Sitting here late at night. In an unusual departure from my usual, I have the ole fart classical station on. As I type I feel like I am enduring a neverending overture score for a never beginning epic starring Charleton Heston. The music is grand and makes me feel like I want some popcorn before the movie starts.
My father used to listen to this type of music all the time. He preferred classical because as he put it, "The human voice is the worst musical instrument in the world." Of course as a young and numb punk know it all, I was sure he was wrong. Hundreds of violins wailing in my mind ranked lower than Jimi, Aretha, or Roger Daltry. Give me some 4 chord Rock and a headbanging vocalist and I was in heaven.
It's odd though. Here I sit 40 some years later. My dad long dead. And what have I been dialing into more often than not lately? Yeah, that's right, classical. Go figure. I guess some influences need time to germinate. Time to come full circle and capture our interest when we are ready.
So I have to once again thank my father for something I did not ask for. But now enjoy even though he and I were sure I wouldn't. He because he thought I had no taste or class. Me because I thought he was just a stuffed shirt stuck in some time warp from 100 years ago. It kind of sticks in my craw too. Having to admit he had more on the ball than I gave him credit for. Oh well. We never stop growing. Or is it we never should stop growing?