Moms Who Rock

 

         Middle age dad bands are a thing. In my small circle of friends I can list off 5 dads who are in a band just for fun and an occasional gig at a local dive bar. The same cannot be said of my mom friends. Most are too busy with work, carpools, volunteer commitments and the occasional book club or night out to make time to hang out and jam. The “to do” list is infinitely long most days and the tasks just rollover to the next.

           A few years ago I really wanted to start a band with my friends but no one had any time to spare and there was a severe shortage of instrument players. Most of my friends were willing to be back up singers and many could play the piano or flute but we really lacked killer guitar players. I took about 3 guitar lessons in 5^th grade and then just taught myself the rest-which means I don’t actually know how to play more than a few songs by Joni Mitchell, The Beatles or Neil Young. I must have left my guitar at home after my first year of college and it disappeared at some point- possibly sold at a yard sale when my family moved. The passing of time and lack of lessons has not improved my guitar playing skills thus making it hard to actually start a band in the first place. Factor in the time commitment and  the lack of  willing participants, the mom band “Whack ol’ Ladies” never got off the ground.   

    I remember hearing about a musical from the 80's called  “Angry Housewives” from one of my Seattle friends when I was a senior in college. With a sparkle in her eyes she recounted her favorite song from the show “Eat your F*ckin Cornflakes.” I loved that show without ever seeing it. When I was 21, I couldn’t fathom a time when I was married with kids and pets and the idea that someone could write something so irreverent about motherhood was exhilarating and made me less queasy about growing up.  I wanted to be that band of moms singing about corn flakes and carpools with the occasional cover of a Clash or X song thrown in.  

     Enter plan B- find an existing band or group of singers and beg to join. Choirs are big in the Midwest- Gay Men’s Chorus, One Voice Mixed Choir, Kantorei and  Twin Cities Community Gospel Choir are only a few. I didn't want to sing religious music and really just wanted to sing songs by The Clash and X with a bunch of women who appreciated the irony. Finally I asked the right person who had a friend in Prairie Fire Lady Choir. At the first rehearsal we practiced a mash up of Mr. Sandman (The Chordettes) and Enter Sandman (Metallica). It was then that I knew I found my people. We have an eclectic repertoire: Fiona Apple, George Michael, Prince, Tom Waits, Buddy Holly, The Cookies and more. We range in age and musical experience and many are not moms at all but we all come together and escape through singing. Because I often think in song lyrics, the Talking Heads' song “Life During Wartime”comes to mind every time  we practice “we dress like students, we dress like housewives....”

In Which I Go to a Concert Alone for the First Time Since I was 20.

  

     The last time I went to a concert alone, I rode my bike through the rolling hills of the Connecticut River Valley in Western Massachusetts to a small church where I saw of all things a hardcore punk concert. I honestly can't even remember who was playing-Minutemen? Suicidal Tendencies? I was one of maybe two women there and for sure the only person on a janky old 10 speed.

     I snapped up a ticket months ago to see James Blake, a young British musician with the most hauntingly beautiful voice. I had his first album on constant repeat when I was traveling recently and his soothing voice and electronic sound made a perfect backdrop to the insanity of airline travel. 

      At one point three friends were going to be at the show but over the course of a few weeks each one had family commitments that prevented them from attending so I asked one of my young free spirited friends at the last minute. After a series of comical mishaps of modern communication, I ended up getting dropped off since my friend thought I had bought his ticket and I thought he was buying his own. This happens more often than one would think but there I was.

     Although I had run into five people I knew at the last show at First Avenue, it was clear from the youthful crowd that I was not going to know anyone this time. I did what any modern mom would do in this situation - pulled out my phone and starting messaging my daughter time zones away, wishing she could enjoy James Blake with me and we could take in the scene together. I lamented my solitary predicament and she reminded me that her music loving friend Henry went to lots of shows alone before he died unexpectedly last month so I could soldier on alone. Mother-daughter pep talks are wonderful no matter what the medium or time of night.

     The concert began with a body-thumping baseline that vibrated every single aging cell in my body. My nose was tickling and my heart was trying to escape through my throat. I had  to retreat to higher ground with as much dignity as possible. There was however a lot of canoodling in the old lady balcony that night, which should not have surprised me  given James Blake's  sultry voice. However when the lanky blonde next to me decided this was the perfect time to show her male friend just how much she was into him, I had to find another vantage point.  These awkward public displays of passion are the kind of concert predicaments that are way more fun to laugh about with a friend or daughter by your side.

     

not sleazy at all

 Back in the 80’s when I went out dancing in NY and SF or went to hear live music I was constantly surrounded by lust so I should not have been surprised given the age group of my fellow James Blake fans- I had just forgotten about that part of the music scene. Life is full of surprises no matter what the decade.
     Love and Peace.

The Universe is Stupid and Other Immature Thoughts From a Mature Woman

 

         During college my negative view of life, love and the world around me was fueled by the music I listened to. The Dead Kennedy’s, The Clash, Black Flag, X, Sex Pistols, Minutemen, The Germs and The Buzzcocks provided the soundtrack to my nihilistic belief that there was no god, the world was a dangerous place and we wander around in sadness until we die. Did I mention I was a philosophy major? The universe appeared vast and meaningless and Ronald Reagan was president.

         The nineties rolled around and I had my first of three children. Suddenly the universe didn’t seem so bleak after all. Life was brimming with possibilities. Those screams were going to turn into songs. Scaling the living room bookshelves turned into a love of hiking. I was too busy changing diapers to worry about the future and too sleep deprived to care. The Sex Pistols sounded so angry and I was trying to keep it quiet at my house so the baby would take a nap and I could rest.

         With not enough time to listen to college radio I lost touch with new music in the nineties. Whatever I did end up buying came as a CD but I still lugged my whole record collection around  each time I moved because I was sure I could never part with all that vinyl. When I was pregnant with my third child and my oldest was 7 and youngest was 3, I thought it would be a good idea to get rid of any albums I had with inappropriate or curse laden lyrics.  I didn’t want my 2 girls to inadvertently put on P.I.L or The Germs. We listened to Jonathan Richman, David Bowie, Talking Heads, Arlo and Woody Guthrie and lullabies from around the world when they were sick, anxious, bored or sleepy.

         Now my youngest is 13 and lists The Ramones and the Clash as his favorite bands and has learned the bass lines for many of their songs. Macklemore’s Thrift Shop is on everyone’s Ipod (f-bombs and all) and we even go to concerts together. My oldest just turned 21 so  now she can have a beer the next time we see Father John Misty together. Musical F-bombs are the least of my worries.

         In the last four months two incredible young people were suddenly yanked away from my circle of friends: a beautiful and wise 20 year old master debater and future policy maker and a sweet and kind 21 year old guitar playing economics major.  Their deaths were sudden and with proper and prompt medical care might have been avoided but no one can know for sure. I can't fathom a universe that allows this to happen. The only coherent thought I have come up with this week is that the universe is stupid. These two young adults had so much to give the world through their kindness and talents.  Don’t even get me started on the Newton, CT school shooting. 

         I’m angry at the stupid universe and I am still not sure about the existence of God  but I am not reaching for the Sex Pistols or the Germs today. Today’s sadness soundtrack is full of James Blake, Field Report, Jeremy Messersmith, Peggy Lee and a dash of Phantom Vibration.