Guilty pleasures? Not in the least. The confessions of an unashamed music fan.
I am obsessed with music. I'm the crazy person in the grocery store who stops mid-aisle, frozen, and listens to the Muzak. I can't move again until I remember the name of the song and the original artist who recorded it. My friends hate it, my mom says I'm just like my dad, my boyfriend just puts up with me. My staff, well, I think they secretly are relieved that I'm the biggest music nut of them all.
As of right now, my musical needs are all over the place -- at any given moment, I might want to think, dance, be sad, be happy or rock out. My music reflects everything that is me. This list reflects my week:
I was in a cab in New York and the Outfield's "Your Love" came on the radio. I was compelled to unabashedly belt out the entire song, much to the chagrin of the cab driver (whom I tipped generously as a result). "Your Love" is that fantastically cheesy power ballad that is so 1980s that I want to wear leg warmers, crimp my hair, and bust a 'Flashdance' move. "Your Love" makes me want to dance and sing really really loud. It was truly a cab ride from heaven, because the next song on the radio was Phil Collins' "Don't Lose My Number." All hail to lyrics that make no sense. Come on, sing it with me: "Now Billy, Billy don't you lose my number!"
I love Audioslave. Chris Cornell's voice is like an old friend. "Doesn't Remind Me" is a brilliant song. But it's the video that haunted me this week. We are a country at war, and we forget that we are. Someone's father, someone's son, someone's daughter, is risking their lives in Iraq for us. These fighters leave behind families. The video to "Doesn't Remind Me," which plays a brilliant homage to Rocky Balboa, captures what war does to the children whose parents never come back from battle. It makes me think. It makes me feel. It makes me human.
I first started writing about music in the late 1980s when Los Angeles' Sunset Strip was in its heyday and glam metal was all the rage. I'm not ashamed to admit, I love big hair bands. Thankfully, my boyfriend, who hails from New Jersey, is as big of a metal freak as I am. His favorite band is Poison and he makes sure "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" is on every playlist in my iPod.
Then, when I want to get into a good groove, Kanye West is the man. "Gold Digger" makes me want to rip up the dance floor. And Jamie Foxx? Hello? Brilliant actor who can sing. You have to love that.
So, that's my week. Next week, who knows? I get about 400 CDs a month in my mail box -- catalog releases, new releases, unsigned artist demos, you name it. I listen to all of them. I am the luckiest person alive to have this job.
- News