Once in a while, I hear people lament that the United States doesn't have its own musical flavor, that we borrow everythign from everyone else. Or, conversely, that while America does produce its own music, the lamentation is that it's homogenized and pasteurized, sounding the same no matter where it happens to come from.
Wrong, so wrong.
Listen to Roger Miller. The more I listen to artists like this, the more I know America does produce its own music, and very enjoyable music at that -- and that comes, much to the chagrin of the hoi-polloi, in country and folk music.
I won't say I'm a big fan of country. Folk music, however, is a different story -- and a gateway to the old-timey country that has its roots in Southern folk music that is as distinctly American as political correctness and apple pie.
I think what's homogenized is the way music is presented to Americans today. Our local soft rock station has such a tight rotation it's a good bet you will hear the same popular songs a dozen times a day, and they all pretty much sound the same. The same can be said of any country station, or, in fact, any alternative music station I've listened to. Different channels, diferent genres, but the same old, boring rotation.
So I recall where my musical tastes came from.
First, local radio. Extremely local, in the form of KID AM 590, which was the go-to station at home when I was a kid.
Then there's the Muppet Show. That's where I got my introduction to the likes of Roger Miller, Harry Belafonte, and so many others. Their eclectic approach at presenting great artists, no matter the genre, helped introduce, I'm sure, a lot of kids like me to a wider variety of music. And actors. That's the first time I saw the likes of Steve Martin, Danny Kaye, and others. Thanks, Mr. Henson.
Today, where do I go? Local radio, once again. KGTM, our local oldies station, on Saturday nights features the "Real Bob Ziel," who is about the only local DJ who does a live show. He takes requests. He talks about the music from his childhood, roaming Brooklyn -- I often wonder how he made it to Idaho -- and just shares a lot of music. If the ISU basketball or football teams aren't on the radio Saturday evenings, I'm there, listening to Bob.
Then there's the Internet. WFMU's Beware of the Blog is perfect for fueling anyone's eclectic musical taste. I won't say I enjoy everything they offer, but a fair portion of it finds its way onto my playlists.
And I still listen to a lot of classical music. Dad and Lamar Barrus at the local NPR station introduced me to that as a kid, and I still listen avidly. It would be fun to host a local classical music show, but I imagine the audience would be pretty small for that. Maybe some day when I get this iPod Touch and podcasting thing figured out. Until then, I'll listen to more Roger Miller.
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History of Joseph Smith, by His Mother, by Lucy Mack Smith. 354 pages.
History of Pirates, A: Blood and Thunder on the High Seas, by Nigel Cawthorne. 240 pages.
Peanuts by the Decade, the 1970s; by Charles Schulz. 490 pages
Star Bird Calypso's Run, by Robert Schultz. 267 pages.
There's Treasure Everywhere, by Bill Watterson. 173 pages.
Read in 2024
A Rat's Tale, by Tor Seidler. 187 pages.
Blue Lotus, The, by Herge. 62 pages.
Book Thief, The; by Markus Zusack. 571 pages.
Born Standing Up, by Steve Martin. 209 pages.
Captain Bonneville's County, by Edith Haroldsen Lovell. 286 pages.
Case of the Condemned Cat, The; by E. W. Hildick. 138 pages.
Catch You Later, Traitor, by Avi. 296 pages.
Diary of A Wimpy Kid: Big Shot, by Jeff Kinney. 217 pages.
Edward R. Murrow and the Birth of Broadcast Journalism, by Bob Edwards. 174 pages.
Exploring Idaho's Past, by Jennie Rawlins. 166 pages.
Forgotten 500, The; by Gregory A. Freeman. 313 pages.
I Must Say: My Life as A Humble Comedy Legend, by Martin Short and David Kamp; 321 pages.
Joachim a des Ennuis, by J.J. Sempe and Rene Goscinny, 192 pages.
Le petit Nicolas et des Copains, by J.J. Sempe and Rene Goscinny, 192 pages.
Moon Shot: The Inside Story of America's Race to the Moon, by Alan Shepard and Deke Slayton; 383 pages.
Number Go Up, by Zeke Faux. 280 pages.
Peanuts by the Decade: The 1960s, by Charles Schulz. 530 pages.
Red Rackham's Treasure, by Herge. 62 pages.
Secret of the Unicorn, The; by Herge. 62 pages.
Sonderberg Case, The; by Elie Wiesel. 178 pages.
Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, by David Sedaris. 159 pages.
Stranger, The; by Albert Camus. 155 pages.
Tintin in Tibet, by Herge. 62 pages.
Truckers, by Terry Pratchett. 271 pages.
Vacances du petit Nicolas, Les; by J.J. Sempe and Rene Goscinny, 192 pages.
World According to Mister Rogers, The; by Fred Rogers. 197 pages.
Ze Page Total: 5,859.
The Best Part
Catch You Later, Traitor, by Avi
“Pete,” said Mr. Ordson, “we live in a time of great mistrust. This is not always a bad thing. People should question things. However, in my experience, too much suspicion undermines reason.”
I shook my head, only to remember he couldn’t see me.
“There’s a big difference,” he went on, “between suspicion and paranoia.”
“What’s . . . paranoia?”
“An unreasonable beliefe that you are being persecuted. For example,” Mr. Ordson went on,” I’m willing to guess you’ve even considered me to be the informer. After all, you told me you were going to follow your father. Perhaps I told the FBI.”
Startled, I stared at him. His blank eyes showed nothing. Neither did his expression. It was as if he had his mask on again.
“Have you considered that?” he pushed.
“No,” I said. But his question made me realize how much I’d shared with him. Trusted him. How he’d become my only friend. And he was the only one I hoad told I was going to follow my dad. Maybe he did tell the FBI.
He said, “I hope you get my point.”
Silcence settled around us. Loki looked around, puzzled.
Mr. Ordson must have sensed what I was thinking because he said, “Now, Pete, you don’t really have any qualms about me, do you?”
Yes, perlious times then. Who to trust? And perlious times now, with paranoia running even deeper than during the Red Scare . . .
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