Dancing to a song all my own

Posted by Stacey on April 29, 2013 in distractions, Humor, life, Music, writing | 0 comments

A friend recently asked me if I ever listened to music while I wrote.

I honestly have never thought of writing to music.

I know I am distracted by the sounds of a television, a dog snoring and children arguing.

But can I write with music playing in the background?

Nope.

Let me give you an example that might help explain my hasty answer.

Yesterday I jumped in my car to shop for a weekend at our cabin with friends.

I press the power button and my favorite station comes on.  They were having a classic rock “power hour” of sorts.

“Jack and Diane”, by John Mellencamp was half over. Instantly I am transported to about six different occasions in which this song played.

Next up, ‘The Joker”, by Steve Miller. I am six years old dancing in our living room in my dad’s old t-shirt that hangs to my knees.

“You Shook Me All Night Long” – AC/DC, I am lip sinking with fellow councilors at the summer camp where I worked.

“Cheeseburger In Paradise” – Jimmy Buffet, “Bennie And The Jets” & “Tiny Dancer” – Elton John, need I say more? Come on, who doesn’t have a story to go with that cluster of songs.

“Sweat Home Alabama”- Lynrd Skynyrd, I am at college playing pool in the basement of the Beta House with friends

“Straight To Hell” – The Clash, my first concert.

“I Wanna Be Sedated” –    The Ramones, “Want You To Want Me” – Cheap Trick, “I Love Rock n’ Roll” – Joan Jett. My voice is growing hoarse; thank God my destination is near.

“Dream weaver” – Gary Wright, really? What skier, of my age, has not skied to this?

Thinking of my friend who asked me the question, and wanting to confirm my findings, I switched the channel to a “Classical” music  station…and I got hungry. I worked for a catering company for several years and we listened to classical music every time we cooked.

Don’t even talk to me about anything produced in the last 20 years. My girls and I take our car dancing pretty seriously; there is no way I could focus with our newest moves going through my head.

I guess what I am trying to say is that every song, at least for me, has a story of it’s own. Whether I am dancing with my husband, as we cook, to Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl” or hanging out with friends listening to “Cold Play” internet radio on Pandora, who am I to try and rewrite them?

Can you?