What is the significance of music in Julia's life?
Hey, listeners, it's me, Julia. LEMONADA LEMONADA So I'm not good at technical things. If it's digital, I can't do it. Or really, I won't do it. I mean, I'm sure I'm missing out on a lot of stuff, but in the end, who really gives a shit? I get by just fine, thanks. Except for one thing, music. I love to listen to music. It's one of the three or four things I enjoy most in life.
When I was in high school and college, we had a record player. A record player, remember those? Oh, my God. The hours and hours that I would listen to music. Slap Stevie Wonder's talking book on the turntable, place the needle on the record, music comes out of the speakers. Nothing to it. And then records died. Fine. Whatever. Stick the Stevie Wonder CD in the thing, press play. I could do that.
And look, I certainly don't want to be the, well, back in my day kind of person. especially on a show about how older women make such valuable contributions right now. But now it's all Spotify and Apple Music, and that's great when I've got my phone in my pocket and my ear things in. But what about when I want to dance around my kitchen?
What is washing dishes, you know, without Ray Charles blaring or Parliament Funkadelic when you're making the bed? OK, I can't make that happen. And we have what the rest of my family claims is a very straightforward system that is utter and complete bullshit. But here I am, they say, with every song ever recorded.
And I think there are like 100 million songs on Spotify or something all right there at my fingertips. And how often do I listen to music in my own home? If I'm alone, never. Seriously, I'm not kidding you. Never. And what a giant loss that is. Our house used to be filled with music. I remember making cassette tapes of playlists when our kids were born.
Oh, my God, music for nap time, music for waking up. Just music, music. Our house was full of music. And it made such an imprint on our boys. For example, our son Henry, he started playing guitar in middle school. And when he was in high school, he was in a jazz band. So at Christmas, the school would have a holiday concert and the jazz band played a song or two. So fantastic.
And these were always instrumentals, right? But at this concert, at the end, they bring out a microphone. And our Henry, in his little suit and tie, steps up to the microphone and he says, this is tenderness. by Paul Simon. Okay, look, we had no idea this was going to happen. He hadn't said anything, nothing. So the band plays that first chord. Do you know that song?
What can I do?
What can I do? And Henry starts to sing his version of that song. And it was shocking. I mean, we knew he could sing. He was in a good rock band. But this? What? We'd never heard him do this. It was like a complete transformation. It was transporting. And it came out of nowhere. It's like a movie. We were so astonished. And girls were, whoo! They're all screaming.
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