we shopping or are we dialed into a suicide hotline?  I could barely choose a yogurt over LaBelle and McDonald moaning at each other about being split apart.  I almost developed lactose intolerance on the spot in aisle nine. 

And, just when I could take no more…Just when I started robotically purchasing random items as a side effect of auditory abuse — like pimiento loaves, Jello molds, Hostess Snoballs and the religious candles in the Goya section…

Lost in Love (Air Supply).

That was it.  With the vision of those Aussie perms firmly in my head, as well as an unprecedented and melodramatic remorse for cheating on my ninth grade boyfriend, I grabbed my final item of necessity (which may or may not have been the new issue of Us Weekly) with urgency and checked out of the Den of Music Hell Shop Rite.

Look.  I’m not saying you need to be all things to all people with the grocery store music.  We don’t need Bieber Pasta Night.  Or Hip Hop Produce Day.  But, for the love of all that is holy, can’t we find something less nail-in-the-coffin?  It’s not soothing.  Do I seem soothed?  I’m all out of sorts at home now and staring at my wonky groceries.

But my husband will probably like the Snoballs.  He eats like a frat boy.

So.  It seems that the kids’ gym/activity place, the car and the grocery store are the Bermuda Triangle of good music.  Where is my safe place?  

And, more importantly, how can I make sure my kids like good music?  Because if they don’t, we can’t hang out at family weddings together.  We can’t take enjoyable road trips.  This is my parental responsibility.  My mother and father did this for me, and I am eternally grateful.  If I do my job right, one fine day, my kids will ask me to play The White Album for them.

That day will come.  And when it does, my husband will be so happy to page me at my Shop Rite DJ gig to report the good news.