Yesterday Tobyjoe and I had a talk with Emory intermittently over the course of an hour. We were at a local tapas restaurant in Williamsburg. We sat outside and sipped a glass of wine while they pumped music into the garden.
Grace Slick came on and Toby said, “Emory, people think this woman is cool. She was weird and was on drugs when she sang ‘White Rabbit.’”
A little while later “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys came on and I sang the first bit of it to him. And then I took this picture:
And then I said, “Emory, mama grew up listening to this band. Don’t let anyone ever tell you that The Beach Boys are no good. That person doesn’t know squat.”
And then R.E.M came on and I looked at Emory and I said, “This is one of your mother’s faaaaavorite bands. Mr. Stipe got her through a lot of rough times. In fact, if Michael weren’t named “Michael”, you could have been named after him. Also, If anyone ever tells you ‘they liked this band or that band before they became popular’, you shouldn’t have anything more to do with that person; they are afraid to think for themselves.”
As we were leaving, Tobyjoe headed to the bathroom and then Michael Jackson came on. And I said, “Emory, Mr. Jackson wrote some great music and then he got weird and then whiter and then weirder and whiter…. it’s best little boys to stay away from Michael Jackson.”