Friday, 30 April 2010

Meet My Boyfriend | Music.

by Steph Hamill, 30 April 2010....

For the longest time, I have been in a relationship. It's a relationship of ups and downs, highlights and lowlights, emotional journeys, experiences and down right nutty moments, coupled with a bit of disgust and cringe. It's the longest relationship I've had, other than with my parents and sibling, with often greater influence. It's my relationship with music.

From those first moments of consciously dancing to glorious plinky plonky piano sounds; dancing, meaning twirling round and round until I hit the classic psychedelic 70's print carpet, inadvertently sucking up leftover hoover dust as a secondary reaction to the need to dizzy-vomit. My formative days warbling in my highchair is a regularly discussed family topic, as it renders me completely sulky; apparently I used to hum to a magical tune only I could hear when nomming my mashed up baby portions. I dispute this as I have no recollection and utterly detest noisy eaters now. I adored my mother's lullabies at bedtime; at a particularly tumbulous point in my adult life they were the only thing that could make me sleep. Mums are the best.

So, growing up in a relatively musical household (my parents have varied taste and are music lovers, though not active musicians), they indulged me with a vast selection of vinyl during my early days. I of course, managed to destroy quite a few limited edition LPs on the way. From a young age we had a piano, guitar, numerous types of recorders (I preferred the treble), clarinet, saxophone and MTV on standby. Looking back, it was pretty awesome. Having said that, a sister ten years my senior was even more beneficial. She introduced me to The Cure. It's the main reason I love her.  Only kidding, but it's up there in the top five reasons. During those impressionable years, I was listening to such wonderous musical compositions I often had to run to the loo in excitement mid hip wiggle. I'd often be found leaping around in a Jane Fonda fashion to classical and metal tapes alike. Never bothered with a hairbrush mic though. That was for the posers.

Dad's Elvis and Johnny Cash tapes in the car were the highlight of going to ballet class.  As we both got older, he began his metamorphosis into Victor Meldrew.  He'd put the radio and tapes on less and less often. He was falling out of love with music. That, or he'd grown tired of me switching stations constantly in a quest for a song that didn't suck, or grown tired of me making him listen to my hardcore metal mixtapes concocted in bedroom music/den sessions with my best friends, mainly made up of overly rerecorded tapes of horrific quality. Ahh, those were the days. In hindsight, I don't blame him. I found one of those tapes the other day. Didn't find anything to play it on though. My next quest, find a working tape deck.

Upon discovering the joy of live music, we blossomed and bloomed during a period of mutual appreciation and respect. I respected the musicians, the vocalists, the melodies and lyrics as much as they appreciated me paying for a ticket and covering their gas bill. And that's where the relationship balanced. The rush, the tingles and the butterflies are still incredible high points, though less frequent and occasionally expected, but that's not to say they're any less appreciated. On the contrary, we've got the perfect relationship now. Always open to something new, but happy to return to our comforting cocoon. I am glad to say that over time our special relationship has mellowed and exploration continued, though never limiting in variation. It's been one hell of a journey, but I can honestly say, it's one for the long haul.

1 comment:

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