My Father and the Music

Original Publication 02/12/20

My father turned 60 on Monday; a milestone to savour indeed. Amongst all the acts of thoughtfulness, he was bestowed with a number of special edition vinyl records. In his eyes, the quintessential gift for a music connoisseur such as himself, and a sure-fire given to bring him joy. We take great satisfaction in stumbling upon bands and musicians alike that we may share with one another.

I owe a lot to my father in that regard. A humble man, his eclectic and infectious passion for music is, arguably, one of his defining characteristics. One of my earliest memories of the man is him sitting next to the CD player in our old dining room, a dated pair of Bose headphones sat over his ears and a boyish grin plastered over his face. I can only speculate at what he was listening to, but, for me, it never really mattered. Everything that needed to be said about my father was captured at that moment. That was his happy place, and it always would be.

It's a portrayal of passion and pride for music that encaptured my brother and I from an early age. Led Zeppelin, The Jam, Bruce Springsteen and U2 (to name but a few of his favourites) brought a certain sense of rebellion and wonderment into our household that fed our young and impressionable minds. This was emotion, plain and simple, and, in a manner of speaking, it was his way of communicating with us. Through lyrics and the unmistakable sound of guitar strings, he was able to convey a lot when words would have only said so much. It wasn't until later in life that I began to take note of just how much influence that carried.

It's a habitual practice that stuck in our family. My brother, the proud owner and chef of a fantastic brunch style cafe in Folkestone (see The Unexpected Virtue of Another’s Achievement for more musings) often transmits his affections through food. As a writer, I turn to the page to cathartically release my emotions and convey the words I may, at times, struggle to express through speech, and I find unbridled joy in sharing my work you, curious reader.

I ask myself, though, were it not for these rather profound and personal influences, can I fathom what my disposition towards music might be? Would I have bopped my head repeatedly to Hybrid Theory (Linkin Park 2000) at the tender age of 8? Would I have found that unique sensitivity for Chino Moreno's haunting vocals upon discovering White Pony (Deftones 2000)? And would Jeff Buckley's elegant words have touched my soul to such a degree that I have them permanently inked upon my shoulder? Essentially, would I be the man I am today?

So I guess this is a thank you to my father, for your part in teaching me, and a happy birthday, of course. I feel blessed to have such fond memories of music from my childhood. If I'm lucky, I'll follow in your footsteps, imposing my own style of musical wisdom and making cherished memories with a family of my own. Keeping the tradition alive, so to speak. Because, for all the reasons depicted here, it's an exchange that's always felt necessary and deeply genuine.