My love of European funky-dance-until-you-drop-music had been replaced by the likes of Raffi’s Peanut Butter Sandwich and Willoughby Wallaby Woo. Until last weekend.
I had a transformational Easter weekend. Close to religious. I got my groove back.
It stemmed from a recent visit with our dear British friends. My girlfriend quizzed me on her favorite British music stars, and looked at me with a mix of shock and disbelief when I told her I recognized not one singer’s name. It appears that since we had last seen each other and while I was in the midst of raising babies, I had replaced my love of European funky-dance-until-you-drop-music with the likes of Raffi’s Peanut Butter Sandwich and Willoughby Wallaby Woo. And I don’t even know when or how it happened.
Now, I don’t claim to be on top of pop culture — international or here in the States – but to my credit, I’ve been to Milan’s Loolapaloosa disco – more than once, and I have a CD collection that includes British pop Dido and Morcheeba. So I get it. But somewhere in between Kindermusik and Music Together I apparently got struck with amnesia and forgot I loved European – mainly British – pop, even to the point of cheesy.
So my friend introduced me to Lily Allen last week. (Many of you probably know who she is, but remember, I’ve been living in a self-imposed hole.) I’ve known of her all of seven days and have downloaded pandora to my laptop, hooked to the kitchen speakers, and listen to my favorites from her album “It’s not me, it’s you.”
I don’t want to do the dishes. Lily Allen goes on. The kids are screaming at each other. Lily Allen goes on (except # 8 – and remember, my children aren’t the age where they actually listen to the words yet, otherwise Lily Allen won’t be going on). I’ve found a part of me again that had gone missing somewhere between Italy and here, and I’m dancing around the kitchen.
Makes me think about all the things that we forget when we return from a a trip or time spent abroad. What’s gone missing for you?