Comfortably Numb

Hello, Friends.

Have you noticed in the age of COVID that some of your tastes have changed?  I don't mean literally, although I do think it is spooky that one marker of this disease is a loss of taste and smell.  I mean the things you typically like to do, or eat, or in my case, listen to.

Mia has her potatoes.  I have re-discovered comfort in classic rock.

Before the outbreak, our adult son Nick gave us a family membership to Spotify. I was grateful for the gift, but thought I might never use it. I thought I was too old for the internet jukebox.

I am from the vinyl generation.  The first album I ever bought was Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John. I was thirteen years old. I remember sitting in my room, with the stereo my father built, listening to Funeral for a Friend.  A Candle in the Wind. Benny and the Jets. It was a double LP and I studied the liner notes over and over again.  When I plugged in the giant headphones and climbed into my beanbag chair, I felt such comfort. Whatever was swirling about in my adolescent mind quieted as I listened to my music. Over the years I added new albums to my collection, and my love for classic rock followed me to my prom (Stairway to Heaven), and to college.  But as 8-tracks replaced albums, and cassette tapes replaced 8-tracks, I began moving away from my original passion for this style of music.  Today the albums of my youth are in my attic, gathering dust, along with the turntable.

For most of the last twenty years I have preferred to listen to and follow acoustic musicians. Folk artists.  Musical poets. Iron & Wine, Ani DiFranco, Brett Dennen, Fiest, Fink. The Weepies. Even Ed Sheeran (the closest I get to enjoying rap music). I have a particular Melissa Ferrick CD I leave in my car to listen to whenever the political news starts raising my anxiety past the point of no return.

But recently, with COVID and a collapsing economy, and near total uncertainty as to what elementary education will look like in the fall (my chosen profession), this music no longer comforts me. I have begun to do a lot more cooking than before, and I have found myself relying on both the Spotify membership that Nick bought us, and the Sonos speaker he gifted us at Christmas to keep me company in the kitchen.  And what do I listen to now?  Classic Rock.

Last night, while I made chili rellenos, I listened to Landslide, Wild Horses, Let it Rain, Hotel California, Knockin' on Heaven's Door, and Comfortably Numb. Can you name the bands? (Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Eagles, Dylan, and Pink Floyd.) I didn't think about murdering hornets, or permanently remote teaching. I didn't get anxious about the coming election. I didn't do anything but sing along with song lyrics that haven't passed my lips in decades. And it felt good.  It felt familiar. It felt safe.

Rock Classics is now my first playlist on Spotify. Thanks, Nick, for the present. It brings me comfort during an uncomfortable time.

What brings you comfort?