Giving Thanks

Today it's time to give credit where credit is due. Today it's time to give a shout out to my family. At different points in my life they have assisted me, encouraged me and just plain put up with me and my love of music. Today it's time I acknowledge that.

My obsession with music started early. I always remember my mom playing records when I was younger, and we would dance around the house to Tom Jones, Donna Summer and Chicago. We took car trips pretty frequently and we never left the house without a bag full of 8 tracks and, later, cassettes, for the road. We would sing along and to this day, I don't feel comfortable driving unless the radio is on.

My mom bought me my first album, which, I'm embarrassed to say, was Air Supply "Lost In Love." For my birthday and holidays I would give her a list of records and tapes I wanted, and she would pick a few out for me. She allowed me to color my hair when I turned sixteen, and was the one who encouraged me to cut it short and go platinum blonde. Unfortunately, Madonna had the same idea as my mom, and people mistakenly thought I was trying to emulate her, when really I was copyin Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran. When my best friend and I wanted to start taking the train into Manhattan by ourselves in order to go to Tower Records and other stores in Greenwich Village, our moms came with us the first time to make sure we knew where we were going and would be relatively safe. She drove my friends and I into Manhattan during Fleet Week to go see Robert Palmer at Radio City Music Hall and didn't freak out when we started yelling to sailors out the window on the way home. She would keep my dad from barricading me in my room over some of my "out there" wardrobe choices by promising him it was just a phase, whether she believed that or not. One night my mom brought a business colleague home to have dinner with us. It just happened to be the same night I was attending a Poison/David Lee Roth concert. Her colleague was a bit shocked when I appeared at the table in my spandex under ripped jeans, T-shirt, two different color Converse high tops and leather jacket, with hair and makeup done. My mom just rolled with it, like it was any other night. She's cool like that. So, thanks, Mom. Love you.

My dad gets the award for going the distance for me, literally. He drove me and three of my friends to the Meadowlands Arena in New Jersey from our house on Long Island, a distance of about 30 miles including tolls and bridges, on a school night. Why? Because we wanted to see Howard Jones in concert and that venue was the only one he was performing at that was even remotely close to us. He had zero interest in the show, so while we were inside, dancing and singing along, he sat in the car and waited for us. Think about that for a minute. At the least, he sat in the car in the Meadowlands parking lot for three hours while his daughter and her friends had a grand old time. If that doesn't make him eligible for Dad of the Millenium, I don't know what would. So, thanks, Dad. Love you.

My sister took me to my first concert, Loverboy and Zebra, in November 1983. She spent almost the entire show trying to keep me from leaning way over the railing of our corner second tier section in order to get a better view of the stage. She took the train with me and went to see Bryan Adams at Madison Square Garden on the Reckless tour when he was huge even though she was sick as a dog. I was still too young to go alone, and heaven forbid I miss the show! But the best thing she ever did was wait on line to get Duran Duran tickets for me at the height of their popularity in 1984. She went out on line in the early morning hours, like 3 a.m. In the dark. In the cold. In March. But she got the tickets and took me and a friend to the show. So, thanks, sweetie. I owe you big time.

And finally, I need to give a shout out to the parents of my two best girlfriends, girls I've been friends with since the 4th and 9th grades. Their moms in particular have assisted in our pursuit of all things musical and gave us a lot of freedom to be ourselves. I's mom used to drop us off and pick us up at concerts before we could drive. She put up with music screaming out of her daughter's bedroom at all hours. She lost her basement for several years to our MTV filled hangouts. And she came to Manhattan with I, my mom and me that day to make sure we could do it ourselves. As I recall, we caught her and my mom looking at, shall we say, marital aides, and I just know it was her idea. E's mom took us to our first bar, not to drink, of course, but to dance. She was friendly with a guy in a band called The Works and she would bring a group of us to whereever they were playing. It was my first experience with the local music scene and the fact that most venues would admit underage teens for an additional $2 on top of the cover charge. Both of them, then and now, are very cool ladies who mean a lot to me.

The statute of limitations on thank yous never runs out. I may or may not have said it at the time of the event but I have always known how lucky I am to have had such incredible support behind me as I explored my passion. It's the way I aspire to be with my own children. Thankfully I've got some great examples to follow.

The Seat Next To You

"When I'm tired and thinking cold,

I hide in my music, forget the day...."

Boston

"More Than A Feeling"

Whenever I hear that Boston song I feel as if they wrote those words just for me. For as long as I can remember, I have turned to music whenever I was upset or sad or lonely. It has always understood just what it was that I was feeling. Whether it was a poignant lyric that cut straight to the heart of the matter or a plaintive note from a wailing guitar, it was solace to me. Music helped me deal, helped me cope, helped me get through whatever I was feeling.

I'm sure plenty of people out there feel exactly the same way I do, but in my circle of family and friends, I know I learned this from my uncle. I grew up in a two family house with my parents and sister, and my grandma and uncle upstairs from us. He is twelve years older than me and has been more of a big brother to me than a traditional uncle. His room was directly above mine and on weekend mornings I was always awakened by whatever sounds he had pumping through his gigantic stereo speakers. He introduced me to Led Zeppelin and Queen, Yes and Jethro Tull. He could go on about Chris Squire or Martin Barre or Steely Dan for hours. He was passionate about his music, and it rubbed off on me. When I started coming into my own musical tastes, he took a liking to some of my choices, and we could share an interest in David Bowie and Power Station. We've been to concerts together, traded tapes and CDs back and forth. He is alternately the bane of my existence and the hero of my life. I adore him.

The night before my grandmother had surgery for breast cancer, we went to a Motley Crue concert together. It was a show on the Dr. Feelgood tour and the aggression of the music and attitude of the entire show helped release some of the anxiety we were feeling, at least for a few hours. Several years later, just a few short weeks before we lost her, we went to see Foreigner. Lou Gramm was still with them at that point, after battling his own illness. The theater was relatively small, the stage in the round, the audience more sedate. Yet there we were, two fools jumping around, singing every song and, in my uncle's case, playing air guitar. We were quite a sight, I'm sure. But we were releasing our fear and upset through each song. When my grandmother passed away, I turned to my favorite songs for comfort. And for the rest of my life, whenever I hear a Patsy Cline song, I will think of her.

After my grandmother passed away, my uncle got married. He and his wife had two daughters. These little girls are my first cousins, but so much more than that. How do I explain? Besides my own two beautiful kids, I'm lucky enough to be a part of the lives of a small group of children. The way I feel about them, and what I would do for them, transcends the official title or role I have in their lives. I am not just an aunt or a cousin or a friend, that doesn't say enough or convey enough meaning. They are part of my heart. My uncle's daughters, Anastasia and Athena, are part of this little group.

In April 2008, I got the call that would change my life. At five months of age, Athena was diagnosed with leukemia. It might be a cliche to say you never think it will happen to you, but cliche or not, it is absolutely, heartbreakingly true.

For two years my family lived a nightmare. We watched as this little girl was put through the wringer of treatments, tests and medications galore. A full grown adult would not have been able to withstand what she did. Any one of us would have changed places with her without a second thought.

At the two year mark we celebrated, taking the doctors at their word when they said she had beaten it. But, within weeks, it was back with a vengeance. And unbelievably, we lost her on June 10, 2010, at two and a half years old. I didn't make it to the hospital in time, and that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

In the days and weeks that followed, I turned to my music to help me through the pain, but nothing brought me comfort or understanding. Then I heard a song that brought me back to my best time with Athena. I wasn't able to be with her as much as I wanted to when she was sick. I had my own responsibilities at home, and I always had to make sure my kids were healthy when we saw her to cut down on her risk of infection. Any time with her was precious. In August 2009, we were at my childhood home, gathered for her sister Anastasia's 4th birthday. Athena was happy, relatively healthy and toddling all over the place. That's all she wanted to do that day, walk. So that's what we did. We walked up and down the patio. We walked up and down the sidewalk in front of the house. We walked around the block. Wherever she wanted to go, I went with her that day, reveling in spending time with her and, I admit, kind of ignoring my own children because of it. When I sat down on the steps, she sat down next to me. When I got up, she patted the step to ask me to sit back down. I sat with her as long as I could. So now, and forever more, when I hear the Bon Jovi song "The Seat Next To You," I am transported back to that happy time with her.

About two lovers, the song really isn't apropos of our situation, but some of the lyrics say exactly what I need them to say.

"Baby, say that you'll take me wherever you're going to,
And baby, say that you'll save me a seat next to you."

These lines, especially, kill me every time.

"When you get to the gates and the angels sing,
Go to that place where the church bells ring,
You know I'll come runnin', runnin' to find you..."

This is my song to Athena.

I know in my heart she would have followed in the footsteps of her dad and me and music would have been a huge part of her life. She loved Lady Gaga and could sing the words to "Paparazzi," which my kids now call Athena's Song when they hear it on the radio. She also loved the Bee Gees and would watch a DVD of one of their concerts over and over. Sometimes it was the only thing that would soothe her when she wasn't feeling well. I feel cheated that we'll never know what kind of person she'd turn out to be.

Easter is coming, and it will be a tough day. Last year on that holiday was the last time I saw her at home. But I will think of her running on the spring grass, trying hard to keep up with her sister and my children, her loving cousins, and smile. I will listen to music to find a place of peace for myself, as I have always done and will always do. I will listen to her song, and think of happier times. And I know when I see her again, she will pat the seat next to her, and I will sit down.

Looking Back

Part of what I enjoy about the end of the year and the beginning of another are the year in review recaps every magazine, newspaper and entertainment television show seem to have. The good, the bad and the ugly are pulled together in one nice, neat little package. So here's my 2010 recap in a nutshell.

Me and my best girlfriends E and I were turning 40 in 2010, and we'd vowed to do something special for each of our birthdays. E's birthday came first, in February, so we set out on a cold Sunday afternoon for a beautiful lunch and matinee performance of the Broadway musical "Rock of Ages." It could not have been a more perfect choice for us, three 80s music, clothing and hair survivors. From the opening requests by Whitesnake's David Coverdale to turn off your cell phone so you weren't a dick to the electric faux lighters handed out to be held aloft during the power ballads, it was cheesy goodness. (As an aside, can we talk about those lighters for a sec? I, for one, miss the original Bic illumination. The cell phone light just doesn't have the same charm. I've seen the Bic app for the phone and yes, it's cool that it flickers like a real lighter, but unless you get a burned thumb, it just ain't the same. And I got one, every single time.)

Fast forward a bit to May 2010 and I's birthday. It was a road trip kind of day, with good company, good food and good tunes blasting from a cool rental SUV, followed by a trip to the brand spankin' new Giants Stadium for a Bon Jovi concert. As E says, I gets us into all the coolest places, because we watched the show from a luxury box, the pit, and the side of the stage. Oh yeah, it doesn't get much better than this. We followed Kiefer Sutherland around for a while and after 25 years I finally got to hug Richie Sambora. But more on this another time, as there's so much more to say.

In June I did something I've very rarely done. Get your minds out of the gutter, yes, you, this is a music blog, after all. I left a concert early. Voluntarily. My husband and I were at a Kansas/Styx/Foreigner show and before you say anything, yes, you, we did not leave out of boredom. We left because I wasn't feeling well. Anyone who knows us knows we never leave a show early, ever. It just simply isn't done. Even if we are bored. I'm talking to you, Ozzy Osbourne.

I've been pretty vocal about my love for prog metal band Dream Theater, so it was with shock and dismay that in September I read drummer and founding member Mike Portnoy decided to leave the band. The typical he said/they said stuff flew back and forth across the Internet for days - he wanted to take a break, they wanted to continue moving forward. As a band that seems to have followed the album/tour/album/tour cycle for many years now, with lots of side projects thrown into the mix (including Mike's recently completed work with Avenged Sevenfold), I can't help but think they all would have benefitted from a break, the fans included. After all, how can we miss you if you never go away? But, no. And then, in a startling turn of events, last month Mike asked to rejoin the band. And they said no. No. Personally, I think it's a bit douchebaggy to do that since Mike was the main creative force driving that band, so it will be interesting to see if the remaining members, particularly guitarist John Petrucci, step up to the plate. Dream Theater is back in the studio working on a new album, and no word has come yet on who the new drummer is. Whoever it turns out to be, he'll have some big bass drums to fill.

For the life of me, I can't understand how I can live just a few miles outside of the greatest city in the world and there isn't one halfway decent broadcast radio station out there. My friends and I have said this for years, and I'll say it again - New York radio sucks. It's all rap, Top 40 crap or the same 5 classic rocks songs played ad nauseum. I made the switch back to satellite radio. It just had to be done.

Since I've just copped to being one of thse people who doesn't listen to "popular" or Top 40 music, and music television channels hardly play music anymore, I've turned into someone who discovers new bands through movies and television shows. Thank you to the films and show this year that led me to Muse, Linkin Park, Paramore, Anberlin, Plumb, Within Temptation, Keane and Goldfrapp. Keep it comin'.

Lastly, I'm a pop dolly at heart, so I was more than thrilled when Duran Duran, my love since I was 12, digitally released their new album All You Need Is Now in late December. They snuck it in under the wire to end my musical year on a high note. The album is being widely acclaimed as the album where Rio left off, but I would sandwich it between their first album and Rio. It's got those great 80s pop sounds with a distinctly modern feel. I know I'm (extremely) biased, but when Duran are firing on all cylinders, as they are here, nobody does it better. I'm looking forward to several live shows being a highlight of 2011.

New Year, New Start

Not to be a downer, but 2010 was a pretty craptastic year around here. Aside from a few bright spots I can count on one hand, I'd call last year one big suckfest. I'm not at all sorry to see it go.

So, welcome, 2011. I'm glad you're here.

One of the biggest things to suffer last year was my writing. I pretty much gave it up. I wrote three posts for my other blog, The Set List, last year. Three. Once I got off the horse I had a hard time trying to climb back on, and to be honest, I wasn't inspired. Not in the least. And it started to feel like a chore.


And frankly, when I looked back over my older posts, I realized I was way overreaching. I am not a critic, I am not a pundit, I am not a satirist. I am a fan, a music fan, and any attempt for me to write as anything but a fan is way off the mark.


I started off with the best intentions, to write about my experiences with music, but in my attempt to be current and/or funny, I lost my way. So, in the spirit of the new year, I'm starting over.

Welcome to Life As A Soundtrack.