A few mornings ago I was in the kitchen, making my first coffee of the day with that usual sort of pre-first-coffee-of-the-day vulnerability, when my darling (now ten year old) daughter puts on her new C.D. (she is choreographing a dance routine) and I found myself unwittingly singing along.
Word for word, to the new Justin Bieber album! as if having that playing in my house, on my C.D. player isn’t horror enough I found myself singing along. But then, horror of all horrors, I caught myself actually thinking “aw, these lyrics are so sweet!”
Yes. It is really true. I was so appalled at my buy-in to the mass generated pop culture teeny bopper idol that I wanted to throw the C.D. out of the window. But how could I do such thing to my daughter? I don’t want her to feel spare because I disapprove of her music. I am no more likely to tell her that I dislike her new teeny bopper music than I am to tell her that she doesn’t really look like Selena Gomez when she dances or sound like Rhianna when she sings. Mom’s just do that.
That I even know who all of the above mentioned are sparks my inner goth child into a fit of unspeakable shame and disgust.
Dread and horror fill me as I down the coffee and quickly re-fill my mug before scurrying back to my room to finish getting dressed. Little did I know the worst was yet to come.
Hours later I found that I was still singing the song. Driving to work – singing the song. Checking E-mails, singing the song. Listening to co-workers morning prattle, singing the song. Driving into town on an errand, singing the song. And every time I catch myself at it I am filled with horror. Pure horror.
So what do you do?
Well my first tactic was to turn on the radio in the car. When I found myself humming the damned song again at my desk a few hours later I went for a more aggressive approach, popped in my headphones and lined up a selection of classic all-time favourites, Chilli Pepper, Pixies, NOFX, Nick Cave, PJ Harvey, Nirvana, the works! I love that I work somewhere where having headphones stuck in your ears is almost expected. But alas when I was driving home later I found myself, once again, chewing the Bieber bubble gum.
That was when I realised that the only way out of it is to go through the fire. So when I got home I did the unthinkable. Yip, I played that track. I sang along. I gave it all I’ve got. Needless to say my daughter was suitably horrified that I was killing her buzz with my rendition of her song, but you know what? It was fun!
Who knows, maybe at the end of it all I will find myself getting along with all the rest of the mainstream bubble gum pop appreciators, we can all be friends, and then maybe there will be one less lonely girl.