Music’s Influence

Music is an escape, a reminder that others feel or felt the same. At times it can validate our anger, celebrate our joy, or enhance our thrill. Recently I was asked to name ten albums that influenced me. I wanted to pop off ten records, but I could not get past contemplating what was meant by “influenced.” Did influence say that I had to admit that my first albums were culturally insensitive “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” and “Disco Duck?”
To be honest, I have never felt influenced by music; however, people always influenced the music I enjoy. Before being killed, my dad seemed always to have Jim Croce, James Taylor, or Lynyrd Skynyrd playing quietly in the background, and thus I find hearing these bands nostalgic. My older brother had my listening to Ozzy and Dio, while seemingly everyone was enjoying Def Leopard’s Pyromania and AC/DC’s Back in Black. At the same time, road trips with my Grandparents would often hum with the sound of Sinatra and Louis Armstrong. At home, it seemed that over the buzz of a vacuum, bands such as The Eagles, Queen or Journey bounced off the walls. Music has always played in my background.
In middle school, I remember when Quiet Riot and Twisted Sister were all the rage. I remember less conformist kids were listening to 7 Seconds, Agent Orange, and Suicidal Tendencies, while other coteries were trying to slow dance to Outfield. At the time, one’s music preference was almost always dictated by the clique which surrounded them.
I remember buying my first cassette tape, Iron Maiden Powerslave, and attending my first concert, the Scorpions. I remember when Guns and Roses, Beastie Boys, Tesla, Janes Addiction, Faith No More, and Pearl Jam became more popular, and I remember that Digs still enjoyed Zeppelin and the Grateful Dead. I remember when Jeff and Mike convinced me to give a proper listen to Lagwagon and Samiam (which became favorites that I enjoy to this day.) The punk genre expanded my musical palette and became my preferred genre. My high school sweetheart opened my eyes to the beauty of Enya, Ray Lynch, Vangelis, and Yanni, and her mom made me feel welcome with John Denver.
Early in my military career, the escape music provided seemed necessary. I spent too much time perusing record stores. I would buy BYO, Epitaph, Fat Wreckchords, HellCat, and LookOut compilations to find new bands and expand my growing music library. I met Nick, who introduced me to Morrisey and the Smiths and whose love of Rockabilly, like the Rev rubbed off. The military’s geographic blanket meant I got to hear what people liked from all over the states and territories. Amy brought bands like Blink 182, and friends like Jon Baptist expanded my reggae palette to the likes of Beanieman, Kingston, and Lady Saw.
Moving into the millennium saw Ska become more mainstream, and bands like Mad Caddies, Real Big Fish, Pain, and Swinging Utters fueled my love of Ska. Still, I maintained my NOFX, Social D, and Bad Religion core punk influence. A later girlfriend introduced me to Shakira before Shakira sang in English. Some of this helped me realize it was not always the lyrics; sometimes, it was just how the music made you feel. As a kid, I could appreciate the raunchy yet witty lyrics of 2 Live Crew, Too Short, and Bloodhound Gang. As an adult, I could dive into the original words of bands like Alkaline Trio and Weakerthans with passion. Still, more often, just the sound of the music was enough. Perhaps that is why I can enjoy Carabao when at home in Thailand.
The older I got, the more I began to prefer listening to audiobooks. I can appreciate Imagine Dragons, Mumford, and Sons, and Kodaline, but if I must listen to the radio, it is NPR. These days I still will play different music, but it is not a source of personal identification. I do not write these things so you can agree or disagree with my musical taste. As far as I am concerned, that is about as silly as identifying who you are because of what food tastes good. So, while I may YouTube TMBG, Pulley, Proclaimers, or My Chemical Romance, it does not mean I cannot enjoy Coldplay, Crash Test Dummies, Pink, or Kenny Chesney.
I am sad that so many have found identity and healthy satisfaction from accomplishment elusive. Instead, many have found an unhealthy pride in heritage and loyalty to an authority with blurry morality. It reminds me of middle school children and young adults who find identity in a music genre and badmouth other styles. I hope we no longer relate to lyrics that shout out, “who killed the Kennedys when, after all, it was you and me.” I wish for the day we no longer share in the loneliness of a Piano man. I dream of the day we do not need to imagine but can instead celebrate Louis Armstrong’s Wonderful World. Until that time, though, I will find solace in songs that echo a need to resist, to fight, and to hope.