Spotify provides a Discover Weekly playlist, which includes tracks from artists to which I’ve listened as well as similar artists of whom I may not be aware. It’s an eclectic mix filled with songs new to me, as well as covers of songs by bands that I haven’t before heard. I do not often check out the offerings when they refresh; and, when I do, I find the next track function to be my friend.
Today, I did not feel like listening to an audio book. I could sense that my mind wished to wander, thus it would pointless to try to play the current book on queue for I’d end up needing to repeat whatever played. Oftentimes, I’ll meander through thoughts and find myself hitting rewind, and, today, seemed like the entire venture of attempting to listen to an audio book would prove pointless.
A few successive tracks tucked about ten or so tracks into the mix pleased me. I had heard of one of the bands, though know not much about their music. One of the songs that followed has played many times for me, including versions by multiple artists, but never by the particular group, of whom I am not familiar. Onward went my journey through the playlist, with liberal use of the next button included.
Then I recognized another song: These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ by Parquet Courts. Again, though knowledgably of the song, the artist’s name meant nothing to me. The cover isn’t all that great, but it struck me. My brain started to fire quickly, meandering through related thoughts. My pace quickened. I had never before heard a male sing this song. Entwined in my consciousness as a female voice, the lyrics felt foreign and odd. Askew.
Then it struck me, I had imbued some social constructs into the song. The narrator, to me, needed to be female. It was a female perspective. I had gendered this particular tough persona in response to a wandering partner. How strange the male voice felt revealed to me assumptions I had imbued into the speaker of the song. Exposed perspectives, such as the femme fatale, that dwelled within concepts I understood, all related to this song. That a male singer had flipped the narrative, prompted me to question why I had certain viewpoints, felt beautiful Art does this, even if the rendition itself was not all that spectacle, it as a prodder to get me to adjust some aspects of this life thing justified me allowing it to play to conclusion.
Google informs me that Billy Ray Cyrus covered this song in 1992. Looks like this epiphany could have occurred years ago, had I only listened to popular country at the time. Though, I probably wasn’t receptive to this sort of pondering and reassessment back then.
Walk on out of me, societal beliefs built upon nothing more than the air of past voices.