For reasons too wonky to go into (though it should give you a pretty clear idea of a primary distraction from my work), I’ve lately been listening to all the songs in my library from the past 40 years, in chronological order.
I wish I could say that this was research for a particular writing project, or otherwise justify it in some clearly professional-related way. But no.
I do think there’s some grain of usefulness or insight in there somewhere, though, because of one thing I’ve observed: The music I actually did listen to during those particular years isn’t nearly as interesting as what I’ve discovered from that time period in the years since, and neither of those bunches of songs may bear any resemblance to what was actually popular at that time.
Take 1977, for instance, the year of Saturday Night Fever, Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours, and “Hotel California.” There’s none of that in my library. At the time, my musical world consisted mainly of my dad’s Willie Nelson and Jerry Jeff Walker records from a few years prior. But when I listen to “1977” now, I hear a lot of Ramones, Sex Pistols and Buzzcocks, along with some Parliament, Iggy Pop and Bob Marley — none of whom I was the slightest bit aware of at age six in Sulphur Springs, Texas. Believe me.
But I can’t help but wonder: What if that music had been what I heard at that time and place? What would that world have been like? Is there a story there? And on a bigger scale, does this relate somehow to the act of writing for children and young adults? Is the opportunity to revisit and, perhaps, thoroughly reinvent our own past — and to contrast that with what “most people” remember — part of the appeal of writing for that audience?
That’s some mighty big pondering for someone who’s been listening to a lot of Georgia Satellites and Pet Shop Boys these past few days.
I also grew up in a small Texas town, but because we were so close to Austin I did get exposed to that music — mainly through the UU kids I knew. I hate to say it, but it made me feel a little smug as I walked the halls of my middle school/high school. My best friend and I knew about punk and ska and glam and the NYC scene while our school pals danced to “Le Freak.” In fact, we hated it when some of “our” bands/artists made it into the mainstream — like Bowie and Madness, etc. I’m not sure the music made my experience very different from yours, though. I suppose my record collection offered me a slightly wider artistic view; I realized there was a whole world out there beyond Top 40 hits. And, of course, there was the secret smugness. But otherwise it had no effect on my day-to-day existence.
However, I do think you are reliving your youth by writing for young people. Isn’t that what we’re all doing? Exploring our past and, to a degree, constructing a do-over?
You’re young…
Liz, try telling that to the college freshman I sat next to at a scholarship dinner tonight. When I mentioned the year that I received my scholarship, she said — with zero malice — “That’s the year I was born!”
Jenny, you had your UUs, I had the Episcopalian kids in Dallas. I’ll never forget the weekend I headed to a youth retreat there with my Oak Ridge Boys cassettes in tow and got my first exposure to Suicidal Tendencies…
My wife grew up in worldly, advanced San Antonio and is always amused (or something) when I ponder whether INXS finally got noticed with Listen Like Thieves (their fifth album) or Kick (their sixth).
Oh, phooey. That happens to me with students all the time. And I swear, we all look like we’re the same age. I mean, I THINK we do….