The Evolution of My Music

In 1976 my favourite record was the soundtrack to Disney’s “The Jungle Book”. My musical tastes have changed a bit since then.

My first music was material supplied to me by my parents. Disney records (they were vinyl) and Sesame Street sing along albums were what my parents thought I should listen to. I’m pretty sure they didn’t realize their musical selections would influence me later in life. When I wasn’t listening to “The Jungle Book” I had to endure endless hours of ABBA at home and non-stop Elvis on the 8-track whenever we took a car trip.

 The next step in the evolution of my musical tastes was my discovery of radio. Unfortunately for me, the first place I discovered radio was Prince George, BC in the early 80s. Nothing against good ole PG, but the selection of radio stations was quite small, never the less, I was introduced to Genesis, The Police, Michael Jackson, Huey Lewis and the News (whoops) and the always fantastic Cyndi Lauper. It doesn’t seem that spectacular, but it was a big jump from “It’s Not Easy Being Green” by Kermit the Frog.

Along with radio, I also discovered the TV shows “Kid Video”, “Video Hits”, and “Good Rockin’ Tonight” (I was never a fan of “4 o’clock Rock”, even back then I knew Mike Sobel was a goofball). Even with all this exposure to new music, I was still listening to music that the major record labels wanted to sell. I saw rigid classifications of music (mostly fabrications of the music industry). I liked rock and pop, I didn’t like country, jazz, classical or folk music. I didn’t even have to listen to music to find out if I liked it or not, it just had to fit into the proper category.

Moving into the nineties and university, I was exposes to live music for the first time in my life. I had never heard live music until university. Going out with friends on the weekend to catch some live music became a fairly regular event. There were always gigs at Dinwoodie’s, People’s Pub, The Sidetrack Café, or The Power Plant. The music I remember was great, but I also remember the bands doing great cover tunes of songs and artists I’d never heard of before. I learned about “musical influences”. During this era in my life, Fishbone, Parliament, Led Zeppelin (they weren’t old enough to be considered classic rock in the eighties so I’d never really heard much about them…please don’t judge me), and guitar wizard Joe Satriani made it onto my regular playlist. Even with my musical tastes expanding, music still fit into strict categories. I still liked rock and pop, and I still disliked country, jazz, classical and folk music.

Near the end of the decade, in the summer of 1998, my musical tastes were forever altered for the better. I met my wife in June of 1998. I was in love (still am) and I was ready to do anything she asked, including accompanying her to the Edmonton Folk Music Festival. I knew I didn’t like folk music though, anything that could be classified as folk music didn’t appeal to me. I didn’t have to listen to it, I just had to know it came from the box labelled “folk”. Still, she really wanted me to go, so I went.

I was amazed.

I expected a bunch of people sitting around listening to “Kumbaya” sung a dozen different times and Joan Baez wannabes boring people to death with melancholy, depressing melodies. I was wrong. When Linda Tillery and the Cultural Heritage Choir perform, you can’t help but get up and dance, and I was no exception. I was totally floored by Billy Bragg and Colin Hay. Although I loved that first festival and was stunned by the great music, I was deeply, deeply troubled. The inflexible compartments that made up my musical world didn’t apply anymore. Rock, pop, classical, jazz, blues, folk were labels created by record companies to make it easier to sell music. When I removed the labels, a whole new musical landscape presented itself to me.

Since 1998, I haven’t missed a single Edmonton Folk Music Festival. Every year I find 2 or 3 or 4 artists that make it onto my regular playlist. Every year, I discover musical styles that don’t fit any classification or categorization.

My wife changed my life. My musical taste was pretty sucky before I met her. There I said it. Let’s move on.

Recently, I was chatting with a friend and the topic of the Folk Festival came up. “I don’t like that type of music” she said. “Folk music isn’t for me”.
“What folk music have you listened to?” I asked.
“I don’t listen to folk music. I just know it’s not my thing”, she replied.
She’s still young, there’s still hope for her.

In the beginning, I listened to Disney soundtracks and Muppet music. Now, with 2 daughters, things have come full circle. In addition to my musical selections, I also listen to “The Lion King” soundtrack and the Backyardigans sing-along DVD frequently.

Hopefully, my daughters don’t have to wait 27 years to develop good taste in music. When asked, my 7 year old said her favourite musicians were (in no particular order) Ani Difranco, The Police and Michael Franti. My 18 month old likes bustin’-a-move to AC/DC and Michael Franti. They aren’t necessarily doomed to repeat my mistakes.

Me at The 2008 Edmonton Folk Music Festival

I’ll take this train, thank you: One Train Later, by Andy Summers 787.87164 SUM

He was a drunk, a stoner, an absentee father and a brilliant guitarist. He is now a loving father, a good husband, still a brilliant guitarist and above all, a human, just like the rest of us, so he’s a bit of a fuck-up too. He is Andy Summers, the former guitarist for the Police, a prolific photographer and now, an author.

His memoir, One Train Later, is not an autobiography, but a collection of stories that follow his rise to fame. From Lancashire to London to Los Angeles to New York’s Shea Stadium, Summers tells the story from his point of view, or more accurately, he tells the story he remembers. Summers makes it clear that the facts may be wrong, places and dates may be mixed up, but the stories are his. While I’ve never heard an interview with Andy Summers, I get the impression he writes the same way he speaks, and this is refreshing. The writing is varied; it’s sometimes sparse, blunt and to-the-point, and sometimes it’s colourful and poetic.

Summers covers the key events in his life up to the 1983 Police concert at Shea Stadium. The period that I found most interesting was the slow rise to fame of the Police. While they weren’t an overnight success, a tour of the U.S. catapulted them to stardom. I enjoyed Summers’s candor and honesty. After reading his memoir, the phrase “sex, drugs, and rock & roll” would continually come to mind. There is a description of a gig where Summers, almost too stoned to play, mentions he was scared to look at his fingers while playing. Despite the drug induced stupor, the show was a success.

The common thread running through the book is music. Summers has a genuine love of music, and he doesn’t hide it. Everything revolves around music; the sex and drugs are mere props in this world. He talks about innovative chord progressions (if anyone has read the book and know what he’s talking about, please tell me…I’d love to know what he means) and choosing not to follow the vocal progression with the guitar (to Sting’s enjoyment). Summers is very honest about his experiences with sex, drugs, alcohol, and fame. He is equally honest about his love of music and his prowess with the guitar. He’s good, and he knows it. Coming from a lesser musician (Nickleback guys, I’m looking at you), this could be construed as arrogant, but coming from Andy Summers, it’s honest and it’s the truth. I saw the Police on June 2, 2007 in Edmonton, Alberta, the second stop of their reunion tour. Sting introduced Andy Summers as the “best guitarist in the world”. He may have been right.

The breakup of his marriage is another issue that Summers describes with honesty, hiding nothing. He highlights the mistakes that he feels lead to his ultimate divorce from Kate, and while he blames the fame, he also knows it’s his fault. I felt his sadness and loneliness. He’s a man who knows he’s screwed up, he sorry for it, and knows he can’t change it. He blames no one but himself. In the Age of Blame, this is rare.

While I enjoyed the book, there were a few points that bothered me. The descriptions of his drug fuelled gigs, parties and relationships got a bit tiresome. You’re a musician, you like drugs, you take them a lot…I understand this, let’s continue with the story. At times, the descriptions seemed to drag on, and while this may be of interest to some people, it wasn’t interesting to me.

Andy Summers is one of my favourite guitarists and he is now also one of my favourite authors. Read this book.

What is a Universal Chan?

Homo Universalis, Universal Man, Renaissance Man, polymath, Universal Genius. All terms used to describe one with proficiency (not necessarily expertise), knowledge and understanding in a wide array of subjects and fields of study. Leonardo da Vinci is frequently held up as the original Universal Man.

I am not the 21st century’s version of the Universal Man. I am the Universal Chan. I have an “executive summary” knowledge of a great many subjects, and of those numerous subjects I only have an understanding of a small handful. Of those subjects I actually understand, I’m only an expert in one or two…and that expertise is regularly questioned. I am not the new version of the Universal Man, but I’m trying.

To fulfil the requirements of a Universal Man, the Universal Chan will discuss a wide range of subjects, all from the standpoint of a 37 year old, bald, half-Chinese, Unitarian Universalist, engineer, husband and father of two. Expect to see posts on politics, science, environmentalism, religion, city planning, arts, music, and most importantly food.

Excelsior!