Wednesday, February 8, 2012

This LITERALLY took me two days to write! Update: I don't know how to use 'literally' properly.

Today as I was walking to class, Steve Winwood's "Higher Love" got called up to the big leagues by my iPod. For some reason, as I was listening to it, I really REALLY wanted to make a music video for this song.
The main premise to my mental music video is that:

Steve Winwood's band only has Steve Winwood.

I don't actually know what Steve Winwood looks like, but I assume he looks like Sting or Michael Bolton or some combination of the two. Anyway, it would have him playing a synthesizer through the entire song, giving everyone their fill of funky synth beats. I haven't decided whether I want the drums in the video to be synthesized or for him actually to be working drums with his feet, one-man-band style. So he's jiving to this groove on the synthesizer, singing his song, banging on drums, and when it finally gets to the part with the synth trumpets, Winwood hauls out a real trumpet and goes to town. I guess you'd have to listen to the song to know how awesome this would be.

The thing that shocks me most about listening to Steve Winwood on my iPod is that this is my dad's music. Yep, my dad. The guy who has the range of Mariah Carey and is not afraid to use it. And he pretty much has to, with his taste in music in mind. I don't remember a whole lot of what he listens to, just a bunch of people with weird names like Luther Vandross and Sade. And a lot of men singing way higher than men are supposed to. When I was growing up, I thought that this is what music was. Mom only listened to piano music, and dad listened to men with dog whistle voices and women that sounded like Barry White. When I finally discovered, I don't know, bands like the Foo Fighters, my dad called it "devil music", and forbade me from playing it (when he was around).

So being a typical teenager, I, with devil music in tow, swore never to listen to any of my dad's music, ever. And I pretty much didn't. Until 2011. Boom! All of the sudden, I'm listening to Billy Joel. Steve Winwood. Earth, Wind, and Fire. I seriously entertained buying some Hall & Oates songs. I bought Baker Street, by Gerry Rafferty (I don't know if my dad listens to this song, but he probably should).

And then, as most slippery slopes go, I kept tumbling downhill. Cher. George Michael. CHUMBAWAMBA! OK, it stopped there. Well, it kinda stopped at Baker Street. But anyway! Alas! My self-image depreciated from a savvy post-modern individualistic heavy metalcore alternative developmental rock guru* to some-kinda-disco-polka-something-or-other-dad's-lite-rock-listener.

I'll recover though. It'll just take a couple months of devil music to get my confidence back. Literally.

*I don't actually know what any of these words mean. I just see myself like this. In fact, I don't know if any of this makes any sense. I didn't proofread it.


Things I do instead of homework: Write on this blog, post stupid status updates on Facebook.

1 comment:

  1. Austin, I love seeing the inner workings of your brain. I also felt the same way about my Grandma's opera music. Except now I still feel the same way about the opera music, I just listen more to Grandpa's classical music.