How Ace of Base changed my life
I discovered music a lot later than my friends did.
One of my most vivid memories takes place in first or second grade, sitting at the lunch table among my classmates. It’s pizza day and the cafeteria is booming. Our table, in particular, seems to be operating at a frenetic if not exhilarating pace. The topic of discussion quickly moves from Saturday morning cartoons, to conflicting definitions of sex, to TLC’s newest single. Lyrics are misquoted, choruses are sung, and the table — myself included — unanimously agrees that this song is a good one. At the exact same time, I’m harboring what I consider to be a truly awful secret: I’ve never heard this song in my life. This is an extremely delicate situation. I’ve got baby fat and I’m shy. The last thing I need is my classmates finding out about my pop culture ineptitude and completing my own personal trifecta of grade school loneliness.
This memory comes back to me frequently, like many others do. Unlike the others, however, I’ve always taken time to ponder this one. A few years ago, I realized that this memory wasn’t entirely accurate. My musical ignorance expanded far beyond chart topping singles and into the world of music as a whole. It wasn’t just TLC I was unfamiliar with; it was everyone. If it didn’t play at a department store during the holidays, I hadn’t heard it.
For whatever reason, my parents never played much music around the house. There was a tape player in their bedroom, with precisely one tape available for play: Ace of Base’s The Sign. I can only guess why it had be that record, but it plays a large part in another recurring memory I have that acts as a counterpart of sorts to the one in the cafeteria.
On Saturdays, my parents would go shopping for groceries and I would stay behind. Make sure our dogs didn’t get into trouble, play Sega Genesis, drink milk straight from the carton, that type of thing. On one such Saturday, I decided to snoop around my parents’ bedroom and see what I could find. It wasn’t long before I was dancing around the the house, reading lyrics from liner notes and singing out of key as Don’t Turn Around played on repeat. A few more songs and their car pulled up in the driveway. Music off, tape back in its case, and me in front of the television, parents none the wiser. This went on to become sort of a tradition for me. I remember it distinctly and still blush when thinking about it.
Ace of Base gave me the courage to start functioning as a music listener at a very basic level, but this has largely been my story for as long as I can remember. I didn’t buy my first CD until I turned fourteen. Heard my first Beatles song at eighteen. Even today, I regularly get Genesis and The Police mixed up.
I own over 25,000 songs and believe I have nearly twice that number committed to memory. My friends come to me every day for listening suggestions. In some ways, I’m still that kid from grade school. My knowledge of music has been and will always be a spotty mess, and I spend every day searching for unheard music, new or old, trying to make that basic truth a little more bearable. To me, music is an unsurmountable challenge, requiring enormous amounts of dedication for even the most minuscule gains. Every day I spend hours searching for minutes of bliss and dance around when no one’s looking. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
