Category: Music

  • ODDS and ENDS: Rain, Puddles, Tottenham v Arsenal, and Disco Playlist

    (SWITCH… Jimmy Smits)

    It’s flooding in NYC, y’all! Take a look:

    I found this on Twitter/X this morning showing a bus in Brooklyn. I was out doing the Alt Parking at 8:30am and the water was coming up over the curb. This is a lot of rain. Like Texas flood kind’a rain. And last weekend we had the remnants of that tropical storm sit on top of the City for three days and dump loads of rain. Up where we live in Harlem, I don’t think about it flooding as compared to Lower Manhattan, which doesn’t take much submerge that part of the City. But it just won’t stop.

    Taking the kid to school this morning meant that we had to trudge out in the rain. We had on rain boots, and rain coats, with umbrellas over the top of us. Not that any of this gear stop us from getting wet, but it wasn’t that bad. And what made it a fun walk to school was the numerous amount of puddles along the way. Which, when you are wet already, what’s the harm of slashing in a puddle or two. And there is something deeply innocent and extremely satisfying in stomping through a puddle. It never is not fun. It is an act that serves no purpose other than making you happy, and identifying people who are sticks-in-the-mud.

    The North London Derby ended in a draw. From my totally biased Tottenham Hotspur point of view – it was just as good as a win.

    And, I started making a playlist for when I am at the gym. It’s nothing but disco music, but specifically, the disco music I remember hearing as a kid. And as I am compiling this list, I can’t shake the feeling that this music is sweaty. Like it conjures up the feeling of being hot and sweaty on a dance floor – in the Summer. And it’s not an image I get in my mind, but a feeling, a sensation of being on polyester and dancing.

  • The Scourge of Dads Who Rap

    This morning as I was walking my daughter to school, she started talking to me about what she considers her “look.” You know, the fashion and style the uniquely defines who she is. Right now, that would be carpenter pants, tee-shirts, and over-sized cardigan sweaters. (Let’s go 90’s!) Then I told her that I used to dress sort of the same way back in high school. And to a degree, my go to look is still jeans, tee-shirts and a sweater.

    I became curious, so I asked if I had a “look” that was apparent?

    I was told that I dress like a dad.

    Is that cool? I followed.

    No.

    Is it embarrassing?

    Not really.

    Is it as embarrassing as a dad rap?

    She grew puzzled. What’s a dad rap?

    You don’t know what a dad rap is?!?!? I was honestly shocked that this had not entered on the radar of my kids life.

    For those of you who don’t know, this is the best example of “Dad Rap” I know of:

    Yes, back in the late 80’s and early 90’s, us kids were subjected to the scourge of dads trying to rap. Just as in the clip, dads would turn the baseball caps around, do weird things with their hands, and always, and I mean ALWAYS, use the “I’m (dad’s name) and I’m here to say…” line.

    I guess it was always meant as a joke by dads. The cringe factor, and trying to embarrass your kids. But it happened so often. Like, at school, PTA meetings, at church, at friend’s houses, little league games; anywhere there was a dad and a group of kids, a dad rap was bound to show up.

    And the other thing that The Simpsons gets 100% Right, are the kids begging for Homer to stop and promise never to do that again. I think the only thing missing would have been a kid angrily reminding their dad that they’re not cool.

    I was lucky enough that my dad never did anything like this. (No, his song that he’d sing to embarrass us was “Doo Wah Diddy.”) But even though he didn’t rap, I do remember thinking as I watched Kevin’s dad rap about putting hotdogs on the grill, that I would never dad rap in front of my kid, let alone their friends.

    So, as we walked to school, I tried to explain to my kid what dads rapping was, why kids hated it, and how it was so awful and embarrassing. I wasn’t doing that great of a job, because, devilishly, she asked me to do a dad rap, so she could know for sure what it was like.

    So I did it. I did the “I’m Matt Groff, and I’m here to say…” line. Followed with, “I love my daughter in a major way.” I turned my ballcap around. I did weird had gestures.

    It did make the kid laugh.

    But she made me promise never to do that again.

  • Texas Music

    Texas gets a bum wrap of late, and to be honest, it deserves it. I can say that because I lived there for over twenty years. I might not be a born Texan, but I’m Texan enough.

    Anyway, sometimes a certain song or sound hits me, and it reminds me of that state. Usually, it’s a song from Willie or Stevie, but sometimes it can be ZZ Top.

    I think it’s because it’s really hot in New York, and if it’s hot in July, that reminds me of Texas.

  • My Parents’ Music

    My parents were pretty middle of the road Midwestern Americans. They were in the vanguard of Baby Boomers released on this country, and what that means is that they were more Beatnik and Folk Music, rather than Hippie and Rock and Roll, which is what most people associate with Boomers. They built a very normal and respectable middle-class life for themselves and me and my brothers. No complaints on my end. The older I get, the more appreciate that my folks were stable, dependable, and loving parents. No flying off the handle, or strange flights of fancy or obsession came out of them.

    But they really loved disco music. They never went to a disco to dance to that music; just played the albums all the time. On the weekends, my folks like to put music on after lunch and throughout the afternoon until dinner. The one album they went back to often for their disco fix was the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I heard “Night on Disco Mountain” more times than I would like to remember.

    As I am putting my Summer Playlist together, Disco is taking a big lead. And each time I go looking for a Barry White song, or for Alicia Bridges, I started getting the feeling for being seven or eight years old, laying in front of my parents stereo turntable and listening to these songs, and albums. That same driving drum beat, and funky bass jumping all over the place. I mean, everyone made a disco album; from the Stones to KISS. And I think my parents had quite a few of them… Except the KISS album. My mother hated KISS.

    It’s been fun discovering all of these songs that have stuck with me, buried deep in the back of my head, after they were planted there close to forty years ago.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Summer Playlist, Ringo, and Rejected

    (It’s just a jump to the left…)

    Our Summer Road Trippin’ is about to start. The thrill of leaving the City is building in me, as I use my Magical Thinking to forget about how awful traffic is on I-95. (Anywhere on I-95, it’s bad.) And with the road trips comes a friendly competition between the wife and me – Who Can Come Up with The Better Playlist? First of all, there never is a winner – it’s more like an exhibition, a “friendly” so the speak, than a competition. The rule of the contest is that the list needs to be 3+ hours long (we are driving after all) and needs to loosely tie into the theme of Summer/Travel/Vacation or getting away. We do repeat songs from year to year, and occasionally we do have the same song on our lists. (Harry Styles and Paul Simon are the frequent repeated artists.) This year, we have added a rule, which is we need to accommodate some of the songs our daughter likes. She’s beginning to form her own strong opinions on music, and we want her to feel that she has a say in all of this. My lists can be rock and grunge heavy, but this year I want to work in more 70’s funk. Oh, and the Tom Tom Club will have a prominent spot this year.

    Today is Ringo Stars birthday, if you didn’t know.

    I got a rejection notice at 2:22am last night. A bit of an odd hour, but I guess lit journals don’t keep banker’s hours. The magazine had my submission for four months, which is a normal amount of time to hold one of my stories before saying no. I saw that rejection right before I went to bed, and it did put me in an off mood. Not bad, or angry, just off. Off in the sense that I don’t know what’s right anymore. The rejection didn’t stop me from falling asleep, or from getting up and getting back at it today. Yet, I wondered; who was the person who was up at 2:22am this morning? Did the rejection email have to go out at 2:22am? It couldn’t wait until the start of the work day? If this person was up at 2:22am, then that makes me think we have some things in common; we both like staying up late, and working into the wee hours. I salute you, this person who is most likely a volunteer reader or intern for the magazine. I hope you got some sleep, as I will be submitting to you again soon.