An Ode to Concerts, Dads and Music

From what I can only characterize as the earliest part of cognitive growing process, I remember the concept of music – and particularly, I remember my dad.

My dad – a drummer by ‘trade,’ if trade means a high school past time and secret love interest – always had the most special connection with music.  I can say that I didn’t always understand it, but as I grew up, I found that perhaps I had been infected with the bug.

I remember my dad, whether it was next to his record player or his five-disk changer (but always with the largest headphones you’ve seen this side of Dr. Dre’s Beats), sitting in the corner, in the dark listening to music as far up as the volume would go. (Insert Spinal Tap eleven joke here).

That’s when my mom would say, “Oh Danny’s having one of his concerts again.” As if air quotes and eye rolls always accompanied the word “concerts”. I guess when I was little I didn’t fully understand why he did it or why it was a weird thing. It just was.  And this was despite the fact that when I was a wee babe, I would sit with him sometimes, in my mini rocking chair, and listen to the music. I’d rock so hard, I swear there were permanent creases in the carpet. He’d even quiz me on the music he was listening to. And perhaps the one I will never live down, and to this day wonder why my dad was listening to, was Whitesnake. I got it right, but Alex Trebek may have debated my answer due to my pronunciation: “WhiteThnake!” I was pretty proud of myself that day.

Now, I grew up in a house filled with music from all eras and genres – and I very much appreciate that about my parents. In fact, I think the only music outlawed in our house was The Beach Boys. (We can talk about “Pet Sounds” later.)

I can remember Saturday mornings listening to Genesis, winding the day down with a dance to Pasty Cline and cleaning the house to the Four Tops – or anything with four in the name for that matter. Although my dad was a little white kid from upstate New York, he has always had a remarkable affinity for Motown. Sometimes his concerts even involved a little air drumming – especially when it came to Led Zeppelin.

And then it hit me. Whether it was my Walkman, my Discman or my MP3 player, I was a mini-me of my dad. I would sit in my room, or the car on long vacations, and presumably wear my tapes and CDs out – listening at the highest possible volume. I was having my own ‘concerts.’ And to me it was magical.

It was like therapy without the therapy. Everything that can be said, everything that can be felt or everything that should be said or should be felt can be done so through music.

When I was in high school and college, I used to sprawl out in bed or on the couch and turn my iPod on full blast for hours at a time just to decompress. I used to be ashamed of this. I thought, how odd…I really don’t know any one who does this. But why the hell don’t they?

Sitting, listening and appreciating music helps me process. It is an escape, a chance to think of better things that will happen in the future and a chance to reflect on the nostalgic times I sometimes wish for when it gets quiet.

And if you know me at all or have ever heard me talk about my father, you might have a slight idea that he is kind of my rock, my hero and a little bit inspiring. And as much as people like to say I am mostly like my mom, I see a lot of myself in my father.

Although he can be hardheaded, sometimes hard to please and a little intimidating at other times, he is my dad and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And not just in terms of ritual music habits…

In fact, I remember my dad recalling the time he and my mother took me to see Captain EO at Disney World. I was so scared that I just buried my head in his chest the entire time. And he says the most remarkable thing about it was that he couldn’t believe how strong my little head was, smashing into his Bluto-like barrel chest. And maybe he was on to something – perhaps more figuratively.

While the love of music and using it as a kind of therapy may not be genetic, some other things are -- like personality traits. And I can say I am happy to inherit both from my Pops!