Can you believe it’s the third episode already? Ok whatever let’s talk music.
prance, I say!
i find classical music to be a very imposing genre to get into. It’s like another language, titles of songs written in code. My mom understands the code, speaks the language, but no matter how many times she explains it to me, it never sticks.
so, I don’t know what all the words in the titles mean. I don’t know if I’m committing some sort of musical sin by pulling pieces out of movements (?) and slapping them into a mix with songs from different centuries. I like the way they sound together, though, and I like the images of field mice and berries and fields of grain that I see as I listen.
this mix is mischievous and green. It’s like Puck from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and it tastes like the celery stick in a fancy Bloody Mary (Old Bay rim, please). It smells like spring onions and fresh-spread mulch. It feels like the sweater you put on in the morning and regret by noon, and then appreciate again at five, six o’clock. Listen to it while you wander a museum in the afternoon, or while you kayak at sunrise, or while you run around at night, head thrown back and laughing at the moon. Go ahead and shuffle. Live a little.
round table
My family is not one that likes the be the most interesting people in the room - what’s the point in that?
My parents loved hosting dinner parties when I was growing up. They’re older than most, both of them Baby Boomers, so the guests gathered around our tables tended to be further along in life. Everyone was fascinating, and no one treated me like a child, though a child I was. Conversations held over votive candles and centerpieces were alight with wit, cursing, smart-assing and a subliminal but constant stream of wisdom. Always a lesson, even when it wasn’t spoken out loud. In my memory, the dining room is filled with an orange haze. My parents, our guests, move slow in their laughter, savoring every last drop of wine and story. Underneath it all, Nina works her magic.
Every old song digitized with the crackling room tone of a vinyl feels like I’m a kid again, like my mom is tucking me into bed and kissing me on the forehead, wine still on her breath, before she goes back down to rejoin the fray downstairs. I’m too big for my dad’s old shirts to fall past my knees, now. I know I can’t go back in time, really, I know, and as much as I’d like to return to the comfort of my childhood bedroom, I push on. This mix combines old and new; the fibers of my very past and the fibers of my future, of dinner parties I look forward to hosting in my own space. Together, they weave the uncomfortably, forcibly, formidably beautiful tapestry of aging.
This mix is old and new, well-worn and freshly plucked. It smells like hardwood and beeswax, tastes like red wine and hors d’oeuvres, and sounds like listening to your mom’s favorite song for the first time in a decade. So, gather some friends, tell everyone to bring a dish, and toss this on your closest JBL. Enjoy responsibly.
round up
prance, i say!: classical, whimsical, springy, instrumental
round table: tried and true, dinner party jazz, fuzzy, warm brown
That’s all for today, folks. If you’ve made it this far and haven’t subscribed, please consider doing so! I send out new playlists every Monday.
If you have artist, album, or song recommendations, leave a comment below and I’ll check it out.
I’ll be back next week with more music.
Lots of love, always,