Memories and music go together like Emerson, Lake and Palmer. Like Jon and Vangelis. Like Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. Or like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong to quote Grease. My childhood memories are filled with music.
Every Sunday would start with waking up to Pink Floyd or King Crimson. Every car ride featured a concert by Apocalyptica or Jethro Tull. My parents’ music has been the ever-present companion of my life. Even after moving out, I find myself returning to the sounds of my childhood years for comfort.
This whole blog started as a class assignment for the Evaluating the Arts course in the third year of my undergrad (surprise, majoring in Music Studies) for which I wanted to investigate the roots of my musical taste. Which albums led to the creation of my current Spotify library and my slowly growing collection of handpicked vinyls?
I wanted to remember what I thought of these albums that shaped my childhood back in the day. I wanted to know what my parents thought about them, and why they bought them. And I wanted to know whether and how my opinion had changed. I finished my undergrad in 2019 but this project is still going.
I see myself sitting in front of the record shelf in my childhood living room, on our worn-out wooden floor, just flipping through their music collection. The feeling of the LP sleeves between my fingers. The Jenga game that comes with choosing a CD from the trembling stacks. The pleasantly dusty scent of the paper and the vinyls. Their fragility. The anticipation of placing one of them on the record player.
And here I am now, staring at a list of 156 vinyls and 297 CDs, a tiny bit intimidated by my intention to listen to each and everyone of them. Listen to each and everyone and review them, recounting my memories of the music and my experience now. I’ve catalogued my parents entire record collection and I intend to draw a random number every time to find out what I’ll review next. One album at a time. We’re going to be here for a while…
The Dad Anthology 