Do you like music? I like music. I love music. Don't we all.
But.
Do you like being around music you loathe? Do you stay? That string of unintelligible excrement someone else finds immersive and satisfying? How does it make you feel when you cannot escape it? Do you deal, keeping your internal pressures in check? Or do you seethe, writhe, and fester? Doesn't that feel like forever? And a day...?
Have you ever heard a duck...making noise...while a dog happily runs down the beach with said duck's neck in its mouth? I have.
8-track. Cassette. CD. Vinyl. Streamed digital. Then or now, how often do you find something inescapable? How many albums can you listen to straight through, loving every track? You can skip those 'others', right? Even at a friend's house you can lobby for a skip.
Inescapable? That's right. Live.
Stage, theatre, stadium, club. And movie theater. Can't just (well, you can...) get up and walk out, for one or all songs. You kind of have to stay and suffer through it. One good song, one bad one. rawr
I tend heavily to not like musicals for exactly that reason - I very rarely like every song in any suite or collection of music but I skip as needed. Sometimes I do actually test myself, most times not. At home it is a little bit different in that you can fast-forward. Still, if you like most of everything, it is easier to suffer through that single irritating cacophony, especially if you aren't watching alone. Camaraderie makes for patience, does it not? Nope. Not all the time. Especially today, we get up and go do something else. And no harm, no foul. Right? Not all the time. It does take work, and I know that. In moderation.
I do not like musicals because it is extremely rare that I find even thirty percent of a given offering attractive. And why is it so many times the parts are given to people who aren't actually professional singers?! Especially in movies? Don't get me wrong, some people switch gears with astonishing brilliance and accomplishment. Others just plain fucking suck. Even professionals. To each their own, and there are plenty of us; one person's diamond, another's coprolite. So it is something I rarely decide to partake in, let alone pursue.
So.
Enter my then-relatively new partner. She is incredible on all accounts, and she comes from a performing family. Music, theatre, arts. High expectations across the board. What does she love, more than almost anything? Musicals. Fuck.
New people bring new ideas and...gag...exposures, right? Right. I had to sit through musicals. Can't we watch romcoms instead? Not really fair as I am very much an atypical, Gen X cishet and love most intelligently playful romcoms. But - challenge myself to sit, listen, attention, learn. And I did! And I did not. Yuck. Pain. My ears! Cat on a rack! Poor puddy tat.
Of course this led to sore spot(s). I turned into that thankfully rare Mr. Hyde as I found less-than-choice (depending on your perspective) descriptors for those less appealing performances. A few tense moments but nothing either of us couldn't understand about each other. Great relationship with effective communication is fabulous.
SO.
The Blues Brothers has been my hands-down, uncontested, favorite movie of all time since I saw it in theatres in 1980 at age ten. Period. Only a couple of films vie for a distant-or-not second. Yes, there were some songs in it, fantastic songs. , OK, quite a few. I had thought through much of what was appealing about that movie. Maybe more on that later as it conjures more verbosity from me than you likely want. Possibly a dumb statement if you are reading this, but anyway. It was a YUGE part of what I saw as my formatively playful sarcasms, cynicisms about the world.
SO, when we watched it together, she did like it and immediately stated: "You do know it is a musical, right?" With exactly those well-placed emphases.
Oh. My. Fucking. Shit.
She's right.
I lost my shit. Speechless. And stayed that way. And just thought about it. And she fucking grinned a fucking smug fuck grin. Fuck. I had never attached that word to my movie.
I had become even more anti-musical since I had met her and partaken more in that realm. Desktop, laptop headphones, in another room or gone if I can be. I own a copy of Moulin Rouge but I do not watch it.
My favorite movie, of all time, something I imprinted heavily on, was indeed a musical. A god-damned, fuckshittard musical. At forty-fourish, after all of my high-powered introspection, study, learning, experience, wisdom...that smacked me upside da head like an adopted, black, southern mother-in-law. And I mean that with a viscerally dedicated affection - I told my mom as an early teenager, when asked if I could choose a mom that wasn't her, who would I choose? It was obvious. I have always adored black culture, community, women. I wanted Aretha as at least a pushy aunt with high expectations I would happily deliver on.
That is not to say there aren't other musicals I have come to adore for other reasons - Chicago, Little Shop of Horrors. Parts of Phantom. Holy fucking shit, Gerard...! Dude!
And there are always diamonds to be found and polished, enjoyed despite their flaws. But I'll be damned if I ever sit through Moulin Rough again.
Maybe I'll be damned.
©2020 Michael Pichahchy
No comments:
Post a Comment