Lather up the red lipstick. Pull out the leather pants. Rat that mane to a perfect head bangin’ hairdo. It’s the 80s.
People my age, the ever-lazy millennial, have a variety of music at our disposal. We’ve fallen in to the blackhole of YouTube music videos or purchased the $4.99 Spotify and Hulu combo. Yet, for some reason Hairball continues to go on tour and Thunderstruck is still a college drinking game.
Whether you brighten your smile with Mumford and Sons or Pentatonix, music has a way to enter your soul like the Magic School Bus with Ms. Frizzle driving. For me, my music therapy methods revolve around the golden oldies. While I shout “I Wanna Rock” over a pan of stir fry or tickle the pretend ivories with my family at 2 AM, I’m rejuvenated to an alternative version of myself and it took me 23 years to understand why.
But Why?
When I was young, I lost my father to a freak ATV accident. I never got the chance to hear wild Friday night stories from Vietnam, or have him crash a shop party and give all my friends a shot of Tuaca. However, when I blare Aerosmith I’m taken back to an era I never lived through. For me, these songs put me in a place like a soundtrack to a movie. Isn’t it crazy how words put to a beat can do that?
Thank You
To all the artists out there, keep doing your thing. Your Apple Music metrics might not show it but your tunes are medicine to some people. Above all, I have to thank God and my guardian angel for giving me an outlet. An outlet to release stress, an outlet to exuberant dancing in the kitchen, but most importantly, keeping me connected to the stories I never heard. Thanks for letting me live my Dixieland Delight.
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