I discovered a love for music around the age of six and it came from an unusual source. Next to my bed was the craziest device I could have imagined. It was a digital clock with a radio built into it – speaker and all. Spending hours twisting the side-mounted dial, I gravitated toward what would become a lifelong obsession. Rock and roll!
My clock radio let me go from station to station, ingesting all walks of music. I couldn’t believe the vastness of styles traveling through the airwaves. But my ears would perk up when rock and roll spilled from that tiny speaker. I’d roll up the volume, causing my clock radio to vibrate on the small table. Alas, it just wouldn’t fill my room the way my father’s stereo would.
Music was frequently playing throughout our house. My father had a cabinet full of albums from classical to Broadway musicals. Like me, he preferred his music to be loud. I had yet to discover my favorite rock music was also available on those big vinyl discs, but I did recognize that my music was very different from what filled our living room. Finally, I had to ask.
I was a child. Ill equipped to handle his answer. As the words spilled from his mouth my heart sank and a strange chill rushed through me. I didn’t cry, but I was upset. Shocked. Blindsided. It was one of those intense and profound moments that sticks with you for the rest of your life.
“Hey Dad, how come you don’t listen to rock music?”
He told me that he used to but began to prefer classical music as he got older. He assured me that this happened to most people as they age. They begin to like classical music.
Wait! Hold up! My young mind spun wildly. Would “Detroit Rock City” one day succumb to a randomly numbered concerto? Could Beethoven’s 9th Symphony rile my insides the same way “Misty Mountain Hop” did? Would the likes of Schubert or Strauss cause me to dismiss the vast diversity of The Beatles, Deep Purple, and Aerosmith? I had my doubts, but my father was a smart man and as far as I knew, he’d never been wrong.
I dug in with all I had. Determined to soak up everything rock and roll had to offer. My introduction to record stores was life altering. I loved buying records and having a tangible thing I could hold in my hands. From the artwork to the liner notes, it became an experience far beyond simply listening to music. After all, I never knew when this classical music affliction might strike. Perhaps when I became a teenager. If I was lucky, maybe I could hold out until I was really old, like thirty (see what I did there?).
I’ve never liked classical music and shortly after becoming a teenager my classical fears waned as I discovered Punk and Heavy Metal. Music is a universal language regardless of the genre.
Decades after my father instilled fear in me regarding my future passion for rock and roll, I was in a bookstore, and a man approached me. He looked to be in his seventies and wearing a black Iron Maiden T-shirt. As he passed, I told him I liked his shirt. He smiled and thanked me. I like to think we’d both beat the odds and still loved rock and roll.
During his latter years, my father and I had an on-going, good-natured argument about our musical differences. Pointing out that childhood favorites of mine, like Kiss, Van Halen, and AC/DC were still releasing new records, I’d tell him that today’s classical musicians rarely create new works. Instead, they often play centuries old music which makes them seem more like cover bands. He’d laugh and long conversations ensued.
I miss those conversations with my father and Detroit Rock City’s intro still gives me chills. Rock on, my friends!
By CapeCod.com Staff
