The summer and fall of 2007, I went to as many live shows as I possibly could. I was pregnant, and I assumed that once the baby arrived, that would be the end of late nights, live music, and life as usual. So my baby’s father and I saw every live show that seemed remotely enticing to us. Some highlights were Arcade Fire, Low, The Flaming Lips, and a huge handful of local bands that I can’t even remember now. I have a particularly vivid memory of seeing The Rentals at First Avenue when I was quite pregnant and feeling like, while I still loved the music and seeing this band I had loved for years play live, all I wanted in the world was to sit down. Still, it was exciting. And mournful.
Once the baby arrived, there was, of course, a seemingly long period during which late nights were at home rocking a baby rather than rocking out, if you will. But eventually, we just started taking the little one with us whenever we could. We toted our toddler to see Hot Ashes and David Bazan at the now defunct Apple store in Uptown. With a little ear protection, any show at a venue that would allow a kid became kid friendly for us.
I was known to say at the time that it was just a matter of being prepared. A set of crayons and some paper usually satisfied my little one for a good while. I suppose it should be no surprise that they eventually chose an arts high. But at the time, I was thinking more about keeping them occupied than about encouraging an interest in the arts. I wasn’t even particularly thinking about encouraging an interest in music really. Though my now teenager does, in fact, choose to listen to a fair number of the bands that their dad and I introduced them to. Low, The Flaming Lips, and Arcade Fire, for example, are just as likely to show up on their playlists as they are mine.
I was thinking about this recently thanks to a Facebook memory from 2016 that popped up for me. There was a photo of my then 9 year old sitting on the ground with drawing supplies around them in a collage of photos with bands that I loved at the time, Fort Wilson Riot and Bloodnstuff. Perhaps not the most kid-friendly situation for a nine-year-old. And plenty of people were probably annoyed at the presence of a child–or judgmental of us as parents. But we paid it no mind. For good or ill, we were there.
I’m glad we were. Because now, for all that I still love live music, I don’t get out much. I’m much more likely to stay in with my book than I was back then. Which is saying something, since I spent a lot of time at home with a book back then too. These days, though, I’m tired. Late nights are rare. Live music is a treat for special occasions. It’s a natural shift, though I admit I find myself nostalgic for the days when I dragged my pregnant self to shows or convinced my small child that going to this event would be fun but maybe they should bring their crayons just in case.
These days my music with kids is on their level. At storytime every week at the library, I play music that is actually kid like Laurie Berkner, Ralph’s World, etc. The closest my child ever got to kids’ music was Koo Koo Kangaroo.
No regrets, really. I do wish I’d known about some of the legitimately decent children’s music that existed when my kiddo was little. I might have made a more intentional effort to include those artists in our rotation. But I must say that I really treasure the memories I have with my little one as they started discovering the music that had always been in the background of their lives. Like when we saw Catbath at Indeed and Superorganism at First Avenue.
Now, of course, my kiddo is a teenager and introducing me to music. I just added a couple of Chappell Roan songs to my Spotify Liked Songs. It’s all part of the journey.
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