Music Disconnects the Generations

To say that I experienced a generation gap with my parents over the music I preferred is a gross understatement. I constantly heard “turn that garbage off!” anytime the volume on the family stereo went above a whisper. Receiving my own stereo as a gift only solved half the battle; a good quality pair of headphones brought true peace to the household. Going away to college didn’t hurt matters either. One thing I was sure of: my own children would not only appreciate my music, but I would relate to theirs.

My musical coming of age was the British Invasion of the early to mid-60s. Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Cream, Who, and the Moody Blues were the bands that made a huge impression on me. My parents, in their very early 30s at the time, seemed to appreciate the music as much as I did. We all gathered around the television on that Sunday night in February 1964 to watch the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. They took me to both A Hard Day’s Night and Help! movies and seemed to enjoy it. I’m certain they enjoyed it more than I did taking my then pre-teen daughter to Spice World three decades later, but we’ll get to my kids later.

At some point around the time Neil Armstrong walked the surface of the moon, my parents became completely intolerant of my musical taste. To them, anything south of Sergio Mendes was crap. To me, anything north was for the geriatric crowd. Although their limited album collection possessed no Lawrence Welk, the speed of what they preferred was more Geritol than Red Bull. I recall LP’s of the “songs of your life” genre that my folks would play over and over like Trini Lopez’ “If I Had Hammer,” Frank Sinatra’s “It Was A Very Good Year,” and Ed Ames’ “My Cup Runneth Over.” Rounding out the collection were titles from the likes of Sergio Franchi, Eydie Gorme, and Ferrante & Teicher -  the Michael Bolton, Celine Dion, and Kenny G of their time. And they had the nerve to tell me to turn that garbage off?

There were times when it appeared that I could influence my parent’s tastes if they would just sit back and listen. I mean, they owned the Hair soundtrack; they weren’t completely out of touch. They did show a degree of enthusiasm for a few pop acts of the time: The 5^th Dimension, Sonny & Cher, and Sergio Mendes, but not enough to sample anything that I was listening to. In fact, if I was listening to it, it automatically was rendered trash.

During the summer of 1970 my parents did provide me one of my most cherished musical memories, seeing Elvis Presley live at the International Hotel in Las Vegas. The buzz in town was unreal, the atmosphere in the hotel lobby was electric, and the shows (2 per night for a month) were completely sold out. It amazed me how quickly tickets became available after my father introduced Andrew Jackson to the Maitre ‘D (a $20 gratuity was fairly substantial in 1970) after he was emphatically told that there wasn’t an available ticket in town, let alone four. Our table was dead center, Elvis was at the top of his game, and I learned that no didn’t always mean no, especially if you could part with a twenty-dollar bill. I also learned that you must take the good with bad, a favorite expression of my father. The good, obviously being the opportunity to see the King of Rock & Roll while he was still in his prime; the bad, being dragged by my parents to see such Vegas stalwarts as Lou Rawls, Vicki Carr, and Steve & Eydie. Thankfully, Wayne Newton was never an option.

As I progressed into my teen years the music divide in the household was as wide as could possibly be. Explaining to my parents that Alice Cooper was male, Dusty Springfield was female, the Allman Brothers weren’t all related, and that there was no one named Derek in Derek and the Dominos proved to be futile. They just didn’t get it. Could common ground ever be reached?

Although my parents strongly disliked everything in my catalog, there were a few artists in their collection that I actually enjoyed and wasn’t afraid to admit it. One was the aforementioned Sergio Mendes & Brasil ’66. Let’s face it, Sergio might've been the coolest cat on the planet and was wildly popular, and his featured vocalist, Lani Hall, has perhaps the sultriest voice ever pressed on vinyl. The group’s mix of classic Brazilian and American fare, re-arranged with a smooth, jazzy samba beat, is as irresistible today as it was 50 years ago. Jerry Vale, the last of the great Las Vegas lounge singers, was another gem from my parent’s collection that I found myself drawn to. Vale is usually mentioned in the same breath as Louie Prima, and although not as cool as Prima in personality and presence, Vale has a voice that’s as distinguished as his trademark tuxedo and white hair. I also found myself listening more and more to an album of Dionne Warwick that proved to be the road map to the much sought after common ground.

Actual common ground was uncovered in the song styling of Burt Bacharach. I discovered that all the Dionne Warwick songs I enjoyed were Bacharach compositions. The master of taking the subject of lost love and making it feel so damn good, Bacharach has produced enough hit songs to fill a 75-song, 3-disk box set. Burt didn’t invent the flugelhorn, but has used it probably more than any other contemporary artist to set the mood for his tales of “wishin and hopin” for love. Vocalists as varied as Warwick, Gene Pitney, and Elvis Costello (just to scratch the surface) have put their signature on Bacharach’s work. The Bacharach box set was the only thing I could play in the company of my parents without hearing an ill word about my choice of music. I'm not talking about as a child or teen, but as an adult!

I have far more musical common ground with my own children than I ever had with my parents.  My kids, from a very young age, enjoy a great deal of music from my collection, including Burt Bacharach, the great generational equalizer, but truth is they were basically force fed it at home and in the car.  However, they also have their own tastes, ones that I cannot relate to in much the same way my folks couldn’t relate to mine. From a live standpoint, the main difference is that with the exception of seeing Elvis Presley, I was dragged to all the other shows attended with my parents; not really my cup of tea. My kids and I have seen the likes of Red Hot Chili Peppers, Steely Dan, Bruce Springsteen, and Alice Cooper; all were happy to attend voluntarily. Still, when some of their favorite contemporary artist are played in my presence, the smooth nostalgic refrain of “turn that garbage off!” disconnects the generations.