Let's Play Some of Grandpa's Zappa Records

I am thrilled to present another guest post, this one from Leo of Mommy Tracks. Those of you who know me well and know of my interest/obsession with generational differences will quickly understand why I love what she has to say here.


My parents, who married in 1968, were hippies - in the political and activist connotations of the term, at least, if less-so the communal. At various times in their young married life they owned a bar and a head shop, attended political rallies, protested for peace, campaigned in leadership roles for the reform of marijuana laws, and, of course, according to family legend and lore, threw fabulous parties.

Their dedication to their cultural, or countercultural, idealism persisted through the 70's, outlasting many of their peers. But by 1978, with their only child at the time (me) still in preschool and the world a changing place, my mom and dad, like many of the baby boom generation, shelved the activist lifestyle and chose more traditional and conservative familial roles. They cut their hair, boxed up their NORML buttons, and moved from the east to settle near my mother’s people in Montana. By the early 80’s the characters of my parents’ personal story would hardly recognize them. Besides trading tie-dye for western wear, they traded time spent in protest and advocacy for time spent working and raising children. For a long time, the remnants of their youthful enthusiasm were confined (with one important exception) to a cardboard box of memorabilia dusted off only yearly to ensure the authenticity of my costume during my High School's annual "Hippie Day."

The one exception to my parents' careful censorship of their past, the item they did not leave behind, box up, or store out of reach was their music collection – stacks of albums collected in the bar-owning days, each containing its own important, powerful connection to their personal and generational history.

My earliest lessons about life, and about my parents, emerged when listening, repeatedly, to music in those albums. The listening experience was much more tactile then, and I vividly remember images of album covers strewn about the floor. I would sit, records surrounding me, choosing carefully from colorful pictures I didn't understand. I sifted through the stacks, examining those I knew, determining if there were songs I hadn't yet heard, listening, and paging through inserts.

Pulling out and listening to those records always opened a door of conversation with my parents – it connected us. The collection included all the well-known artists and genres from the time, and so, of course, we rocked with Jimi Hendrix, the Doors and Led Zeppelin, pondered with folk artists like Arlo Guthrie and Bob Dylan and saw the future with Zager and Evans. Indeed, many of my fondest memories include moments shared with my mother over bluesy Janis Joplin songs. I was interested in the stories behind the albums, and my parents enjoyed the reflection.

Of course, with time and maturity, my understanding of the songs, and of how my parents understood the songs, changed. In my early years, favorites included Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant album with its apparently silly "The Motorcycle Song" ("I don’t want a pickle, I just wanna ride on my Motor CICKLE"). Given our westward move, Frank Zappa’s "Montana" ("Movin' to Montana Soon, Gonna Be a Dental Floss Tycoon") was a family favorite.

Later, in the initial loneliness of moving a thousand miles away for college, it wasn't my own music I turned to, but theirs – finally feeling for the first time what a detached move away from family and friends might feel like. In fact, like many, my increased understanding of my parents' generation continues today, as I have a more personal context for some of the peaceful and anti-war messages of the music.

Despite the adult concepts often addressed in many of my parents' records, they never chose censorship, usually waiting until the lyrics stopped flying over our heads and then choosing age-appropriate honesty. [Age-appropriate honesty is more difficult in practice, I've learned, and I wonder if most of the songs from Zappa's Over-nite Sensation album (e.g. "Dirty Love" and "Camarillo Brillo") shuffled through my iPod with the kids around – would I let them play?]

None of this is to say that I didn't spend a considerable amount of time listening to music of my own youth. We all have our own personal soundtrack and mine includes songs of Billy Joel, the Indigo Girls, U2 and REM, Tori Amos and Nirvana – artists who often tell defining stories.

As my children become more interested in music and popular culture, I often find myself torn about the choices to make for them. I want to preserve their youthful innocence and shelter them from explicit content. To that end, the children's music explosion provides many interesting opportunities to share quality music. On the other hand, I fear if I spend too much time on music centering on the kids' youthful universe, I lose opportunities for teachable moments about me, my history, and the world in times they don't recall.

At the end of the day, I believe that even if the lyrics don't entirely resonate with them now, sharing my own musical choices will ultimately open the door for them to share theirs – a task that might not be accomplished if we get too busy with Victor Vito.


Leo, a self-described queen of the alternative work arrangement, is a mom of three pre-schoolers and occasionally a lawyer who loves to write and tries to keep up with her book club. You can read her sometimes humorous, occasionally serious, but always honest observations about the perplexing role of motherhood at her blog - Mommy Tracks.