I used to have a strong dislike for the Beatles. Growing up in the ‘70s and ‘80s, I often heard adults debating the classic question: which band was superior—the polished and wholesome Beatles or the rebellious and edgy Rolling Stones? To be honest, I wasn’t a big fan of either; both seemed just passable to me. If my parents were driving, we might hear “Sympathy for the Devil” blaring from the speakers, while my best friend’s mom would play her cassette of “I Want to Hold Your Hand” on repeat for what felt like an eternity, all of us crammed in the back of her station wagon.
To me, the music of both bands felt like relics from a bygone era—songs my parents loved and reminisced about, the soundtrack to their youthful romances. I remember the endless debates among moms over who was more charming, Paul or John, and how I found the Beatles’ upbeat tunes a bit simplistic and jangly. At least their lyrics were clear; they promised, “I’ll tell you something I think you’ll understand,” while Mick Jagger’s cryptic line “pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name” left me puzzled. Why should I guess? I knew he was Mick Jagger, a lanky figure whose wild stage presence I couldn’t quite grasp.
My musical taste leaned towards bands like Tears for Fears, The Human League, Depeche Mode, and Madonna, all staples of school dances. Even through college, I felt out of place when friends would kick off the Beatles versus Stones debate after a few drinks. I often wondered why I couldn’t share in the admiration for these legendary bands that everyone else seemed to hold dear. I felt like a cultural outsider, appreciating the mundane while avoiding the classics.
The turning point came when a boyfriend gifted me a used CD of Abbey Road during a road trip. As we cruised down the highway, I began to see the Beatles through my own lens. I listened to “Here Comes the Sun” not as a nursery school tune but as a song that resonated with my experiences. The scenery whizzing by on I-95, his hand rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel, transformed the song into a personal anthem. It was a moment of connection, where I could imagine myself as the “little darling” being sung about.
Years later, living near Villefranche-sur-Mer, where the Stones recorded Exile on Main Street, I began to understand why Mick and Keith had captivated so many. I realized that I needed my own memories and contexts to appreciate the legacy of both bands fully. Now that I’ve matured, I recognize the superficiality of choosing sides in this musical rivalry. I find comfort in celebrating both bands for their unique contributions without feeling pressured to choose a camp. Ultimately, I’ve come to admit that I have a soft spot for Bob Dylan anyway.
In summary, my initial aversion to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones stemmed from a lack of personal connection and context. It wasn’t until meaningful experiences and memories intertwined with their music that I could appreciate their artistry. Today, I enjoy their songs without feeling the need to align with one side or another.
If you’re exploring your journey into parenthood, don’t miss out on checking out this blog post for additional insights. For those interested in home insemination, Make a Mom offers a comprehensive guide. Also, if you’re looking for resources on pregnancy and fertility preservation, you can find valuable information in this Cleveland Clinic podcast.