Disclaimer:
When we last left off, I was disingenuously pontificating (really, is there any other way to do it?) about heroes, heroism, and sandwiches, roughly in that order.
And it only gets worse from here. But before it does, let me first provide you with a mini reward for your patience so far. Enjoy. (And even here, they can't avoid compiling a GOAT goat list.)
Anyway, the whole thing came about when I tried to shoehorn together two unrelated thoughts via a bad pun. Sadly, it's not the most desperate thing I've done.
Well, in for a penny, in for another penny, I say. So let's now look at the other side of the coin.
GOATS:
It's past time that I brought up the whole Greatest Of All Time concept, at least as it applies to albums.
And - as usual - the internet is taking a questionable-to-begin-with concept and making it even worse. Sound familiar?
I'll limit my annoyance to Twitter for now and just say that whether it's a pathetic bachelor in his pajamas/ mom's basement/fifties, or a soul-less marketing bot, both seem intent on pushing fairly lame records as GOATs, or at least underappreciated masterpieces.
Narrator's voice: But man has been thrusting his musical preferences upon his fellow man from time immemorial, and in this first scenario (let's call it "Scenario 1") Jaybee plays the protagonist/victim:
It was early in 1987 and I was minding my business at work when this otherwise nice guy (we'd bonded over the '86 Mets) marched up to me, raving about this great song I just had to hear. (Pro Tip: If anyone ever approaches you wielding that phrase, do yourself a huge favor and fake a heart attack, because you can be pretty sure you don't have to hear it.) He'd come armed with a loaded cassette player and headphones, cornered me by my desk, and insisted I listen. To this, it turned out.
Not quite 30 years old, I was into what we'd now call alternative rock. You know, jangly guitars, Michael Stipe mumbling, that sort of thing, etc. This song was slow and stately. The quivering-with-emotion vocal demonstrated excellent enunciation (something I always look for in a song). The basic melody was okay, if a bit exhausting with all the jumping from one octave to another higher one. Music as mountain climbing. Overall, the song was insisting upon itself, while my taste ran to music that was, if anything, ashamed of itself.
The Red Lady just wasn't doing it for me. I'm not saying it's a bad song. It just wasn't my jam, as the young people say. Perhaps you might like it. Maybe even love it. It might even be on your GOAT list. It just isn't on mine.
But there was my friend, staring at me, stunned by my meh reaction. He slinked away with his cassette player between his legs, shaking his head, wondering how this could possibly be, while I called out behind him "Hey, it's not you, it's me!"
Narrator's Voice: In this second scenario (which we will call "Scenario 2") Jaybee, having not really learned anything the first time around, is now the perpetrator:
It was the late 1990s, or so. I was in the backyard prepping the barbeque for my in-laws who were visiting. As usual, I had music on, and this time it was the then recently re-released, expanded CD version of what I consider the greatest album of all time: The Who Sell Out.
My niece Sara, then in her late teens, came out to the backyard to bring me barbecue sauce or a fire extinguisher, I forget which. Serendipitously, at that very moment, "Relax" - possibly the most sublime song on the album - was playing. What a moment! The best song on the best album is playing, and since music is universal we were about to experience a major musical bonding across the generations, right?
Well, I peered at her through the smoke to focus on her reaction to the song. Nothing. Maybe a wave to the fireman, but that was it. That is, until later, when, while drying off, I overheard her giving her statement "... my uncle was listening to some corny-ass music when he caught on fire".
Now, after spending these many years telling you about the music I love, I realize I'm just another guy armed with a cassette player, or in my case, a pack of hot dogs. And that your listening to my all time favorite album might only leave you perplexed / mystified. Here. Try it right now.
See what I mean? (Of course, I'm assuming you're not jumping around your house in/on ecstasy.)
Why meh? Music's universal, right? Well, I hate to tell you this, but no.
Let me repeat that: MUSIC IS NOT UNIVERSAL.
I know. You're thinking Wait just one second Jaybee! As brilliant as you are, you may have finally gone off the rails here. OF COURSE, Music Is Universal.
To which I say, no, music is barely local.
Let's take food as an example. Food is universal, right? We all have to eat, don't we? And we have figured out how to make it an enjoyable experience. But that doesn't mean we're all going to enjoy all of the same things (with the obvious exception of certain hot Italian sandwiches).
Do we all like Indian and Japanese and Thai and Mexican and Spanish, etc.? Probably not. We each have our favorite types of food, but even within those types, there are some dishes we don't care for.
So while the enjoyment of music is something that's universal. There are very few musical moments that are universal. Some songs. Maybe some albums? Bands? The only one I can think of is Sly and the Family Stone, circa 1969. And since then, we've let ourselves be split up into our different little market segments anyway, so that one barely counts. There are even Beatle-haters.
Outside of one's teens years - when our tastes are still forming - it's quite rare to hear something that profoundly changes your musical preferences. No matter how good a song may be, if it's outside our comfort zone, we're more likely to hear just the most basic formal elements (instrumentation, singing style, beat, etc.) of the genre rather than the specifics of that piece of music - and just enough of those for us to fit it into the stereotype we already have of that genre. At which point, we say "it all sounds the same". Of course it does, dummy!
My niece heard a band from the sixties singing a very sixties melody with very sixties chord changes, etc. Why would she like it? Back then she was listening to her version of the sixties, which, in her mind, is better than mine. And she is correct.
So you might ask Jaybee,what would it take for me to expand my horizons and become wise like you?
As I once told Pink Floyd before they were famous, "It takes Time."
