"She came in through the bathroom window," he sings. "Name that band."
"Oh, you're good."
Some of them are easier than others. But his encyclopedic knowledge of music is frightening. If it's classical, opera, gospel, old-time country, or rock, he knows it. Add in some reggae and lots of R&B. Rap, new stuff, or pop country, not so much.
And he likes quizzing me on which band or song has a particular line that he'll sing. Sometimes I feel like Shrevie's wife Beth in "Diner". Although he didn't quiz me on the flip-sides before we got married.
Sometimes I can stump him. Like with Skylark's Wildflower. And when that happens, oh it feels so good.
His penchant for musical quizzes has broadened to the girls as well. For children born after "Smells Like Teen Spirit", they have quite a grasp on classic rock. I'm not sure how this knowledge will benefit them in the real world unless they grow up to be DJs or writers for Rolling Stone.
But it's a lovely parlor game to play when we're in the car. When I'm working on the tenth edition of my resume, not so much.
For the Record - a fascist's rant
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