“Dad, can you put the radio on? I don’t want to listen to drums and guitars anymore,” whined my 7-year-old self, nagging my father to turn on the pop station that would play in my friends’ moms’ cars. My dad removed “Metallica” from the disc drive in his old Bronco, as I let out a sigh of relief. Just as I prepared to listen to some Akon on Z100, to my surprise, my dad popped in “Led Zeppelin II,” and with the windows down, we jammed to “Living Loving Maid” for the rest of the ride home.
Little did I know that my father’s “drums and guitars” would influence my taste in music for the rest of my life. Little did I know that the 2009 pop radio stations would never be able to shape my identity as much as Jimmy Page and Robert Plant could.
My childhood best friend and I grew up on rock and roll in every way possible. Our fathers were close friends in high school, both in bands and rocking afro hairstyles. Every car ride with them consisted of head-banging to “Kashmir” or “T.N.T..”
Our parents never forbade us from listening to popular music, of course (sometimes, Akon was just a must), but their constant playing of hard rock helped to train my ears to build a great foundation for the taste I would have for the rest of my life.
With my father’s old drum set in the basement and a new pair of sticks in my brother and I’s stockings for Christmas every year, my parents always gave me tiny nudges to indulge in the world of their music— and I could never thank them enough for that. Although my drumming career didn’t go too far past the same simple beat that I made up when I was 10-years-old (and proceeded to play, over and over again, because I didn’t know how to play anything else), my general exposure to the kit helped me to become more musically and culturally aware than most children my age.
Through my discovery of rock and roll at a young age and the foundation of some of the most talented musicians of my parents’ time, my music taste was given full and utmost potential to flourish. Regardless of the decades-ongoing stereotype of kids hating their parents music due to the lack of awareness or appreciation for the respective musical era, I learned to explore my parents’ CD rack with an open mind.
Those whose parents grew up in the 70s and shared with them a love for the geniusness of their era are luckier than most. I would like to give a great “Thank You” to my parents and to any others just like them—thank you for helping me to deeply understand your life at my age through your favorite music. Thank you for uncovering for me the artistry of rock and roll and for allowing me to lead a lifetime of appreciation for it, in a way impossible without you.
