Sometimes I feel guilty for not playing more classical music for Mila. Isn’t it supposed to make you smarter or something like that? I like it, really and truly I do, and could work it into our lives pretty effortlessly. Brahms’ Lullaby or Debussy’s Claire de Lune at bedtime. Profkiev’s “Peter and the Wolf” while we play. Handel on Sundays. The scores for “Carmen” or “Swan Lake” or “La Boheme” or “The Nutcracker Suite” in the car. You know. The classics.
Except I think she’s already hooked on some different classics. She consistently calms down whenever I play the Stones’ “Ruby Tuesday.” She starts babbling from the backseat when she hears Phil Collins sing “In the Air Tonight.” She bops her little head along to Queen, and one of her favorite songs when she was tiny was Paul Simon’s “Cecelia,” possibly because I used to change the words and sing it to her all the time*. And I can’t help thinking how hilarious it would be if, when she is a little older and someone inevitably asks her to sing a song for them, she spontaneously busts out with, “I come from the land of the ice and snow, from the midnight sun where the hot springs flow…hammer of the gods!” Because a sippy-cup-wielding Led Zeppelin aficionado might be the cutest thing ever.
I could always just start working some Beethoven in with our regular Beatles rotation. Throw in some Nina Simone and Ella Fitzgerald. Some Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline. Maybe a little Depeche Mode and De La Soul for good measure. She may not be as brilliant as the kids who grew up exclusively on Bach, but at least she’ll be well-rounded, right?
*Adapted lyrics went something like this: “Hanging out in the afternoon with Amelia in the living room. I got up to wash my hands and I come back to find that she’s messed in her pants. Ameeeelia, You’re breaking my heart. You’re shaking my confidence daily. Miss Ameeeelia, I’m down on my knees. I’m begging you please: go to sleep. Go to sleep.” Because a song about a woman who sleeps around is so much better when you make it about poop instead. With parents like us, Mila’s doomed for sure.
In fact, I can say from experience that "a sippy-cup-wielding Led Zeppelin aficionado" IS the cutest thing ever. Except I hope that it'll be like, 20 more years before Rigby understands what the lyrics to "Black Dog" are actually talking about. Other than that, you can't go wrong.
Your lyrics to Cecelia are solid gold. I rewrite songs for Hyrum all the time, like the one time I added lyrics to the William Tell Overture. Two straight minutes of me singing "It's a poop, it's a poop, it's a poop poop poop."
Adam: And that is the problem. What to say when they start asking about all those not super obvious but still inappropriate lyrics?
LJ: Why thank you. We should collaborate on an album of songs that we've awkwardly rewritten for children. Or write a rock opera! "Everybody Poops: A Musical Extravaganza." It will be amazing.