He mesmerizes me with his knowledge.
“Well you know, the basement tapes [recorded by Bob Dylan and his band –THE Band] was never intended on being released to the public.”
“Hmm. Never knew. What are we listening to Honey?”
“Believe it or not it’s Bob Dylan. This album [Self Portrait] was his first ill-received album. In the Rolling Stone interview following its release, the interviewer asked, ‘What is this shit?’ Personally, I think it has character. It’s sloppy and kinda’ odd, but it has character.”
He absorbs information through his veins as if it is the very blood that keeps him alive. His specialty is in the realm of MUSIC, however. I am speaking of my husband, of course. He is a musician, sound engineer, fan of all things loud and beautiful.
I suppose the wives of butchers, stylists, photographers and carpenters are all subjected to random information that wives of gardeners, painters, salesmen and electricians are not. They play among the ruins of nail guns, lenses, sides of beef, exotic indoor plants. They speak in a foreign tongue that only fellow-tradesmen should understand, but, by default, the wives are also able to translate.
I personally am entrenched in a world where Nigel Godrich is a household name and date night consists of spending 2 hours at the record store.
I dream that someday I will be on a game show where there will be a series of questions that will lead me to the million dollar win. It would go something like this:
“I’ll take Producers for $500,000.”
“Alright Amber. He has worked on multiple Tom Waits albums, most notably Mule Variations.”
“Who is Jacquire King.”
“I’ll take Producers for one million dollars please.”
“This is a two-part question. You must get BOTH parts right for the million dollars to be yours. Ethan Johns is the son of whom?
“That is right! Second part of the question: Name 3 bands that Ethan has produced.”
“Crowded House, Ryan Adams and The Jayhawks.”
“Congratulations! You are today’s lucky millionaire!”
It is probably more likely that I will never have a need for all of the random music trivia I have absorbed over the last 10 years. I’m o.k. with it really. What I am NOT o.k. with is this:
THIS is what I have to conquer every time I want to listen to music in my home. Not so much your typical CD player. There are 3 or 4 places where I can turn the volume up if I can remember how to even turn it on! And no, we do not have iPod’s. Why? Because mp3’s suck, apparently. The sound quality just isn’t what it should be. Which is all fine and dandy because we have a LOT of CD’s and the idea of learning how to use one more electronic device freaks me out. (Even though I would LOVE to not be that person who travels on an airplane with giant headphones and a backpack full of CD’s!) Our computer has giant speakers, another record player and a receiver attached to it, so it’s not exactly easy to use either. To be honest, I usually just play CD’s in our bedroom DVD player because it’s the easiest thing to use…
And if I want to listen to one of my records? Well…the last time I tried and couldn’t get it to work, I asked him to fix it and he did, of course. Ironically it picked right up on the Josh Ritter album where he was singing, “Honey, how are you gonna’ make it on your own?”
These are the woes of a musician’s wife. But, there are perks, of course. I get the best seats when he plays. I know how to tear down after the shows and wind up those cables like it’s nobody’s business. I get free concerts on a daily basis. Songs have been written about me, near me, with me. He is the reason I love The Band. I am the reason he will play an Indigo Girls song.