Running Red Momma

Years ago, I used to love a local radio program called the Chunga Show. My husband and I listened to it as we drove to our early morning jobs. It made the dark 6 am drive bearable. We thought we would be friends with him if we were to meet him. Music was new, edgy or entertaining. As time went on, the show morphed until I found myself not enjoying his personality. He became a strange parody of himself. The conversation was self-indulgent with plenty of name dropping. The music became predictable. Commercially driven. Eventually, I thought it would be better if he left the show. He was fired yesterday. At first, to my embarrassment, I found myself grinning. "Now, we will have some change!". However, the result was automated music. Tunes are picked by lists and corporations. Naturally the model will base itself on what is commercially safe. There will be no local flavor on politics or news. Instead, the dial, already lacking in diversity, grew more uniform. At first, gl...

For a number of years, my husband and I have settled into an agreed upon set of radio tunes.  We have our obligatory NPR, his classic rock and my beloved brainless 80s music. A station we have listened to our entire marriage has lost most of its charm.  But, I was still shocked when he took it out of the line-up.  Instead, I could only describe the new station as B-hits of classic rock.  I complained when I got home.  "We ALREADY have a classic rock station honey!" I reminded him. "Yeah, but they call this  smooth classic rock," he defended himself.  Anyone hear the bell of middle age?  It's coming around the corner as we speak! 

The introduction to Stevie Wonder's greatest hits album describes a scene in the desert where a man riding a camel listens to "Superstition" on his boom box.  Fast forward to the present at the Grammys.  Stevie Wonder sang with the Jonas Brothers last night.  At first, I thought what crap is that?  I'm sure "Burnin' Up" is hot with the twelve-year-olds.  But, through the muck of the vocals and sad guitar,  I wanted the boys to back-off and stop putting their heads right next to Stevie. Step away from the legend dude.  Were they really worthy to jam so close to him?  When they shouted "Come on Stevie!"  No, you come on, I thought.  Yes, I know the Grammy's celebrate the transcendence of music.  I sat there squishing my eyebrows,  suddenly, the noise stilled and music entered. Superstition's universal dance chords were being hit and I bopped my head in happiness.  (I know this seems like lazy blogging--but you can check out what I mean.) ...

We (my husband) just purchased a blue-ray player.  Not a big deal for me. I'm not a techie. However, to demonstrate its amazing sound, we had a concert from Queen playing loudly in our basement. Yup, you may think that is not my kind of music. While I did have a brief love affair with weak hair bands for a while, I was snooty and didn't think I was a Queen fan. After singing along to a number of their songs, I gave in and accepted it. Go ahead. Go to i-tunes or youtube and look up Queen. You'll sing a-long and have a good time.  This band plays shake it, sing at the top of your lungs, nod your head real hard and sometimes dance music. I was ready for Wayne's World right then. Ohhh and that Freddie Mercury, what a talent.  He can sing, play piano, play guitar and dance.  BUT, watching him dance, I was struck by how different he was.  He just didn't come across as the typical arrrg/roar heavy metal singer. Heaven knows we need to celebrate the different in each pe...

A few years ago, I helped supervise a youth car wash.  I remember an older gentleman from our neighborhood zooming up in his red sports car.  When he rolled down his window and I tried to answer his questions, I was amused by is determination to keep listening to his cranked up Styx even when he was having a hard time hearing me.  The "concept album" was dead, but it still gushed out in its glorious combination of guitars/synthesizer and over-the-top dramatic vocals.   Although his car was red and music was loud, it struck me as all very middle-aged.   I chuckled to myself that he was not aware of how the whole scene was playing out. Time has moved on and clearly I have aged as well.  As I drove my daughter home from ballet, I found one of my great "angry anthems".   Alanis Morissette, in all her fury had once brought great comfort to me after a break-up.  I would holler along with Alanis to  "You oughta know" while driving late at night. As I zoomed up th...