My Littles and Their Playlist

Years ago, I created a playlist for my sons and offhandedly titled it "Clean Enough" which made me chuckle because my two main rules were to create something that 1) didn't suck and 2) had a maximum of one curse word used in the song. It was a small reaction to my older son's temporary fascination with some pop starlet (I think it was Come & Get It by Selena Gomez) that he insisted on listening to in the car for most trips.

To be honest, I don't necessarily care what they like musically - their tastes drifting to genres that begin driving me crazy on a three-hour road trip are another matter - but I also wanted to show them a wider range of music than what popped up on Radio Disney or the local Top 40 stations.

The first song on that list was This Could All Be Yours by Guster, not because of the implied gravity of the song, but because it was the first thing I thought to add as I seeded the playlist in 2013.

I'm pretty pleased with the initial track rollout, including Matt and Kim, The Mowgli's, The Postal Service, Trombone Shorty and The Jackson 5 among others. It was a good first step that has grown to 113 tracks and counting, which brings us to today.

Spotify sent an e-mail today to let me know that my Year in Music was ready. In addition to some basic listening stats, it also linked to my "Top 100" playlist that had been curated for me by the app. At the top was Starman by David Bowie. Clocking in at Number 55 was Mountain at My Gate by Foals.

First, Bowie. You have to start with Bowie.

I'll forever have a place in my heart for him and his music. Bowie is a complicated artist for me as he's so intertwined with his mystique and persona (duh, right?) that it overshadows his brilliance as a musician. I always respected him and then went to see the exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art. It remains a highlight of my life for many reasons and an experience that will be a mile marker for as long as I live.

On a personal level, that trip was planned as a firewall. It was intentionally scheduled to coincide with my newfound single life after separating from my ex and moving out on my own. I thought that no matter how deep my depression plunged, I had a trip to explore Bowie's world to help stop the free fall. In actuality, I was enjoying life, connecting with friends and was seeing a wonderful woman, all of which showed me that while it wasn't the path I'd chosen, it held promise.

I wandered through the exhibit, bathed in music and grinned like an idiot. I'd planned the trip as a reprieve for what could have been a much darker time, which should say a lot about how I approach Bowie. "I'll be on my own for the first time in decades, away from my kids, likely broke and trying to care for a terminally ill parent... but Bowie will fix it."

I spent a lot of time there, wandering in and out of rooms. Doubling back sometimes, reading the little cards, listening to the interviews over and over and finally settling in the last room where concert footage was supplemented with the kinds of massive speakers that rattle your internal organs. I was lining up new playlist additions as I was handing over my museum headphones and walking out.

That's the week when my youngest found Bowie.

I obviously have multiple playlists that I cycle between frequently and most often that means swapping between "my" playlist and Clean Enough. Occasionally there's overlap and it was in one of those switches between "cool me" driving home on the highway and "dad me" picking up the boys that Bowie caught his 4-year-old ears and locked him up.

"Wait! No! Play that song!" came from the back seat. That was the first of many memories I have of a tiny redhead, myself and the Thin White Duke. A small voice in his carseat behind me, high but on key, "Staw... maaaaan..." Looking in the rear view mirror and seeing a content kid, leaving the toddler stage, singing with a slight smile as he watches traffic out the window as his brother sleeps as we drive home in the dark from some daly adventure.

The important thing to me is that he picked it as something he found interesting. It's great that it happens to be a song and artist I also love, but seeing him explore music has been a real highlight of parenthood for me. More than that was the "how" of him discovering Bowie. That bolt of lightning moment when you hear something and have to hear it again (and again and again...) that the title of this blog clumsily tries to capture.  I was overjoyed to be there when it happened for him that day.

That brings up to #55 on the hit list. Mountain at My Gates by Foals.

As a dad... and music nerd... one of my favorite things to do now is to play something I like or recently discovered and ask the peanut gallery in the back of the car for their feedback on the ride home. There are two pick ups each week for me - Thursdays and Fridays - and while I usually play Clean Enough, I'll occasionally play something foreign to them and see what they think. I know generally where their tastes lie as they develop. My youngest likes vocal harmonies, my eldest is leaning towards EDM. Both appreciate a strong bass line and/or a great guitar hook.

Mountain is squarely on the list because of my oldest son, who will be 8 in a few months. I remember listening to WXRT on the way to a soccer game (probably because my phone was being used to play Pokemon Go). When he heard Mountain play, he insisted that I add it to the list. He's much more serious than his brother and logs odd things in his mind (like I do). In one of those moments that was burned into my memory, I looked back and saw him nod his head slightly, repeat "Foals" quietly after I'd just read it from the digital readout on the car's stereo and knew it was going to be there for a while. I added Mountain when we parked and came back to it time and again on request.

During one of his morning iPad sessions, he went one step further and added other tracks from the same album (not vetted by the parent of record until later) as he continued to explore the associated tracks, which blows my mind to a somewhat limited extent.

You know when you see a sticker imploring you to "Fear no art" on a guitar case or lamppost? That wasn't my guiding principle growing up, Notably, I felt that Led Zeppelin was somehow off limits because I didn't quite get them, their fans I saw in school or the mysterious symbols that surrounded their albums (yeah... right? Not so intimidating in retrospect, was it?) In reality, it intimidated me to the point that I avoided too many bands for too many years. I'm hoping that by trying to throw open those doors for my kids that they skip the middle step of worrying about what they "should" be allowed to listen to. I'm honestly less worried about the stigma of what listening to a band or genre looks like and more along the lines of feeling "this music isn't for me."

Music is for everyone. That's the one thing I hope they learn from me - not that they should gravitate to one genre over the other but that the only excluding factors in their listening should grow from personal taste. In the present I'm fascinated to watch their selection process develop as they each take small steps to explore just a little further from the songs they know to songs that are somewhat similar, but unfamiliar. To watch them process and have them finally decide they like the drums or the bass line, but don't like the vocals and either move on or listen again to get a better handle on things.

Most parents mark their child's growth as they count loose teeth, dutifully mark heights on a door frame and see penmanship improve over time. I do those things, too, but I can say that my favorite measures of growth will continue to be pulling up a shared playlist and seeing a handful of new tracks added since the previous weekend in the early morning hours.

Go. Wander. Explore. Fear no music.