I am not a music snob. Far from. I like to listen to all kinds of music. Good music, crappy music, whatever. Dance, pop, hip hop, rap, rock, metal, classical. I’ll give nearly anything a chance.
The last three concerts I attended: Shonen Knife, The Black Crowes, and Lady Gaga. The next one that I’ve got a ticket for is Placido Domingo. My MP3 player has songs by B.o.B., Korn, Mazzy Star, Gabrielle Cilmi, and Asleep at the Wheel. Among others. Many, many others.
Hernán favors a more uniform approach. He prefers Cuban folksingers, songs of the past and romantic poems of love and loss set to music. He is not fond of many of my favorites.
Despite the differences, music has played somewhat of a central role for Hernán and I. Our first date was a symphony concert. I even brought along an excellent book to assist Hernán with his understanding of orchestral nuances:
He’s not really into classical music, but to hear him tell it, I was wearing very interesting stockings and that was good enough for him. Our second date involved dinner at a local pizza place, where two musicians were performing. Outside. In January. We didn’t hear much of them from our warm, indoor table. And, probably most precious to me, there was the morning after our first night together, when I was listening to Hernán sing in the shower as I got ready.
I could go on, from linking each other to songs we like and talking about why those songs are so good, to listening to Spanish singers, Mazzy Star and Credence Clearwater Revival while driving between Bariloche and Angostura. It is one of those things that we have little in common on, but that means opportunities to hear different things and gain new understandings. Dammit, is there no facet of life that can’t be made richer? What the fuck? I’m too lazy for all this.
Being far from a music elitist and harboring little in the way of serious band fandom, this prominence of melody in our life has been surprising. But it’s been such fun.