Hail, Hail Rock n Roll

Hail, Hail Rock n Roll

I realized over the last few months, that I pretty much stopped listening to music since my kids were born.  Since I stopped working. Since I stopped being able to roll the windows down and turn the volume up because babies have fragile eardrums. Since I stopped being able to go to shows because babies have fragile ear drums and generally aren’t welcome. Since I spend all my time taking care of other people. Since my day starts with laundry and ends with dishes with a lot of other mundane shit in between.

It’s a goddamned travesty, y’all.  

For the first 34 years of my life, there are few things I would rather have done than sit on my porch on a sunny day, drink beer, and listen to music. Or sit alone at my computer late at night, drinking beer, watching old concert footage. Or, as I said earlier, driving, windows down, volume up.

There are certain songs for certain moods, right? Certain songs for certain points in time. Certain songs for certain weather. Certain light. Certain seasons. In Memory of Elizabeth Reed is a good one for springtime, sun, mountain driving. Jack White is good for thunderstorms. Neil Young is good for porches and dawn. There are so many songs for so many moments that I can’t believe I let them slip for so long.


So now I’m 39 and my kids need to hear it. They  need to see me and hear me and dance with me in the kitchen. They need to feel it in their bones and their stomachs and their soulsAnd they do. My 4 year old loves “rock star music”, which means guitars, Zeppelin and Jack White. And he loves the blues and asks why it’s so sad. And the baby? Lord the baby. The baby is going to be a rockstar one day. The baby is fearless and loves the piano and sings in his baby voice with his baby words in his baby way. But, dude, he wails. He’s so badass. He’s almost 2 and he is rock and roll.
Chuck Berry died yesterday, speaking of rock and roll. I want my kids to know. To hail rock and roll. I want my kids to be the kind of people who give a shit when someone like Chuck Berry dies. To recognize what the fuck that means. To understand who he is and what he did. I want my kids to get it. Because it’s important. Music, art, stories, souls, passion. It’s the most important shit in the world, and we need it. We need to get it. We need to make sure our kids get it. So that it keeps being important.

So that there will always be the perfect moment for the perfect song.

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