Music to My Ears: Thank You Elizabeth Mitchell

Baby Einstein Take Along Tunes
Deep appreciation (you could even say passion) for music runs in my family. However, so does pragmatism, so instead of professional musicians, we are mostly a motley crew of frustrated accountants, attorneys, and engineers. And the one or two brave souls who actually did pursue music as a means of paying the bills are unemployed and living out of their parents' home, but at least they aren't frustrated. Not in the same way anyway.

I also really love music, but I never had any ambitions to pursue it professionally. I was always just happy to appreciate it second-hand, blasting Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2, tears streaming down my face (music often has that effect on me), or singing along--unfortunately off-key--to my angsty female vocalist flavor of the month. However, my husband has no appreciation for music whatsoever. I don't understand that. Isn't a love for music innate? Isn't it a biological imperative that marks you as a member of the human race?

Needless to say, I was overjoyed when my son showed signs of music appreciation at an early age  and I immediately introduced him to my man Rachmaninoff. Unfortunately Rach didn't do it for him, but the tinny, electronic, grating sounds of his battery-operated baby toys did (damn you Baby Einstein Take Along Tunes!).  I was desperate to find a happy medium, so imagine my gratitude when a friend introduced me to Elizabeth Mitchell. Life's been good since. Both my son and I love all her CDs. Her voice is soothing, and her song selections are extremely thoughtful and spot-on in my opinion. She mines treasures from all over the world, and many of her songs have whimsical lyrics and catchy melodies that will get stuck in your head all day, but in a good way. Heck, I'd play her CDs even if my son wasn't around. It beats tinny renditions of Camptown Races and lullaby versions of Kanye West' "Golddigger" (yes, it really exists)

She has four CDs now and I would highly recommend any of them. They preserved my sanity during a six-hour road trip from Los Angeles to San Francisco the other week. Whenever my son started to bemoan the fact that he was restrained, we'd pop in one of her CDs and call it a truce.

Sunny Day

You Are My Sunshine
You Are My Flower

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