It's good to share
by Cory Casciato
The Metropolitan
Thanks to a concerted propaganda effort by the record industry, music sharing has received a bad name. It's time for that to change.
I'm not talking about Internet file swapping, at least not specifically. That's what has the industry so worked up at the moment, but it's a tempest in a teapot.
Despite the hyperbole predicting the end of the music business, it will survive this just like it survived radio, cassettes, and every other technology they've resisted and feared.
In the meantime, the record companies are busy trashing the single most meaningful contributor to the success of music not only as business, but as a popular art form. The best loved songs and albums are those that are tied in memory to someone special in your life. Those shared experiences become part of the music forever and can transform the worst pop song into something precious.
Sharing music germinated one of my longest standing friendships. Back in high school we were both typically awkward, unathletic music dorks.
Talking about music was a fine way to alleviate the daily torture called gym class and led to us swapping mix tapes and copies of our favorite albums. Not only did those poorly-dubbed cassettes introduce me to Elvis Costello, the Clash and other bands that profoundly affected my musical taste, they formed the basis of a lifelong friendship. The music we shared was an integral part of our friendship and even if I didn't still enjoy them, they'd be important to me.
My life is full of these experiences, of mix tapes that won me the girl, friendships spawned in the dusty recesses of used record stores and more, but one stands out in my mind over all others.
Last year I took my 10-year-old daughter to see her favorite band, the Flaming Lips, for her first real show. A Flaming Lips show is a little like a circus. There are people in animal suits, strange film projections, confetti cannons and lots of other fun weirdness. To get in the spirit, she dressed up in a karate uniform in homage to Yoshimi, a character from one of their songs.
The novelty of a 10-year-old dressed as Yoshimi got a fair amount of attention from showgoers, including a group directly in front of the stage that cleared a spot for her so she could see.
When the band began playing "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots," the kids that made a spot for her went nuts, jumping up and down and gesticulating wildly to get the attention of Wayne Coyne, the band's singer. He looked down, saw her and the next thing I knew she was on stage with the band, throwing karate moves and looking as excited and happy as she could possibly be.
The memory of my daughter onstage with her favorite band at her first show is indelible. I will always treasure the memory and as much as I liked the Lips before, they now hold a unique place in my heart.
The music we've shared has brought us closer together. It's one area we can set aside the normal parent/child relationship and relate as peers, just two fans enjoying the music.
We talk about and listen to music together. The things she particularly likes take on a special meaning. I'm looking forward to a time when she can introduce me to music she's discovered on her own. I can't wait to see what she digs up.
Don't let the record companies fool you. The best part about music is
sharing it.
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