4-8-02, Lisa Laird
Lisa's Lair
By Lisa Laird
IPS Features
THOSE OLDIES BUT GOODIES REMIND THEM OF
ME
“Excuse me everyone.
This is Lisa, and she’s into the 50s.”
How’s that for an introduction to a group of people at
a party? All eyes on me, waiting
for something…maybe a nice a cappella. On
another occasion, an acquaintance noticed my white socks and black shoe-boots.
Informed I looked rather 1950s
that day, I assured the person that the look was purely coincidental; no great
decision was made. I changed from
sneakers to shoe-boots without giving thought to the socks.
No big deal.
Even more ludicrous, if it’s possible, was when I
attended a barbecue several years back. The
music being played stopped abruptly. All of a sudden, I
Wonder Why was pumping through the speakers.
I wondered why. What do you
know…I was the reason!
Apparently, the consensus was that I couldn’t survive a few hours
without hearing a golden oldie. Once
again, all eyes were on me. Never
have I seen a group of people so enthralled by basically nothing.
I’m in my thirties and listen to doo-wop.
So what? Ever since I was a
little girl, I’ve been partial to the oldies.
Sure, I enjoy popular music, too, but what’s wrong with melting each
time I hear the voice of Johnny Mathis sing Chances
Are? Of course I find this music to be romantic, however,
there’s one more simple reason. Music
during the 1950s usually had one very alluring element: Uncertainty. The lyrics
often professed love and longing for a desired sweetheart.
The hope derived from this uncertainty has always been immensely
attractive to me. Should this be so
surprising? I’d like to explain
why the uncertainty is a key factor. And
not only in terms of music, but also, everyday life.
I think the following example demonstrates my particular point of view.
As a child, I desperately wanted a baseball glove; my
father refused to buy me one. Thankfully,
the neighborhood kids used tennis balls so I could still play.
I always believed that the crucial difference between a good player and
an outstanding one was the glove. If
only I had possessed that snugly fitted piece of leather, I would have known for
sure.
On one hand, owning the glove may have proved it was
solely capable of grasping baseballs, not dreams. On the other hand, never having owned the glove has its
advantage; it allows me to hold on to the hope of the uncertain possibility that
wearing the glove would have transformed me into the outstanding player I longed
to become.
Uncertainty allows me a sense of untarnished innocence.
Fragments of my life remain as uncharted mysteries.
Ones I don’t want unraveled. Come
to think of it, the most treasured memories I have occurred during times
conclusions I dared to dream were existing possibilities.
And so, why should my musical preference be any different in that regard?
Why not cherish the uncertainty captured in those songs?
However, and this is the odd part, somewhere along the
line, I became synonymous with the 1950s era.
Deemed the designated official in terms of the oldies, campaigning is not
necessary; I never lose an election. Not
only do my perceived responsibilities include knowing who sang what, and when,
there’s more. I have been
informed of quite a number of ’57 Chevrolets and jukeboxes for sale over the
years. I suppose owning them would
reinforce my cool, Fonzie-like image.
Gee, all this attention as a result of my taste in
music. I wonder what would have
happened if I fell in love with some other musical genre.
Would peers have been as amused if, let’s say, my passion was Gregorian
chant? One can only imagine.
In a certain sense, my fondness of the oldies
but goodies is a part of who I am; it is a contributing influence on the
person I’ve chosen to become. Let
others view me as the proverbial whiz of rock ‘n’ roll if it makes them
happy to do so. I must admit,
it’s sort of flattering being revered.
Even as a novelty
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