SnapDragon’s Top Ten Albums: Pick #1.

For those of you who’ve followed this throughout the years. . .

. . .

So, I’m most likely ending this blog soon. (I’m trying to start a new chapter in life. I’m also planning on a return to teaching soon, and even something as benign as these musings from my artist-alter ego, well—it gives me anxiety. But also—and perhaps mainly—I’m a full-time homemaker with two young children and have approximately two hours of “me time” daily, which usually include learning Vietnamese and watching Slow Horses with my husband. So, it’s time to say goodbye to some loose ends, for now at least.)

(Blows a sincere kiss)

But ANYWAY.

I wanted to tie a ribbon on my Top-Ten-Albums -of-My-Life Project. If you know me at all at this point, you know I’m madly in love with music. I take it so seriously. I’m truly in awe of its power, and I’m fiercely protective of it.

If you can’t tell me what your favorite band is, or you answer with a halfhearted, “Everything” when I ask what kind of music you like, well. . . We are very different creatures, my friend. And that’s okay, but I’ll just know that you will never get it.

Music is and always will be my drug of choice. (And caffeine, obviously. And craft beer.)

So what’s number one? Do you have any guesses, Dear Reader? Surely you’ve realized an absence of brilliance on this already-impressive list.

It’s taken me like two years to get the balls to reveal my top album. I’m busy, yes, but the idea of articulating why this one is the end-all be-all fills me with absolutely stage fright.

But alas, here I am, ready to give it a go.

So here it is. The number one album of my life:

(Takes the metaphorical podium)

The Wall by Pink Floyd (1979)

(shakes her head happily)

Right? You pretty much knew it had to be. (Or at least, you knew it would be Pink Floyd, right?)

So where do I begin. . . ?

This album has always just been there. Growing up in the 90s, listening to classic rock in my dad’s work truck, “How can you have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat?!” was a common refrain among us kids. The radio “hits” of the album—The Happiest Days of Our Lives; Another Brick in the Wall Part 2; Young Lust; Hey You; Comfortably Numb—are, on their own, remarkable pieces of studio sound. In fact, when I think about Pink Floyd in any regard, it is as if someone opened up a tightly sealed jar, and the music perfectly escapes into the room, with precise acoustics and oddball sound effects harmoniously dancing in stellar synchronicity. I never actually think about the band members playing instruments, or, even creating the songs at all. The tracks are their own entities, and The Wall is the epitome of this phenomenon.

Pink Floyd is like no other. The Wall is a movement. And if you try to skip a song, I’ll friggin’ roundhouse your ass.

This album scared me when I first heard it. I was about 12, and my oldest brother had borrowed the CD from a kid at school. (Brian, I believe.) As I listened to Another Brick in the Wall Part 2 through our dad’s stereo system, I felt odd. Different. Almost nervous. What was this? And why did it feel like an elaborate story? I wanted to know more.

And so I listened.

I felt the music, and absorbed the lyrics.

I entered into its world, and I’ve never left.

. . .

Dear Reader, I’m at a loss for what else to say. The Wall is an absolute masterpiece. Your life will be better for it, I promise.

. . .

So that’s it. That’s all she wrote, folks.

Thanks for following.

Happy listening to you and yours.

I love you.