The Sound of Summer

Every homeowner fears it. Opening the windows on a beautiful summer day only to have your ears assaulted by Justin Beiber or Gangsta Rap or ~Insert your brand of offensive music here~. It happened to me today.

Unbelievable Sunday morning in August with temps in the low 70's. Completely unheard of here on the Coast of Illinois. But, there it was. I decided to take advantage and do a little pruning. I gathered up my plastic water cup, my serial killer pruning shears and my Pandora Radio tuned to Jimmy Buffet Island Rock. But our neighbors with the pool beat me to the outside. And they had beaten me to the musical punch.

However, here is where it gets real on the C of I. Rather than dealing with the muted tones of Selena Gomez or Brad Paisley I was welcomed with the comforting arms of Hocus Pocus...by Focus. (DISCLAIMER – I only recognized this song by the yodeling and truly thought it was Ozzie Osborne. I will blame that on the haze that was the 1970's) (DISCLAIMER, PART TWO- The only thing hazy about the 1970's for me was the smoke caused by my dad's Pall Mall butts when he would toss them out the car window and they would promptly fly back in and proceed to set the passenger seat on fire.)

That's right. My neighbors listen to Classic Rock and they are proud of it. I can tell when summer has officially started by the melodious arrival of Kshe95 Real Rock Radio drifting into my backyard. I know it is going to be a good day when I put the cat out on his leash to the whine of Joe Walsh's guitar or fire up the grill to the electric piano styling of Styx. I am taken back to lake club dances, Brownsville Station and bell bottoms with bells so large you could hide your entire foot inside.

Some days Motown wins out and we are treated to Marvin Gaye, the Temptations...its like Barry Gordy is in charge of the soundtrack of our lives. This from the neighbor in the front. While the classic rockers are fueled by chlorine and pool toys, the neighbor across the street gets the groove going with restored classic cars. That's right. When its Car Show season we all walk in choreographed steps to the mailbox, execute the three quarter turn/knee-to-floor/quarter turn and shuffle.

The music in always just loud enough to recognize the song and sing along but not so loud that you can only hear the bass. Should I choose to play my own music – no worries. Jimmy Buffet and my Island rock station is welcome too.

And this is why I love my neighborhood. It is a diverse mix of nothing fancy with a splash of awesome. So Rock On Neighbors! Play your Loverboy and your Gladys Knight. I'll groove to Scott Kirby and Peter Mayer.  Because isn't music really about bringing us together?

SweetMeat concurs! Let those neighbors play their Rock and Roll!

For purposes of transparency - I have to let it be known that here the Coast of Illinois, all music is welcome. Okay, most music is welcome. Certain types are tolerated. And lets face it, if you hit it big before you turned 16 (with the exception of Stevie Wonder and Stevie Winwood) or were on American Idol, I am most likely not going to listen to you. Unless you too are named 'Stevie'.