My husband and I have tried so hard to instill good music taste in our daughter, Gwen Junior. Sometimes, we feel we’ve succeeded – when we catch her humming a Jack Johnson tune under her breath, when she sings “Where, oh where, oh where is my backpack?” to the tune of “I Was Made for Loving You” by Kiss, when we find the missing Motley Crue CD in her bedroom, when she begs and pleads to go to the gig of an obscure Toronto indie band.
But then, just when I think we’ve saved the child, my ears hear a sound that breaks my heart, making me bite my tongue (lest I turn into a typical parent), and the taste of failure floods like mouth like so much coppery blood.
What sound is this, you ask? What could possibly be so bad? Two words:
Jason Derula
Aaaaaaaand I’m done.
