My kids got a huge gold star yesterday.
I recently wrote about Wita’s usurping of the car stereo, which has been an interesting time for me. As the daughter of a musician, listening to sugary sweet, over-produced tracks is like a huge middle finger to what I was raised to appreciate. My dad has played in bands since he was a teenager. Traveling the state when he was in high school and college, being dubbed the “soul man,” hell, even when corporate America snatched him up, he bought a recording studio in downtown Oklahoma City 25 years ago, and still owns it to this day. The man would sneak me into blues bars long before I should have been there. I remember those nights – barely being able to see through the thick cigarette smoke, guitar riffs giving me goosebumps, letting the lyrics sink in – I felt like I was the luckiest girl in the world. It was love at first listen. I mean, my first cassette tape (that I literally wore out) was Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced.” I distinctly remember having sleepovers and playing “Hey Joe” at full blast while my guest looked at me like I was loco. Can’t we just listen to Cyndi Lauper?
Once in awhile, a band hits the mainstream that stirs up those memories, and The Black Keys have been a favorite of mine for some time. Wito adores them, which isn’t a surprise because he enjoys “real rock and roll,” as he puts it. Yesterday, as we were driving home from school pickup, Wito asked for the track “Little Black Submarines.” You guys, mama fist pump alert. I’m sorry for the horrible quality, but I was just fumbling to hit the voice memo app on my phone in time to capture some of it. Although barely audible, even little Wita knew some lyrics. (Take note – although Wito is a born-and-raised Californian, he sings like he’s from Oklahoma. It’s in his GENES, man.)
Take that, Fresh Beat Band.