The brave souls: Those who taught me about music
We judge each other so heavily on our music tastes. It is a label, a descriptor that allows others to quickly assess someone new. It’s seen as something personal that ascribes you to a certain sect. But when it comes down to it, music taste, at least for me, is a composite of all those people close to me. My music taste is an assorted array of all the things I’ve stolen from the people generous enough to share. So this is dedicated to those who helped me and those who continue to help me:
Warner
It wouldn’t be a proper dedication if I didn’t discuss the person who began my entire musical evolution. A scrawny little four-eyed boy who spent his free time sketching Jemaine from Flight of The Conchords and Dwight from The Office, Warner was the love of my 12-year-old life. I followed his every word, and with him, most of the words were about music. From Mumford and Sons (before they were popular, of course, Warner wouldn’t have listened if he didn’t think he was the only one) to the Wombats and weird alternative hip-hop, Warner showed me that music wasn’t cut and dry chords crammed into similar sounding vocals. Warner showed me music that made you think, that made you cringe and that made you feel awkward.
My dad
My mom was a Berkeley activist with a laundry list of illegal things done in the name of anti-war
advocacy. I don’t have the word count to explain. But when it came to the parent who taught me about the music that came before, it wasn’t the free lovin’ hippie, it was the small town boy from Ohio. My dad showed me the classics. But never because they were legendary but because they were personal to him. When we listened to Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” it wasn’t because it was Springsteen, it was because it was the story of my dad’s life. When we listened to “Card Cheat” by the Clash, it wasn’t to educate me on Joe Strummer, it was because the song made my dad cry.
My sister
Siblings often borrow clothes, make up, even boys (according to most family sitcoms I’ve seen). My sister is six years older than me, so my tiny little 10-year-old body never tried to fit into her post-puberty physique’s clothes, and I wasn’t one for make-up when I was younger. Instead, I took from my sister in the form of iTunes. Much of my early iPod was filled to the brim with whatever albums I could scrounge up from her recently purchased on the family plan — The Hot Hot Heat, Arcade Fire, Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin.
Before Spotify hit our family, it was my sister’s leftovers that kept me sane on walks to class, rides on the bus and quiet time in my room.
My boyfriend
Although he came into my life rather recently, my boyfriend served an important purpose. Apart from buying me chocolate on Valentine’s Day, he brought me back to my roots. Coming off of an internship at Billboard, my mind functioned in the mainstream pop world. It’s a world that I will always love but it’s not the only world I like to be in. But after so many months of focusing on the Top 20 and their associated drama, my boyfriend came in and reminded me what else there was. From reminding me of the bands I used to love to showing me ones I would come to love just as much, the indie rock part of my heart came back. More
than that, I began to
appreciate music on new levels. Where before I related to lyrics and loved to sing along, my boyfriend challenged me to listen to songs for their sound and their noise and not just the message. It wasn’t the direct feelings but the underlying musical emotions.
So here’s to them and the many others who gave me what they had and let me shape it as my own. I can’t say thank you enough.
Recommended Playlist:
“I Don’t Like Mondays”
– The Boomtown Rats
“Two Way Monologue”
– Sondre Lerche
“Movin’ To New York”
– The Wombats
“These Few Presidents”
– Why?
“Leaves in the River”
– Sea Wolf
“The Stars Are Projectors”
– Modest Mouse
“Everything Louder Than Everyone Else”
– Meatloaf
“Two Years Before the Mast”
– Astronautalis
“Soldier in a Box”
– Hot Hot Heat
“Love Interruption”
– Jack White
Malorie McCall is a junior majoring in philosophy. Her column, “Mal’s Mix,” runs on Fridays.