The other day my niece, the middle one, asked me what my all-time favorite song was. Without hesitation I answered.
“Sunny Girlfriend by The Monkees.”
“I don’t know that one,” she said. “What’s your second all-time favorite song?”
“As We Go Along by The Monkees.”
Frustrated, she sighed loudly as nine year olds in that house are prone to do and said, “What’s your all-time favorite song that’s NOT by The Monkees?”
Now, had she not put that stipulation on it, I was readily prepared to answer “You Told Me”, but with that stipulation, I had to think.
And I found myself stumped. Put on the spot like that I couldn’t think of one song that I could call my favorite that wasn’t by The Monkees.
The question has since haunted me.
I love music. I’m not one of those snobby, educated music lovers. I just like music, period. If I like the tune, put it in my ears and I’ll groove. I like all kinds of stuff. Country, rock, hip hop, rap, pop, whatever. Name a genre and I can probably think of a song in it that I like. There are very few artists that I can honestly say I don’t like. Most of the time it’s just because they haven’t put out a song yet that I like. I even like a Nickelback song. I’m still waiting on Justin Beiber to do something I want to hear, though.
The point is that a music lover such as myself, with such non-discriminating tastes, whose iPod plays 80’s synth then Southern rock then big band then gangsta rap then disco should be able to think of a favorite song that’s NOT The Monkees.
I couldn’t do it and I still can’t. Not really.
The closest I could come to answering the question was hours later when “Car Wash” by Rose Royce came on the radio. That’s a song that I will drop everything to groove to. It makes me want to put on booty shorts and roller skates. I love that song.
But, though I love it, I couldn’t think of it when I needed it. So it can’t very well be my favorite non-Monkees song, now could it?
I don’t think I have one. I think my moods dictate my preferences too much. The Monkees are my all-time favorite band so that music isn’t as affected by my whims. Everything else, though, is up for grabs.
And you know what? I kind of prefer it that way.
If the middle niece asks again, that’s what I’ll tell her.
I bet she sighs.
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