girl in a beanbag

girl in a beanbag / words and pictures #4
 
There’s this thing going around social media at the moment where friends post their top 10 most influential albums, then invite other friends to do the same thing. I’ve been invited to participate in this a few times. 
 
The problem for me is you’re just supposed to post the album cover without saying anything about it. And as you might have gathered, I really like to say stuff about stuff.

And I mean really? Say nothing about the most influential music of one’s lifetime? Come on. That’s just cruel. 
 
So instead of following the rules, I’m going to say stuff about it here on my own personal soap box.
 
I’ve been thinking about how music taste is an integral part of identity creating. It certainly has been for me, and lots of people I know. Part of that is projecting an image of how we’d like people to see us, rather than the whole truth.
 
So if I was going to post some album covers that have been meaningful to me I could, with complete authenticity post some really awesome, obscure albums that I have loved, and have shaped me.
 
However there would definitely be a degree of me wanting you to think I was cool rather than the whole truth. 
 
So I'm going to get very honest with you, very not cool, and take you back to the true beginning of my awakening love for music.
 
It all started with a little brown Fisher Price tape recorder that Mum and Dad gave me for my maybe sixth birthday. Along with it came two cassette tapes. The Best of Carly Simon and Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.
 
I didn’t really get into Carly Simon, but I loved Elton. I listened to that album over and over and over. So many great songs.

The one that captivated me most was Funeral for Friend / Love Lies Bleeding. I loved the drama of it. I have memories of walking around the garden carrying the tape player, pretending I was at a funeral. But it wasn’t a sad feeling. It was a euphoric feeling of being completely submerged in feeling.
 
And then the song completely changes pace… And well, go and listen to it now. It’s just so great. The piano and electric guitar together create a rare moment in musical history. 
  
My next memorable musical love affair was Total Eclipse of the Heart by Bonnie Tyler. Oh man did I love that song. I didn’t have her whole album. It was on one of those various artists albums that were rightly or wrongly such a big part of the 80s.
 
Back then, to listen to one song over and over you had to hit rewind. I think by that stage I had a fancy red Sanyo dual cassette deck which allowed rewinding and fast forwarding one song at a time when you held play down at the same time. That was some very advanced tech.
 
When I hear this song (if no one is watching) I close my eyes, flex my facial muscles into an expression of deep musical appreciation, and sing along as best I can - which is challenging, because at the top end Bonnie is screaming about two octaves higher than where she started. 

For added emphasis I add the ultimate musical love move which looks a bit like a pantomime chin-up hold. Can be done one or two handed. (You just gave it a go didn't you?!) 
 
This is super-secret and never performed in public, so now you know something very personal about me! 
 
Angie McMahon did a beautiful version of this song.
 
And then came Zorba’s Dance and the inspiration for this story’s picture. That’s an impression of kid me sitting in front of Dad’s big stereo, in our bottle green corduroy beanbag, listening to records. 
 
My kids tell me it looks like I have a moustache in the drawing. So I thought I’d better clear that up, and clarify that I have at no time had a moustache. 
 
Dad’s vinyl collection included a lot of country, ABBA, Fleetwood Mac, Neil Diamond, The Rolling Stones, and a strange album called Zorba the Greek. 
 
I don’t remember the very first time I listened to it, but this is how I imagine it would have happened… 
 
I take the album out of its dust cover and plastic insert. Place it on the turntable. Carefully position the needle, hit play, watch the arm slowly lower to the edge of the record, then anticipation. 
 
A few crackles, then my ears are filled with strange Greek music. Wow, it totally captivated me. I listened to that record a lot. 
 
I can’t remember what age I was. Maybe around 12. I think it might have been some escapism from the beginnings of teenage angst. Unfortunately for my family, as I got into the middle of those chaotic years the music got harder and louder and I got a lot of, “Turn that shit music down!”
 
I remember feeling completely transported by that album, and particularly Zorba's Dance  which builds from a slow, rhythmic swing to a faster and faster symphony of human bliss and exuberance.

When I listened to that, with Dad’s big headphones blocking out all other sounds, the outside world dissolved, and the song became the world and I became part of it. 
 
Leonie x