“When you can drive, you can choose the music, but until then,
you can shut up.”

Though the actual words varied slightly, you could hear my mother shouting that message throughout my childhood—usually during an hours-long trip in the van, after the second or third flip of the same Kingston Trio cassette. Or Carole King. Or the Righteous Brothers. If those were out, we were subjected to some oldies station out of East Texas as we made our way up 35. But mostly my mom listened to country music, so if she was in the car (and she was always in the car) that’s what we had to listen to.

On the occasion that my dad happened to be going solo with us kids, we got heavy doses of The Eagles, Queen, The Beatles, and the soundtrack to Flashdance. Or a classic rock station. His collection looks a lot like mine: Everything from AC/DC to Kenny Rogers.

Though my parents had rules outlawing dancing and drinking and clubs, they never bought into the fear of hidden messages when records were played backwards, so they didn’t restrict what I could listen to when I started buying my own music. I’m certain that if they had interfered with what music I could play and buy, you would have seen my face on a milk carton within days.

I wore out Walkman after Walkman and always had my ever-growing tape collection with me, even at church camp. I always thought I’d grow up and finally live in a place where nobody could or would tell me to turn my music down. But, as my neighbors will tell you, sometimes people still don’t think it’s cool if you play Tammy Wynette at 11PM and follow her up with some Violent Femmes. One day though, one day I’ll have a house in the middle of nowhere, or at least some sound-proof walls and I’ll be able to play anything I want, as loud as I want.

This section will feature albums that have come to my attention or been triggered for replay. Two of my biggest informants are Howard and Angie, but if you’ve got something you think I might like, please pass
it on.