Mo's Mom Rates the Hits

I'll start by letting you know that this is a re-run. Granted, it originally appeared in a super hipster indie 'zine called Snackcake,which is now defunct, and went on to become one of my most popular pieces, but that was in, like, 1997. And since there is a lot going on in my life right now, I don't have the time to rant and rave as I'd like to, but I don't want to leave ya hangin' if you are one of the 8 people who read this with some regularity. Most likely, you didn't get that one copy of Snackcake... ha ha ha...

Maybe I'll get around to updating this by getting my Dad's opinions. He's a science teacher. Rad.

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Mo’s Mom Rates the Hits


“What’s this rubbish, then? Is that how you’re supposed to play a guitar? I can sing better than that little ape... you call that singing? That’ll make you deaf, you know...”
- Jimmy’s dad in "Quadrophenia," talking about the Who


One of the fun things you get to do while growing up is annoy the hell out of your parents. The best way to do it is by playing loud, obnoxious music. I did this to the best of my ability, and had the extra advantage of sharing a wall with mom and dad, so that’s where I put my stereo. It seemed to work. Actually, my dad didn’t seem to care one way or the other, but my mom would constantly ridicule my choices. “What’s wrong with him? Why does he cry so much?” she would say of the Cure. I’d play the Smiths and she would complain of Morrissey’s incessant droning.

Then it dawned on me: she could tell the difference. She knew who the Cure was, the Smiths, Berlin.

Now my mom isn’t your typical mom. First of all, she’s Colombian and was brought up with music and dancing as part of her home life. She fought with the priests in her Catholic school and was in the city ballet. She was one of the first Jazzercise instructors in the world (the fourth, I believe). When the other Jazzercise teachers got into silicone and speed, she started her own exercise program. My mom has a killer assortment of 45s collectors would die for, but I’ve inherited. (Remember that song "Popcorn" by Hot Butter? Yea, I've got the 7".) Once she started her program, she started looking for new music - which meant stealing some of mine. She thought the English Beat was cute, and loved ABC. She even started using New Order in class back in 1984.

Recently, I went home for a little visit with the family. My brother was listening to Mr. Bungle while he was in the shower and Mom started in: “Oh, that music he listens to is awful. Nothing sounds like it goes together, and the singer sounds like he’s hiccupping or something.” Then the idea came to me: my mom hasn’t heard my music in ages. Let’s see how we compare notes today!

So I grabbed a bunch of tapes and jaunted off to my mom and dad’s bedroom. She was surrounded by demanding cats; I knew she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Here are the reviews my mom gave to some of the music we kids are listening to today.

The Geraldine Fibbers: “I can do that and I’ve never touched a guitar in my life. She’s whining. I don’t think I could listen to that more than a second.”

Belly: “She has a very nice voice, it’s just the music. You turn on the washing machine and that’s the sound it makes.”

Guided By Voices: “I like this. It’s happy. Kids would dance to this. I would put up with this all day. It’s cute.”

PJ Harvey: “What’s wrong with her? She sounds like she’s in agony. She’s scary.”

Blur: “I would not be afraid of this. Weird sounds, but good sounds. I think they’re probably musicians.”

Unrest: “This music sounds like a train going by.”

Bjork: “You can become a millionaire doing that ?”

Sebadoh: “His voice is nice. The melody is not bad, as long as they don’t play the guitar. I hate the electric guitar.”

Liz Phair: “They were singing like this in the 60s. Carole King was singing like that but she had power - this one is powerless.”

The Chills: “This is the best stuff you’ve played so far. It’s really catchy and he has such a sweet voice.”

Other conclusions that my mother arrived at after our little experiment: the boys make nicer music than the girls - the girls are just too bitter and angry. And bands from other countries make better music than Americans.

She wanted to borrow my Chills tape, so I let her. Then she went to the living room to watch “Sabado Gigante.” Parents today - I tell ya.