No! No! Not Soundgarden the band although as we will see, them too if you must.
I mean a secret garden, that expression about things one keeps for themselves. That phrase that refers to stuff that almost never if ever gets told to others.
It can be a dark place but it can also be where your shames are hidden. I was playing poker earlier online and listening to music when a tune from and by the Beatles came on. I remembered that my strange buddy Stephan Ormal has an unabashed hatred of them, LOL. I don’t care really as I just tell him, when they are on as he is around, that it does him good to open his mind a bit to new stuff ( the Beatles, new stuff, LOL that one too is funny ). But I am sure that my readers also have those quirky preferences and nagging friends.
In the olde tyme, say the 1960s, right after the World got colorized, music was archaic, real ancient stuff. Not that we had only drums made with animal skins mind you but in the sense of the ways to play it back from a recording. Vinyl records were the norm with sizes and speeds and more importantly,the apparatus that went with it. The plastic looking record was like a giant CD-DVD but black and the machine that made it go around had so many mechanical parts that it became known as a pick-up by analogy. And the sound came out of speakers so big that most people used them in a double role as coffee tables or plant pedestals. All of which meant of course that you would not carry one around!
In order to make music portable, two similar solutions were devised. One was small and played back on smallish systems. It was understood that the life of one of those cassettes was short. If you really liked an album, a six-pack was a fetching idea. Sound was so so. It survived until the CDs. The other was big and played on home or car systems mostly. Big! The cartridges of these were bigger than first generation IPods, if you’re old enough to remember these. The sound was better. It disappeared.
Until the Sony Walkman circa 1980, with rare exceptions, listening to music was a “public” act. You had that sister or brother that never let you hear even by accident this or that song without a comment. Maybe the parents had an opinion on your musical choices, hum? And your best friend holds a doubt about possible mental retardation since you revealed you rather liked the original version of I will survive. ( Which, while I kept the original myself, makes little sense : that
is a great piece . . . of Cake. )
The idea is that things have changed. The music does not spin any more if you have Solid State Drives in your computer nor in your MP3, 4 or whatever player.*
So that you can have those on a USB key alongside the secret nuclear plant documents. No one need to know, secret garden. Just do not download from it into other people’s machines, that’s all!
It would be fun to have a website where people could anonymously show their secret sound lists though.
Bach, the Beatles ( sorry buddy ), Beethoven or the Beasties are fine! And taste does vary, my own son loves the Floyds and doesn’t get Jimmy yet, it happens.
But you know some stranger vibes are lurking in those secret sound gardens. -”Johnny Cash followed by Elvis? Two in a row? Maaaaaan, getta grip on yourself, you’re 21 in the 21rst century!”
I mean you can’t let the rest of the moral officers at the Church of Scientology know you’re a secret Ramones fan. No way, Jose! And playing that sissy Schubert stuff in an NFL locker is a no no! And even though it’s only because the tune is catchy, whistling the Communist Internationale from the liberating bathroom jaunt back to your Pentagon office, m’weeell,sorta like huh, NO!
And to the guy that made his perfect sound track from the most exquisite Klezmer composition in a short loop with Vanilla Ice and Julio and the theme song from Dora the explorer , you are a sick bastard, man! Julio? How could you? It just wrong!
This is where the blogger is carried away from the computer foaming at the mouth by the visiting Stephan Ormal *thinking : Ha, good for you, nagging me with those pop boys of yore!* neurotically repeating : -” .. but … but, you saw that, Julio, what a shame . … . …
… so no goodbyes but do think of me next time you enjoy a walk through your secret sound garden.
* I have just about no secret garden myself, not being the shameful type. I keep telling people I have an MP 1 player and to their utter amazement, I leave singing!