The Invention of a Betty Beat

I’m the one that hears that one song, seemingly out of nowhere and it becomes an addiction.  A memory.  I run to it, dance to it; sing it loudly in the shower to it.  And then I dive, somewhat obsessively, into the band/artist.  I want the story behind the song.  I want to know who these people are and I take the time to find out as much as I can.  And then I follow them.  Concerts, social networks, referrals to like-minded friends (or just those that love music the way I do).  I immerse myself in their music and it often becomes the soundtrack for a particular movement in time.  Even years later, listening to this music evokes memories and feelings and, when I’m really lucky, evolves into more during a new phase of my life.

Love of music may just happen.  I happen to believe you have to work for it.  It’s easy to sit back and answer the question, “So, what kind of music do you like?” with the classic line, “I like everything.”  It’s much harder to have that statement ring true.  Of course, my personal answer usually sounds something like, “I don’t like to generalize, but I have to pick one genre over others, my preference usually leans toward independent female artists that focus on acoustic guitar with a slight folk-sound, lyrics that resonate with me and a penchant for quirk.”  People usually pause and ask me if I like Katy Perry after that.  And they are the ones that usually don’t get it.  The ones that do, pause momentarily and answer, “Really?  Have you ever heard of this band?  It has a similar sound.  Check them out.”  And that is how a musical friend is born.

In my real life, I’m Elizabeth.  Beth to most. I’m the girl who gave up her career in advertising to work in a car factory; exchanging a cushy desk job for a place where I have to pull a cord to ask permission to go to the washroom.  Music, therefore, plays an even more important role in the course of my days. The earworms so freely given by friends are the songs that meander through my brain at any given time.  The song that plays on my iPod at the start of shift often dictates the overall mood of my day – quiet and insightful; loud and rough; playful and quirky.  Who knew that the kid that once did an Air Band at school to Miami Sound Machine’s, “Conga” would revel in her own form of musical snobbery?




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