Life's Soundtrack: Part Two

As I was saying....

I do believe that our Baby Boomer generation may be the first who really have their own soundtrack.  Not that our parents didn't enjoy music, but theirs just wasn't as portable and as personal as ours.  We were the first with small transistor radios and earplugs (No, Apple didn't invent the tiny earplug, children.)

I spent the 80's raising two daughters and still listened to music as much as I could, but I was BUSY.  My daughters' soundtracks became mine in some ways.  At first we listened to my musical choices.  I was really pleased that they enjoyed listening to oldies from the 60's.  Then they got old enough to request "their" radio stations. (What?  You don't want to listen to Oldies with Mom?)  I grit my teeth and tried to like Duran Duran, Aerosmith, MC Hammer, and Vanilla Ice.  We all liked Richard Marx, Michael Jackson, and Janet Jackson, but I didn't like Duran Duran, Pearl Jam and Madonna.

As they gained more independence in the 90's, so did I.  I spent the 90's detangling myself from my marriage, and dealing with all the feelings divorce and loss brought to my life.  I dealt with my anger by listening to Sinead O'Connor and singing her bitter and angry lyrics over and over in the kitchen while cooking or cleaning.  I saw the  movie Thelma and Louise  in the spring of 1991 (four times!) and purchased the soundtrack immediately.  The soundtrack included the haunting "Ballad of Lucy Jordan" by Marianne Faithfull which had reached out and touched me in the movie.  Listening to it strengthened my resolve and kept me grounded.

My sister introduced me to the Indigo Girls around this time and I fell in love with their harmonies and their lyrics.  I had been an avid fan of Simon and Garfunkle and not felt or heard anything comparable since they had broken up.  The Indigo Girls sang about learning to judge yourself and not letting others judge you ("Closer to Fine"),  the pain of indecision ("Watershed"), and the healing that  hard work can bring ("Hammer and a Nail").    As I ricocheted between denial, anger, depression, acceptance, and back again,  I listened and sang Amy and Emily's lyrics and felt understood.