My goal was never too spend much time writing about music or things related to it and I don’t usually pay much attention to the WP daily prompts; however, one caught my eye as it posed a very intriguing question I could not resist. Oddly enough, I had just posted something in a “music” category—coincidence?
The question was this: “What sort of music was played in your house when you were growing up?” Instantaneously it brought a memory to the forefront that I will never forget. To the best of my recollection I was between the ages of three and five.
In hindsight, my mother had a pretty decent record collection but one particular record had the misfortune of spending too many days in the hot trunk of a car on a summer day. Despite being warped, it still played flawlessly, the needle still followed along the grooves, never skipping a beat, round and round it went, slowly moving up and down in line with the wave of the warp.
Listening to that record invoked an awe in me. The music was about as rock-n-roll as it could get, to a child that age, watching the record wobble and wave as the table turned was mesmerizing, and I was captivated by the album cover too. I stared at it, poured my eyes over every detail and was fascinated by and a little disturbed at the idea a man would walk across, what I perceived to be, a hot blacktop barefoot.
The album: The Beatles’ Abbey Road. That was the type of music most played in my home as a kid.