If you ever have the pleasure of sitting in the car next to me at a red light, what you see may be very different from what you hear. I, a nineteen year old girl, will probably be singing along, happy as can be, to a song that can be anywhere between forty to ninety percent angry screaming. Not what you’d expect, right?
Growing up, music was such an important part of mine and my family's lives. At a young age, I was exposed to all kinds of classic/hard rock in car rides, during family parties, and during weekends spent at home with the family. When you’re a young girl with an older brother, some of his music taste definitely rubs off on you. I remember watching Green Day’s American Idiot Live in England DVD over and over without it ever getting old. As the age of video games such as Guitar Hero and Rock Band emerged, I found even more songs and bands I enjoyed listening to. With the help of Rock Band, at the age of 10, I discovered one of all-time favorite bands, a Christian rock/metal group called Flyleaf. I’m not mentioning this detail to share my entire life story with you, I’m mentioning it because this is where the whole “emo" thing comes into play.
My friends were all the average Disney Channel, pop star loving girls who thrived on the music of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved these artists too and even attended a Jonas Brothers concert wearing a shirt proclaiming my love for Joe, but there was something about the rougher and more unique sounds rock bands produced that made me excited to listen. When I showed my friends my new musical interests (specifically Flyleaf, a band that literally sings about God) at the age of ten/eleven, they did not share my enthusiasm and instead called it scary, gave me weird looks, and asked why in the world I chose to listen to such terrifying “screamo” music, or asked if I was “emo” (I’m still not sure what that even means). I was thought of as different and weird for what I chose to listen to, and I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of a joke about my taste in music that still continues to this day.
When I got older, I met a group of people that listened to anything from Sleeping With Sirens to Whitechapel (for those that do not know what I'm talking about, think more relaxed pop-like music compared to very heavy metal not meant for the faint of heart). As my exposure to all different kinds of alternative/metal, or as some may call it, “screamo” music grew, so did my liking for it. You could say I fell in love with the rough emotion and the loud, heavy instrumentation. The funniest part was that this group of friends was completely shocked when I told them I was a cheerleader because they didn’t believe I was the “cheerleader type” based on my music preference.
Yes, I like loud, aggressive music, but no, you can’t tell from just looking at me (unless of course I’m wearing a band tee, which is likely). The stereotype surrounding these genres of music includes tons of eyeliner and black clothing, but I can assure you I’m terrible at applying eyeliner so I don’t really put it on, and the excessive amount of black clothing is just coincidental. I’m not the cheerleader from "Bring It On: In It To Win It" who wears a ton of skulls and refuses to smile. No, the music I listen to is not why I’m stressed or sad and it doesn’t make me feel worse about myself. At the end of the day, I still listen to “normal” music and believe Rihanna is Queen. We’re all people who like different things and that’s completely okay. So the next time you see me next to you at a red light, try smiling instead of scowling, because the world could always use some more smiles.
