I am seriously about one Jason Mraz song away from a huge Boo-Hoo-Hoo. Nothing is wrong– in fact, I almost have no complaints, but I like to cry. I am a person who needs a good cry every quarter (at least) just to keep my pipes clean and my soul refreshed. I need my quarterly cry (“MQC”) to feel lighter and more alive and more connected to myself. If the snot doesn’t fling out of my nose, it doesn’t count as one of MQC. But I can’t eek the tears out without a little musical lubrication. I don’t need the full Celine Dion treatment, but a little Bonnie Raitt or Cowboy Junkies would do just fine.
Here’s the problem. I can’t get to the cathartic MQC while listening to songs about a mulberry bush or a fabled “Big Rock Candy Mountain.” “Turkey in the Straw” is not going to do it. I need tear-jerking, broken-dreams and broken-hearts music. In short, I need adult music, but it’s very hard to come by in my house (or my car).
Tonight, during our “wind down” time, I tried to tap into the reservoir of feeling that lies just beneath the haunting melody of “She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain” or the somber subtext of Sadie’s favorite, “Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.” Nothing stirred inside of me except for a ripple or two of rage against these insipid songs that I hear about 27 times a day. I have no one to blame but myself, because I bought the CDs at Target, in what can only be described as a moment pure lunacy. “Hey, this will be so fun to listen to after dinner.” Right. It was a three-CD set. How bush league am I?
Thanks to all of you for the head’s up about the inanity children’s music.
Maybe you could explain the following to me.
How come my kids covet my shoes:
They covet my purses:
They steal my food, my lipstick, my Costco box of feminine supplies, my peppermints, my headbands, my fingernail polish, and anything else that isn’t nailed down or put on a shelf over 5 feet tall . . .
But, they never, ever want to listen to MY music?
I’m sorry, my precious offspring, but you find Damien Rice too inscrutable? I am sorry it’s not as transparent as “Skid-a-ma-rink-a-dink-a-dink,” since everyone knows what that means.
You don’t like Lionel Richie’s timeless ballad, “Ballerina Girl”? It’s “too commercial” for you guys? I guess we can throw all those Gymboree CDs away then, since those are just a series of commercial jingles for over-priced kid “classes” taught by manic 20-somethings who can’t get jobs singing on cruise ships.
Just once, I would like to sit around after dinner and roll out some gems from Robert Earl Keen, Nanci Griffith, The Cure, or Adele. If my children insist on singing about trains, let’s try some Woody Guthrie or Peter, Paul & Mary. If they are dead set on singing about farm animals, surely there are Nicki Minaj songs that are close enough. If they want to sing about rain and spiders, I bet Fiona Apple could do in a pinch.
Where’s the middle ground? Who’s the artist that can bridge the gap between “C is for Cookie” and “Cop Killers”? Mama needs her MQC by June 1 and sobbing over my kids’ age-appropriate taste in music is not going to cut it.