(I must here take a moment to acknowledge that yes, my mom was less into music, and yes, this dynamic does conform to dumb stereotypes about men being the proper arbiters of “taste,” or whatever the hell men who overly identify with High Fidelity and verbally challenge women wearing band t-shirts unconsciously believe. What I acknowledge is that this stereotype is stupid and meaningless. I’m proud that mom rode an almost exclusive love of Neil Diamond all the way into the ’90s, when she discovered the soothing, Celtic-adjacent magic of artists like Enya and Loreena McKennitt. The woman was looking for some peace, dammit. You know what she played in the car instead of music on our long-ass Midwestern road trips? Hours and hours of Joseph Campbell lectures. And you know what? I loved it. They’ve been as instrumental to me as any media I’ve ever been exposed to.)
