I think back to days in my childhood, lazy Sundays where after we'd all gorged ourselves on a huge Sunday roast cooked by my dear mother, our dad used to haul out the records. Yes, the records children, actual vinyl played on a funny old device called a record player which had a needle. I know this is all Greek to most of you. Anyway. These were such amazing times. My father had (and still does) a very eclectic, if not downright weird, taste in music. We used to be subjected to anything between ABBA (ok, no that was me) to ZZ-Top and everything in between.
The favourites that stick in my head are (in no particular order):
Carly Simon, Joan Baez, Barbra Streisand, Rolling Stones, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Patti Smith, Karla Bonoff, Fleetwood Mac, The Pretenders, Kate Bush, Janis Ian, Linda Ronstadt, Dire Straits, Eric Clapton…oh the list could go on and on. My father had a kick-ass collection and we loved listening to the music. My dad would strum (actually plinkety, plinked) on his guitar while I (and my dear sister) would attempt to sing along. Some of the lyrics were quite risqué and I'm sure he had more than his fair share of laughs at our attempt to cleanse them – substituting pooh for shit for example.
Dad's collection also spanned to videos and we used to be treated to live concerts of some bands which we loved.
Last night, I realised I have become my father. I put on a Texas DVD, handed Rhiannon a 'microphone' (remote control), took mine and we danced and sang around the lounge. She absolutely loved it and eventually got out her little guitar and microphone to 'rock n roll' as she put it. Was such a fun thing to do and made me realise that some things are so cool to pass on. Her name, Rhiannon, comes from the Fleetwood Mac song of the same name and the first time I heard it at age 11 I vowed to call my daughter that.
Thanks Dad for the insanity and the music! Love you lots.
