record scratch

So this obviously resonated with me, to a large extent:

Except that it doesn't quite hit its mark, which is surprisingly for the great xkcd, since so many kids today spend a lot of time and money searching out vinyl. Anyone over the age of, oh, let's say, 35 probably remembers the days when vinyl was either the dominant medium or at least an important one. And anyone under the age of 30 probably at least knows a vinyl collector.  

And then I read the alt-text.

The 78-rpm era was closer to the Civil War than to today

dear god

Footprints

I walk into the living room and hear the sweet sounds of Wayne Shorter and see the 13-year-old
staring at my computer intently. I slowly peek over her shoulder. She's starting at the iTunes window.

She side-eyes me and says, "I need to practice piano, but there's only a little over a minute and a half left of the track. And it's against my personal beliefs to stop a song in the middle if you can possibly avoid it."

That's my girl.

"lyrical dissonance"

So my kid had to bring a short piece of music—roughly thirty seconds or so—into class and explain why s/he liked it. It could be just a small excerpt from a longer piece; the entire thing didn't have to be 30 seconds long. Most kids brought in a current pop hit, or a bit of a video game theme, or a snippet of classical from a movie soundtrack.

She brought this.

(That should have started at about 3:06, and her clip ended around 3:42.)

This is what she said about the piece:

"The lyrical dissonance of this clip adds a layer to the song not present in either the words or instrumentals alone; while the lyrics are despondent, hopeless -- 'broken heroes,' 'no place left to hide,' -- the music sounds just the opposite -- not just hopeful, but triumphant.

"Together, they could indicate that things may seem now like it can never get better from here, but that in fact there is still hope, that the narrator and Wendy will someday 'get to that place where [they] really want to go' and 'walk in the sun,' no matter how bleak the future seems now."

Once again, I'd like to introduce myself: ladies and gentlemen, I Am That Dad.

Beauty and the Beast

This is playing when my 12-year-old walks in.

At exactly the right time—which is 1:25, for those keeping score at home—she shrieks, "someone fetch a priest!" A moment later she adds, "you can't say no to the beauty and the beast...darling."

I stare. She notices and raises her eyebrows inquisitively. "You know this song?" I say, stupidly.

She looks confused, perhaps a bit sad at her father's early onset senility. "I love this song," she replies patiently.

[This has been another installment of I Am That Dad.]

Carry the Zero

So my 12-year-old started talking about Doug Martsch's guitar tone yesterday and I suddenly realized that she knew more about Built to Spill than she does about One Direction and that I have become That Dad.