The path through which I have walked with music has at times been broad and spacious, giving ample room along the way to meander here and there through the variegated patches of green and gold; at times cramped and directed by clear markers, posted as reminders of where I was and where I'm going; and at other times blocked completely, stopping me cold on a path mute of all manner of bird and beast. Shifting in sight and sound along its route, this path has always reflected a larger world to me, where the landscape is either fogged by trial or illuminated by joy.
I had the chance along this path to look backward with my father, whose oldies revealed to me a vista of beaches with surfboards and classic cars. The Beach Boys and Chuck Berry shared this space, alongside artists like the Monkees and the Beatles. We peered long at this landscape, for this was where my father had grown up. Along with the old shows found on "Nick at Night," this anachronistic thrust into the past impressed on me the notion that the 1950s, 60s, and 70s were an ideal time to be alive, and in that way allowed me to share my father's nostalgia. Of course, even the music itself told that the 1960s and 70s especially were not ideal years to live, with songs like Credence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" and Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" expressing the turmoil of the Vietnam War. While I looked back on this path with my father, though, it mattered more that I believed they were.
Over time, though, I needed to strike out on my own. So it was in my junior high school years that I turned to face the present, and began to wade in my inexperience through the thick foliage of Christian contemporary music, of artists like Carman and DC Talk, whose songs pealed through the speakers of our local roller-skating rink on Christian skate night and gave me the impression that Christian living-- with cassette-taped songs like Carman's "Satan, Bite the Dust" and the Newsboys' "Real Good Thing"-- meant war and guilt. Apparently, I didn't pay the same attention to more hopeful songs, like "Shine." To paint a picture of the awkwardness of these years, it might suffice to say that it was during them, and at this same roller-skating rink, that I was summarily denied a request to couples-skate with a kind girl whose acquaintance I made through school. Like many in junior high school, this was a time of growing independence, of exploring values and beliefs. The path during this time, then, was overgrown with self-doubt, and I could not see my own feet.
I saw them again in high school, however, as the foliage of my confusion about life thinned and the path on which I had struck out grew somewhat wider, and where my traipse grew into a reluctant but rhythmic stride. Here, I was exposed to different varieties of music, which included the burgeoning grunge and alternative rock planted on this part of the path by the likes of Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden, but adapted and cultivated by artists like the Dave Matthews Band and the Wallflowers. It was then, too, that I paced through that parallel path hewn and cleared by Christian alternative bands like Jars of Clay. At the end of these undulated lanes, however, was a veritable fork in the road; and while I could very well bestride both musical worlds by going one way, I chose instead to focus on my studies, and walk in near silence by the other. One exception to this brought me into unexpected beauty along the lanes of big band, as I learned to dance to the orchestral goodness of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, and others. While narrow, this quieter path gave me clear direction as I focused on school.
Such silence could not last, however, and the path inevitably expanded into a relative boulevard as I experienced a musical renaissance some time after school ended and into my career. While my musical experience is still lacking in many regards, I found growing pleasure in wandering through the more diverse terrain of Mozart, Switchfoot, and Maroon 5. This wider path became the culmination of all former ones combined, and I suppose this is the path I am walking now. Like life, the boundaries of our paths through music are set by the experiences-- in this case, musical exposure-- that we allow ourselves to encounter, and by the ways in which we avoid, meet, or even trespass upon those boundaries. Like many other boundaries in life, it is our attitude toward them that helps determine our vision of just how beautiful the songs and sounds of life truly are.
I had the chance along this path to look backward with my father, whose oldies revealed to me a vista of beaches with surfboards and classic cars. The Beach Boys and Chuck Berry shared this space, alongside artists like the Monkees and the Beatles. We peered long at this landscape, for this was where my father had grown up. Along with the old shows found on "Nick at Night," this anachronistic thrust into the past impressed on me the notion that the 1950s, 60s, and 70s were an ideal time to be alive, and in that way allowed me to share my father's nostalgia. Of course, even the music itself told that the 1960s and 70s especially were not ideal years to live, with songs like Credence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son" and Buffalo Springfield's "For What It's Worth" expressing the turmoil of the Vietnam War. While I looked back on this path with my father, though, it mattered more that I believed they were.
Over time, though, I needed to strike out on my own. So it was in my junior high school years that I turned to face the present, and began to wade in my inexperience through the thick foliage of Christian contemporary music, of artists like Carman and DC Talk, whose songs pealed through the speakers of our local roller-skating rink on Christian skate night and gave me the impression that Christian living-- with cassette-taped songs like Carman's "Satan, Bite the Dust" and the Newsboys' "Real Good Thing"-- meant war and guilt. Apparently, I didn't pay the same attention to more hopeful songs, like "Shine." To paint a picture of the awkwardness of these years, it might suffice to say that it was during them, and at this same roller-skating rink, that I was summarily denied a request to couples-skate with a kind girl whose acquaintance I made through school. Like many in junior high school, this was a time of growing independence, of exploring values and beliefs. The path during this time, then, was overgrown with self-doubt, and I could not see my own feet.
I saw them again in high school, however, as the foliage of my confusion about life thinned and the path on which I had struck out grew somewhat wider, and where my traipse grew into a reluctant but rhythmic stride. Here, I was exposed to different varieties of music, which included the burgeoning grunge and alternative rock planted on this part of the path by the likes of Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden, but adapted and cultivated by artists like the Dave Matthews Band and the Wallflowers. It was then, too, that I paced through that parallel path hewn and cleared by Christian alternative bands like Jars of Clay. At the end of these undulated lanes, however, was a veritable fork in the road; and while I could very well bestride both musical worlds by going one way, I chose instead to focus on my studies, and walk in near silence by the other. One exception to this brought me into unexpected beauty along the lanes of big band, as I learned to dance to the orchestral goodness of Benny Goodman, Glenn Miller, and others. While narrow, this quieter path gave me clear direction as I focused on school.
Such silence could not last, however, and the path inevitably expanded into a relative boulevard as I experienced a musical renaissance some time after school ended and into my career. While my musical experience is still lacking in many regards, I found growing pleasure in wandering through the more diverse terrain of Mozart, Switchfoot, and Maroon 5. This wider path became the culmination of all former ones combined, and I suppose this is the path I am walking now. Like life, the boundaries of our paths through music are set by the experiences-- in this case, musical exposure-- that we allow ourselves to encounter, and by the ways in which we avoid, meet, or even trespass upon those boundaries. Like many other boundaries in life, it is our attitude toward them that helps determine our vision of just how beautiful the songs and sounds of life truly are.
Nice blog you have here. "50's and '60's is my kind of music and CCR is my main liking.
ReplyDeleteI write and maintain a blog which I have entitled “Accordingtothebook” and I’d like to invite you to follow it. I’m your newest follower.