Something that has always fascinated me is how our decisions impact not only the paths we take in life but the people who fill our lives and the interests we surround ourselves with. I can be swept up in “What If” land all afternoon contemplating if I didn’t do this or go here, I wouldn’t have met (fill in the blank) and then none of this would have happened (rattle off long list of milestone moments and events). This weekend, I was particularly reminded of that because there aren’t many people who would humor me and spend much of an afternoon completely restructuring the The Rock Hall of Fame and its membership, all according to our own personal tastes, for no other purpose but personal satisfaction. But my husband is one such person who can not only take on those fun ‘what if’ questions but join me in the adventure and having fun doing it.
That’s right, on Monday, our day off, while people in other parts of the country were enjoying the nice weather and we were at home watching the latest developments of Hurricane Dorian on the TV watching it slow down and do terrible things to the Bahamas and selfishly thanking our lucky stars that it wasn’t doing the same to us, hubs and I filled up our time and our minds with visions of rock and roll music and all the people we would celebrate if only WE were in charge.
I know for some people reading this, it sounds like a real boring afternoon. To others, it probably sounds foolish or a major waste of time. But for those of you who love music as much as we do, I think there will be at least a small group of you who might wish they were a fly on the wall or taking part in the conversation with us.
One thing that has always connected my husband and me is our passion for music. We share a lot of the same tastes in music, but not fully. Both huge Beatles fans with an appreciation for the early stuff — him, more a fan of Elvis and me moreso Buddy. He digs the folk singers more — me, I appreciate the crooners, the Sinatra, Darren and Nat King Coles of the bunch. He definitely has an affection for Bob Dylan that I’ve never had though I appreciate his songwriting ability. He’s a child of the 60s and I am a child of the 80s, and while we both love each other’s decade of music we grew up with, we’re obviously more tied to our own decades, so of course I’m going to have a stronger bond with my fellow Duranies, GoGos and Depeche Mode fans.
The best part about hailing from different generations of music is that we have also taught one another about our own generation’s music. For example, because of him I now truly appreciate artists like The Byrds, Neil Young, and Johnny Cash much more than I did before he came along. Similarly, I broadened his interest in artists like REM, Madonna and U2 to a greater degree. We also came to discover artists together new to us like Elvis Costello, Brandi Carlile and Sheryl Crow. He will always appreciate Harry Chapin far more than I ever could, but he will never strike interest in my collection of Pink Floyd or Fiona Apple, and that’s okay. After all, there are far more artists and similarities we share when it comes to our philosophies on life, love, politics, religion and all those other topics you can’t have a weak stomach to discuss, so that more than makes up for his dislike of Pink Floyd. Even if he is wrong about them. And Fiona Apple. Especially Fiona Apple.
It is a rare find to stumble upon a person who “gets” you — understands your passions and interests to the same degree as you, whether it is a good friend, a love interest or in time, a spouse. I’ve built strong connections with good friends over the years, some who I feel lucky enough to say I’ve remained in touch with for over 30-35 years. But I’ve never had the kind of connection in friendship that the two of us share, strong enough that we can sit across from each other at the dining room table and scroll year by year through the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees, and with a straight face mind you, announce the names of those we cast out of the Great Hall who we do not deem as worthy and the replacements to earn their grand thrones.
Yes, we really take this imaginary shit seriously.
In closing, I wish to extend a hearty congratulations to Carly Simon, the Turtles, the Doobie Brothers, Diana Ross, Pat Benatar, Guess Who, Cher, the B-52s, Foreigner, Steppenwolf, Procol Harum, Joe Cocker, Jay & the Americans, Depeche Mode, Kool & the Gang, the Commodores, Gordon Lightfoot, Carole King, Barbra Streisand, Tommy James & the Shondells, Dionne Warwick, Lesley Gore, Barry White, Lionel Ritchie, Whitney Houston, the Go-Go’s, Bad Company, Bryan Adams, Phil Collins, Duran Duran, Paul Revere & the Raiders, Cyndi Lauper, Boston, Melissa Etheridge, Mariah Carey, the Monkees, and dozens of others who have finally earned that coveted roost, a spot upon the grand walls inside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame — at least according to me. Or according to my hubs — or both of us. For one day only! (Yikes, this is beginning to read like a used car dealership radio spot…)
Congratulations to all of you. I do hope one day the actual organization and its members will recognize all music, as it claims it does, and come to terms with the fact that being commercially successful does not take away from an artists’ value. It only enhances it. As always thanks for reading. ~ Chris K.
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