As Cooper's second birthday looms, he's finally aged to the point where he has developed some bona fide opinions about music—or at least latched onto a few favorite songs. Being that this is a household that emphasizes songs the whole family can enjoy (while not wholly outlawing outright kids' music), the majority of the songs on this list are simply oldies for young'uns. These are the songs (especially of late) that Coop asks for by name, and/or can "sing" on request.
Honorable mentions:
Halloween is officially a new kind of holiday. Sure, we dressed the kid up last year, but he couldn't even walk back then. We put him in a Western-ish shirt he already had, cut out a star from some shiny paper, called him a sheriff and called it a day. Not so this year. This year my brilliant wife created this owl outfit and we've thus far participated in two different neighborhood events full of a zillion other kids from around the way. When the entertainment at the block party on Saturday was three local boys, all on guitar and with no rhythm section, playing instrumental Jimi Hendrix covers, I knew I had entered a new world. Who knew, by the way, that Halloween was a three-day event? Not me. Halloween itself has not even occured yet! The grand finale is still to come.
In the last month or two Cooper has become a lot more cognizant of the music he is hearing. This may or may not have to do with the fact that we've begun listening to actual children's music in the house with greater regularity. Tom T. Hall's Country Songs for Children is the go-to, thanks to Spotify, though we also have a compilation called Play Music that was assembled by a local place that does music classes, which Coop was attending for a while. That's the album he really goes ape for. The other day I sang him a line from a song from that album and he jumped up, ran into the living room, pointed at the computer and said this, this, this—i.e., I need to hear that song now.
My objections to bona fide kids' music have faded in the last year and a half, though I will say that last night I woke up at 4 am and could not go back to sleep—I had work stress at front of mind, but soundtracked by the lines "Hello boys / It's great to see you once more / Hello girls / I can't wait to hear your voices soar." The two replaying thoughts intertwined was a special kind of torment that kept me up until about 6:30; then I fell asleep before Coop woke up at 7. Luckily it was a weekend so I was able to sleep in a little since my brilliant wife graciously took the wake-up duties.
Anyway, at the same time Cooper is becoming more aware of non-children's music, too. He loves "Barbara Ann" and attempts to sing along with it. (He says "Ba Ba Ba," almost on cue, but not to any melody.) But he does try to sing: if you ask him to sing he'll start saying "Mommy" or "Daddy" in a really high voice in a kind of meandering stairwell of a melody. Occasionally he'll also dance to songs we play around the house; his form of dancing is standing very thoughtfully and then half-squatting up and down a few times.
The highlight of the day, today, was while he was sitting in his high chair eating lunch and I turned on T. Rex's Electric Warrior. "Cosmic Dancer" came on and suddenly Coop just started swaying gently in his seat, as if he were in an arena ready to get his lighter out for the power ballad. It was beautiful.
Cooper: Dad. Dad. Dad.
Me: Yeah Coop?
Cooper: You have got to hear this song. It’s my new favorite. I can’t stop listening to it. Like, cannot stop listening to it.
Me: Wow, what is it? Who’s it by?
Cooper: It’s by my Fisher Price fire truck. It is so good. I have to dance when I hear it! Here, listen.
Me: That’s a pretty good song!
Cooper: Let’s listen to it again.
Me: Okay.
Cooper: I love the horns. What is it, a trombone?
Me: Yeah, I think so.
Cooper: And the whistles and honks. Everything is expertly placed. It’s genius!
Me: You know who you might like?
Cooper: Who?
Me: Neutral Milk Hotel.
Cooper: Do they have songs like this? Because this is a revelation. Let’s listen to it again.
Me: They kind of have songs like this, here and there. They use trombones and other horns and fun instruments like bagpipes.
Cooper: Yeah, I want more of that.
Me: Here’s a song. It’s called “Song Against Sex.”
Cooper: What’s sex?
Me: It’s something Neutral Milk Hotel is against.
Cooper: This sounds terrible. The production quality, I mean. Did you record this off the radio on your tape deck?
Me: How are you able to make those references?
Cooper: I don’t really know! Maybe one of my past lives is seeping through.
Me: Oh, so you believe in reincarnation. You might like their other album more.
Cooper: This guy is wordy.
Me: Yeah but that’s part of the fun. His lyrics are wild. Really surreal. The first lines are “And the first one tore a picture / of a dead and hanging man / who was kissing foreign fishes / that flew right out from his hands.”
Cooper: Awesome that you’re playing me a song about a dead and hanging man.
Me: Well…
Cooper: That’s sarcasm. I’ve learned sarcasm.
Me: A developmental milestone!
Cooper: I see you know sarcasm too. What are these lyrics? Is he singing about the end of days? Dad, this is some macabre stuff. I think that I too am against sex, if this is what sex is.
Me: Yeah, really I was playing this for you because of the horns.
Cooper: Speaking of—where are the horns?
Me: They’re coming in right now.
Cooper: This song doesn’t touch my fire truck. Over a minute in and the horns are just hitting? My fire truck song is ten seconds long and it’s all awesome. Let’s listen to that instead.
Me: Okay okay. Maybe you’ll like this other one better. It’s from their second album, In the Aeroplane over the Sea.
Cooper: Planes!
Me: Yeah, planes!
Cooper: I love planes. Can you take me outside so I can point at planes?
Me: In a minute. Listen to this song.
Cooper: It’s kind of the same thing. Still sounds awful. Is that even a guitar?
Me: It’s just an aesthetic choice! Go with it. The horns come in a little sooner on this one.
Cooper: Hmm, very mariachi.
Me: Yes!
Cooper: Sort of a different style from what I’m used to. What I’m used to being the fire truck song.
Me: You gotta open your horizons. Maybe you'd like Beirut?
Cooper: Ugh, faux Eastern European gypsy bullshit.
Me: Language!
Cooper: Dad, these songs pale in comparison to the fire truck song. That song is straight and to the point and fun and boisterous. This guy is whiney and has a voice like a dirty diaper.
Me: He’s an acquired taste I suppose.
Cooper: Also there’s way less horns in these songs than you promised there would be.
Me: I’m realizing that as I play them for you. In my mind I really associate that long, clownish sort of trombone sound with this band.
Cooper: It’s not like that in reality though. It’s really just all about Mr. Hard Poops whining forever.
Me: One last song—an instrumental.
Cooper: Fine. But then we listen to the fire truck again. Eight times.
Me: This one’s more about the bagpipes than the trombones.
Cooper: Weird. Weird! Weird! I am attracted to this and yet it kind of scares me. This is like the musical equivalent to our ceiling fan. I love it but I'm also uncomfortable and unsure.
Me: No, it’s great!
Cooper: Are those trombones coming in there?
Me: Yes, trombones!
Cooper: This is kind of fun!
Me: I knew you’d like it!
Cooper: Okay but now let’s play the fire truck.
Me: Hey Coop, what did you think of 2010, as far as music goes?
Cooper: 2010 was rad as far as everything goes.
Me: Really?
Cooper: I just felt like everyone—everything—was super innovative. I saw a lot of stuff this year I'd never seen before.
Me: To be fair though, you're 11 months old.
Cooper: True enough. Maybe my perspective is off.
Me: Don't let me rain on your parade.
Cooper: I mean, right there, those are two things that just flat out amazed me this year—rain, and parades.
Me: It's only when the two go together that it kind of sucks.
Cooper: Really? I guess I could see that.
Me: But getting back to music. I have to be honest that I didn't hear a lot of individual songs that really knocked me out. Songs that truly blew me away and that I had to listen to over and over.
Cooper: I did. I totally did.
Me: Like what?
Cooper: Probably my two favorite songs I heard this year are Cat Stevens' "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out" and Low's "Peanut Butter Toast and American Bandstand."
Me: But neither of those songs came out this year.
Cooper: On a purely conceptual level—talking cognitive fundamentals here—I don't get what you're saying. Everything came out this year.
Me: Well, you came out this year, but those songs are old. The Cat Stevens song is older than me, and the Low song is more than a decade old.
Cooper: I don't know Dad, this is all seeming like some weird technicality to devalue my opinions on music.
Me: No, it's just you're not getting the whole point of talking about music at the end of the year.
Cooper: No Dad—I think you're missing the point. Those were my favorite songs of the year. Period, full stop.
Me: Okay, okay. You win. Props for picking a Low b-side, by the way.
Cooper: Thanks. I know pretty much all that band does is lullabys, but this is the one that really speaks to me. I look forward to peanut butter some day. And bandstanding.
Me: You don't... never mind.
Cooper: Frankly I'm surprised these aren't your favorites too, since you sing them to me as often as you do.
Me: I love those songs! They're just not new to me.
Cooper: Right, they're "not from this year" or whatever. So what were your favorites?
Me: Yeah, well like I was saying—
Cooper: —nothing knocked you out. Right. But it couldn't have all been average, could it?
Me: Just to give you an idea of my feelings on the matter: I have this compulsion to rate every single song in my iTunes library. Out of nearly 13,500 songs, 13,250 of them are rated.
Cooper: Intense.
Me: Yeah, a little. But it really helps with the smart playlists.
Cooper: You're digressing into territory I don't understand.
Me: Sorry. Anyway, for some perspective on my feelings toward music released this year, I have 504 songs in my iTunes that are from 2010. Of those, I only gave 21 songs a five-star rating.
Cooper: What is that, like 4%?
Me: Something like that. I'd need a calculator for that.
Cooper: It's 4%.
Me: Okay. And those 21 songs were written by 11 different artists or bands. I mean, it's really a small number. By contrast, I have 460 songs from 2009, and 38 are rated five stars, by 16 different artists.
Cooper: You're looking at around 9% there. Definitely a better ratio.
Me: Right?
Cooper: But Dad, you've got to stop sucking the pleasure out of this with all your statistical analysis.
Me: No, the analysis is fun!
Cooper: So weird. So what were the best songs?
Me: Should I rank them?
Cooper: Jesus Dad. I've got a nap scheduled later this afternoon. Can you just pick a few of your favorites and list them? They're all five stars, so ranking seems a little much.
Me: Okay.
Cooper: Wow.
Me: What?
Cooper: Can't believe Simon & Garfunkel's "59th Street Bridge Song" isn't on this list. That song is so good.
Coop and I thought we'd give mom a break today so we headed to the Beverly Hills Library for a little father/son time. I read him a book about five unclean monkeys, then let him play with some toys for a bit. This was followed by the real reason we went—to check out a bunch of CDs. Here's a rundown of everything we checked out, and our conversations while we looked through their selection.
1. Paul McCartney: Band on the Run and John Lennon: Imagine
Me: These guys were the two main songwriters in the Beatles.
Cooper: Which one does "Yellow Submarine"?
Me: That's Ringo.
Cooper: Which one does "Octopus's Garden"?
Me: That's Ringo too.
Cooper: "Act Naturally"?
Me: Ringo.
Cooper: Do they have any Ringo albums here?
2. Neil Young: After the Gold Rush
Me: They have three Neil Young albums that we don't have already: Zuma, Harvest Moon, and After the Gold Rush.
Cooper: I hear good things about Harvest Moon.
Me: Me too, but I have this thing about filling in the older stuff before I get the newer stuff.
Cooper: I get that. I have this thing about needing a pacifier before I can fall asleep at night. Sometimes you just need to do things in a certain order, you know?
- Neil Young: Only Love Can Break Your Heart
3. High Places: s/t
Cooper: I thought you didn't like the High Places songs you downloaded.
Me: I'm sort of hoping I'll like them more in context. I mean, it's on Thrill Jockey!
Cooper: What's that supposed to mean?
Me: Thrill Jockey is a great label; I owe it to them to listen to the whole record.
Cooper: You seem loyal to a fault.
Me: I'm loyal to you.
Cooper: And I appreciate that. But I think you're wasting your time with High Places.
4. No Age: Nouns
Cooper: This album has a lot personal relevance for me. It really resonates.
Me: Oh yeah? Why's that?
Cooper: "No Age." No age, you know? Did you know that on official forms, until I hit the one-year mark, my age is zero? I mean, that's crazy. I'm alive! I exist!
Me: Officially, they just want to know that you're under one.
Cooper: And, like, I'm not going to have any memory of this year, down the road. My memory's just not really developed right now. So, like, do I exist? I'm not trying to get heavy with you. This is just the kind of stuff I think about.
Me: Cooper, you exist. I promise. We've got the videos to prove it.
Cooper: Thanks Dad. Also, one question.
Me: Yeah?
Cooper: What are nouns?
- No Age: Teen Creeps
5. Black Sabbath: Master of Reality
Cooper: Ooh! Master of Reality! Now I'll get all the references when you read me John Darnielle's book at bedtime.
6. Marvin Gaye: What's Going On
Cooper: This is another one, like No Age.
Me: What do you mean?
Cooper: In the sense that every day—every single day—I have no clue what is happening. Sometimes I think you and mom are magicians and the world is some kind of weird, surreal fun house. I just don't get it.
Me: You will.
Cooper: Does Marvin figure it out?
7. Burial: Untrue
Cooper: Dad, I've got a confession to make: I am Burial.8. Justice: t
Me: Cooper, this album came out in 2007. You were born in February.
Cooper: That's why people had such a hard time figuring out my identity. I'm Burial, Dad.
Me: You're lying.
Cooper: I know. It's untrue. Get it? Untrue!
Me: For a six-month-old, you have a very sophisticated sense of humor. However, you have a long way to go.
Cooper: Do the thing where you cough. That is hilarious.
Me: I have one song by these guys already. It's okay. Maybe more "dance" than I really like.
Cooper: It's true—you like your electronica more abstract. I like a good jam though. This'll get me psyched for crawling.
- Justice: D.A.N.C.E.
9. The Clash: London Calling
Cooper: Oh my God Dad—you don't have London Calling!?
10. Bonnie "Prince" Billy: Lie Down in the Light
Me: I used to be such a fanatic for Will Oldham.
Cooper: What happened?
Me: It's weird, you know? But I loved I See a Darkness so much that I just didn't want to ever hear another song by him again. It felt too perfect.
Cooper: That is ridiculous.
Me: I know, I know.
Cooper: Will I inherit your quirks?
11. She & Him: Vol. 1
Cooper: Daddy, I'm the most adorable thing you've ever seen, right?
Me: Yes, absolutely.
Cooper: Not Zooey Deschanel?
Me: You are more adorable.
Cooper: I want to believe you.
12. Tangerine Dream: Electronic Meditation
Me: Really surprised by the number of Tangerine Dream albums they have. This one was recommended to me.
Cooper: What are tangerines?
Me: Fruit. Like oranges, kind of. You're not ready for solids yet but you will be soon.
Cooper: I like having something to look forward to. What are dreams?
13. Pauline Oliveros/Stuart Dempster/Panaiotis: Deep Listening
Cooper: What's this one all about?
Me: Don't really know. Oliveros is on that "Pioneers of Electronica" compilation I've got.
Cooper: I hope it reminds me of the womb.
14. Rufus Wainwright: Release the Stars
Me: I've been meaning to get this ever since it came out a couple years ago.
Cooper: Oh yeah?
Me: I have all his others.
Cooper: Fascinating.
Me: Your mom got me into him back when we first met.
Cooper: Dad?
Me: Yeah?
Cooper: Can you do that thing where you blow in my face and make it feel like it's windy? I love that.
- Rufus Wainwright: Going to a Town
15. John Hassel & Brian Eno: Possible Musics
Cooper: You're looking through the New Age section?
Me: You never know where they're gonna file things here. Look! Brian Eno and John Hassel. See? I knew they had more than the two Eno albums in the Rock section. I wonder if there's more in the Classical section.
Cooper: Classical?
Me: You never know!
Cooper: The Classical section is huge.
Me: Just a quick check.
Cooper: I'M HUNGRY.
Usually around the three-month mark of the year I do my quarterly listening report. Well, I totally missed that one this time around. Been busy, as you might suspect. I do hope to do some kind of roundup, maybe not as detailed as usual.
Meanwhile I've been a whole lot less interested in what I'm listening to and a whole lot more interested in what Cooper's listening to. He's three months old, as of Thursday. So perhaps we ought to do a different kind of quarterly report.
As best I can tell, Coop's favorite song of ALL TIME is the theme to The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. He gets immeasurable pleasure when I sing it to him, and lately has tried his hand at singing along. He's got the words right; all he lacks is rhythm and tunefulness.
For a while there Coop's fussier moments were alleviated by my singing the Lovin' Spoonful's "Rain on the Roof" or the Everly Brothers' "Bye Bye Love." Lately though one of us, I'm not sure who, has grown tired of those songs.
Coop's latest favorite—rivaling the Morricone—is Simon & Garfunkel's "The Boxer." We discovered this when some moaner on American Idol took it upon himself to butcher the song into a kind of tortured Nickleballad. Still, the Idol version did enough to put the song in our heads and we started singing it to Cooper. He seems to especially like it when we simulate the booming drums in between all the "Lie-la-lie"s.
We've got an unspoken rule—actually we've spoken this rule a couple of times—that we don't really want to subject ourselves to actual children's music until we absolutely must. And yet we both skirt that rule in strangely contrarian ways. My wife likes to sing "Surfin' Bird," which is stupidly hypnotic and ever repeating and usually hilarious. I like to sing "Witch Doctor" ("Ooh-eee, ooh-ah-ah, ting-tang, walla-walla bing bang"). Somehow these songs are more palatable than Old McDonald.
Then there are all the fragments of songs and stray lines that seem to crop up with some frequency. When he has gas I like get all Fugee and say "How many farts do we rip on the daily?". When he's got a particularly dirty diaper my Baha Wife inevitably asks "Who let the poops out? Coop, Coop, Coop." When he's being kind of a punk I tell him he's getting "buddy buddy buddy all up in my face."
Meet Cooper. He's almost three days old.
We had a little moment, a few hours after he was born late Thursday afternoon. All the doctors and nurses had left us alone and the room was suddenly silent. My brilliant wife said we should put some music on, which suddenly reminded me that we get to choose his first song. This is a ritual you don't really read about; it's not a baptism or a cutting of the cord. But it felt very weighty as I picked up the iPod to run through the menu.
Coop didn't make it through the whole two minutes and forty-seven seconds. He chose instead to sing out.