“What can I do to comfort him?” I thought as I contemplated weaning my younger son at night. I wanted to sing a song that could comfort him in the same way my body did. Something beautiful, simple, special. It simply had to be The House on Pooh Corner.
The House on Pooh Corner and I go way back.
In my late 20s, years seemed slip together, distinguished mainly by what vacations I took or other special events. But as a parent, the transition from one year to the next feels much weighter, with time measured in huge milestones in your child’s life. While I usually reflect on major milestones on Sprout’s birthday, I liked Mommy’s Shorts reflections on her six year old for New Years. Plus, Chris and I were just reflecting about how much Sprout has changed over the last year.
This year, Sprout learned to –
Talk and actually have conversations: At the beginning of the year, he had a handful of words, with his communication virtually all non-verbal. After his language explosion just before his second birthday, he had a much bigger vocabulary, but still lacked the grammar and understanding to put it together. But in the last six months, he’s turned into a little conversationalist. He can tell you a bit about his day, narrate what someone else is going to do (we got a multi-part explanation of Chris pouring his cereal this morning), and describe the plot of a book. He even makes jokes, which at least he thinks are hilarious. Before his bedtime, we always ask each other what our favorite thing was that day. Invariably, he answers, “My favorite thing was going to the park,” even when he knows perfectly well we didn’t go to the park that day. When we reply, as we always do, “But we didn’t go to the park today,” he just giggles.
Make-believe and tell stories: At the beginning of the year, he loved to listen to us tell stories, but didn’t have the language skills to do it on his own. Now he regularly makes us pretend food in his kitchen, including tea and apple cider. He takes it quite seriously too – he was clearly hurt the other day when he “made” me coffee the other day and I reminded him that I don’t like coffee! He also loves pretending to talk on his play phone. The other day we had a series of conversations where he talked to different relatives who were all coincidently played by me. On storytelling, he’s already picked up on our “There once was a boy named Sprout” structure. Just out of the blue one day, he told us “There once was a boy named Sprout and he loved cake.” Not much of a plot, but it’s a start! To encourage his storytelling skills, I bought him this neat deck of cards for Christmas. While he can’t use them on his own yet, he seems to enjoy making them up with Chris.
Identify his alphabet, numbers, and colors: While we don’t super-emphasize the academic stuff, we do have a bunch of alphabet and counting books. Reading the Dr. Seuss ABC book so many times (even with its made-up words) seems to actually sunk in a bit.
Sing and (sort of) make music: This child loves to sing. (Unless it’s actually in music class, of course.) Chris and Sprout have now been attending Music Together classes for over a year. While we signed him up just to get some socialization in, it seems he’s actually picked up some musical skills, including a sense of rhythm. Considering I played saxophone for eight years and still have trouble keeping a beat, I’m quite proud of him. More importantly, he really loves music. He can sing a bunch of songs (including House at Pooh Corner, albeit garbled) and when he doesn’t remember the lyrics, just sort of says “la la la.” After we put him to bed tonight, he sang “Mary Had a Little Lamb” to his stuffed animals. He got a mini-drum set and kid’s “saxophone” for Christmas and they’re some of his favorite gifts. Earlier tonight, he was pretending to use a microphone and declared, “Needs more…saxophone!” As my love of music has brought me joy in good times and comfort in difficult ones, I’m so glad that I can share that with him.
Show emotions clearly: For quite a while, Sprout’s emotions were surprisingly hard to read. When he didn’t like something a lot, he let us know, but it was difficult to tell the difference between enjoyment and tolerance. These days, he smiles and laughs easily and often. Similarly, he definitely lets us know exactly when he doesn’t like something with a series of “No no no no nos!” He’s still a serious, focused little boy when there’s something he’s really interested in or in a new situation, but he’s not like that all of the time. Earlier, we could have urged him more to show emotion, but I’m glad we respected him where he was so he could feel free to become himself.
Form opinions on things: So many opinions. It takes 15 minutes to get him dressed because he wants to pick out his own clothes, resulting in some hilariously mismatched outfits. He knows what toys he enjoys the most, especially that great love of trains. He even has specific, quirky opinions on music – he’s requested Bob Dylan several times lately! (Mr. Tamborine Man, specifically.)
Run and climb: Sprout adores running, especially around the house and at church. (The long hallway at our church with a ramp and water fountain at one end is irresistible.) While he’s still cautious, he can scramble right up the cargo net at the playground. He has an absurd amount of energy, so that I actually fall asleep on the couch some nights after putting him to bed, even when he’s chatting to his animals for the next hour.
This year has been challenging, demanding and wonderful. Watching Sprout not just grow up but grow into himself is such a privilege as a mom. I can’t wait to see what happens this year.
Many people have favorite Christmas songs, but few have favorite Thanksgiving songs. But there’s one song that has been part of my Thanksgiving since I was very little: Arlo Guthrie’s Alice’s Restaurant. This sprawling protest song no doubt influenced my current-day activism as much as 50 Simple Things Kids Can Do to Save the Earth or actual politics. So of course, it will inevitably be part of my son’s childhood as well.
For those unfamiliar with it, Alice’s Restaurant is a 2 part, 18 minute saga supposedly based on truth, but leavened with a heavy dose of absurdity. The live version is the definitive one, where Arlo invites the audience to sing along and then berates them for not harmonizing correctly.
The story begins in the small town of Stockbridge, MA, which is so small that “they got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car.” Before Thanksgiving dinner at his friend Alice’s house, Arlo and his friends decide to help her out by taking care of her garbage. But when they discover the dump is closed on Thanksgiving (one suspects there was some pre-meal non-food indulging), they take the logical step of throwing it over a cliff, to accompany somebody else’s garbage that’s already there. The next day, they get arrested and thrown in jail for littering, “the biggest crime of the last fifty years” in sleepy western Massachusetts. Despite the over-enthusiasm of the cops with their “twenty-seven 8 x 10 colored glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one,” the judge merely fines them $50 and makes them pick up the garbage.
The song then fast forwards to several years later, when Arlo has been called up for the draft in Vietnam. In a “building down in New York City called Whitehall Street … you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected, neglected and selected!” Because of his “criminal record,” he gets assigned to the Group W Bench, which he shares with all kinds of “mean, nasty, ugly-lookin’ people.” When he points out that the army is asking him if he’s moral enough to “burn women, kids, houses and villages after being a litterbug,” they tell him “We don’t like your kind! We’re going to send your fingerprints off to Washington!”
Needless to say, none of this is fare meant for little kids. But despite that, my family listened to it every year driving to my aunt and uncle’s house in New Jersey. We usually tried to catch it on Q104.3, the New York City rock station that always plays it at noon. If we were delayed, we’d put in the battered Best Of cassette and also listen to The Motorcycle Song (which manages to be much, much sillier). It became part of my Thanksgiving tradition as much as turkey and my mom’s mushroom dip.
Obviously, I didn’t understand the song at all at first. I just liked singing along to the catchy chorus. But as I got older, it was one of my first introductions to anti-war messages. I think it was particularly effective because the messages are embedded in a funny, specific story and so become universal. Rather than critiquing the injustice of the Vietnam War specifically, it frames war itself and our approach to it as fundamentally absurd, as ridiculous as taking aerial photography for prosecuting littering. That combination allowed it to transcend its very 1970s context to appeal to me, a girl growing up in the pre-War on Terror 1990s.
And appeal it did. As I grew older, my interest in politics intensified, to the point where I was actively interested in educating others on it in high school. Singing along at Thanksgiving became an act of rebellion, not against my parents, but a corrupt political system that hadn’t changed all that much since the song was released. As the phrase “The personal is political” began to resonate, I realize now it was one of the first things I was exposed to where a personal story (albeit an exaggerated one) was used to make a political point. In the modern day of Tumblr where everyone has a personal/political story to tell, Alice’s Restaurant stands out as a great example of how to do it right.
I think it also shaped my opinions on how political change can and must happen. There’s a great line in the comic book Phonogram (which is all about the power of music) that “the only way for a revolution to succeed is to be more fun than the alternative.” While it comes from a morally ambiguous character, I agree with her. Activism can be exhausting and depressing, something that doesn’t really inspire people. To get people to want to change requires painting a picture of a future that’s better than the current one – more attractive and ideally, more fun. It’s very clear in the song that the hippies are the ones having a hell of a lot more fun than the stuffy, authoritarian police officers and draft recruitment staff. Similarly, it showed me how art can be political. While I got a crash course in using theater to do activism when I participated in the “Stop Shopping chorus” singing Anti-Corporate Christmas Carols in grad school, Alice’s Restaurant was my original introduction to the concept.
Needless to say, this song was one of the touchstones of my life, especially my activism. Although I hope it can be for Sprout as well, I don’t want to force it. We’ll just play it on Thanksgiving and leave it to him to figure out significance it will have in his life. While Arlo sings, “You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant,” I know that I already have.
Listening to music can be a radical act. And I don’t mean in the 2112 or Footloose “music is evil” type of way. But more that the type of music we listen to is not only a reflection of our tastes and perspectives but an influence on them.
Nowhere is this more true than for kids, who either end up listening to music developed for their specific age group or are subjected to their parents’ musical tastes. While some kids music is absolutely inane, it doesn’t have to be. Without needing to go full-on Defiance of Anthropomorphic Sea Mammals (from Portlandia), here are a few songs that may help inspire your kids to be activists or at least anti-authoritarian. Not all of these were originally for kids – many of them are straight-up folk songs – but I think they all have a kid appeal.
There’s no one like a young kid to make you feel like a stellar singer. I love to sing, but it’s not a God-given talent, or even one that can be bestowed by practice. So I love that Sprout loves me singing to and with him.
I’ve been singing to Sprout since he was born. In his earliest days, I’d hold him in my arms in the middle of the night, singing and pacing up and down our living room. I’d sing almost anything that came to mind – mostly children’s songs, because the lyrics were easy to remember, but occasionally rock favorites too.
The three most common were House on Pooh Corner by Loggins and Messina, a revised version of Rock-A-Bye Baby, and a song borne of my mom’s slight desperation when I was a baby.
I changed Rock-A-Bye Baby because the idea of singing a song about falling out of a tree is a bit dire for a newborn and certainly no reassurance for a nervous mom. In the hospital the night after Sprout was born, Chris helped me come up with a variant. For the last two lines, we substituted out “When the bough breaks, the baby will fall / Down will come baby, cradle and all,” with this geeky replacement: “All of the birdies do sing and call / He’s the best baby, so say we all.” We watched Battlestar Galatica while I was pregnant, so that particular phrase was still fresh in our minds.
My mom’s song, “Rockie rockie baby,” arose out of a similar predicament. When I was born, she couldn’t think of the words of a single lullaby. (Funny, now that she has a mental jukebox of kids’ songs from three decades of teaching.) So she made one up, so simple that even the most sleep-deprived new mom could remember it. It basically consists of the phrases: “Rock/Rockie,” “baby” and “you’re my little baby” in various combinations. So of course, I sang that to him as well, carrying on the tradition.
The love in our voices must have trumped the musical talent, because Sprout still loves to hear both of us sing. He enjoys his Music Together classes and banging on his instruments, but his favorite musical thing is singing with one of us. My mom now sings to him almost every time we FaceTime with my parents. She taught him how to start singing “You are my sunshine,” with her singing most of the parts and him filling in the ends of verses. She’ll sing “You are my…” and he’ll pipe in “sunshine!” with his tiny voice. It’s obscenely adorable. I decided to join in the fun by teaching him “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” I love the night and star-gazing, so it was an appropriate complement.
Sprout’s even started singing back to me when he knows I need it. When I was going through a rough patch a couple of weeks ago, he hugged me, rocked back and forth and sang, “Rockie rockie.” I hugged him tighter, leaned in and listened. It was one of the most comforting things anyone did or could do for me.
I hope that even as he realizes we aren’t very musically inclined, the spirit stays, the hope and the love of our songs.
Certain albums are woven into periods of our lives, evoking immediate memories of those times. For me, one of the major albums was the Manic Street Preachers’ The Holy Bible, which I listened to on repeat for much of my sophomore year of college. It’s an angry, vicious, depressing album, which perfectly fit my mood that year. I had voluntarily committed to a social group that was both verbally and psychologically abusive to me and others. The album addresses prostitution, anorexia, the Holocaust, fascism, and other lovely subjects that made my problems seem minor. It both allowed me to express my frustration through more than a desperate howl and gave me the strength to leave my situation. So when I happened to see by complete chance in the paper that the Manic Street Preachers were not only playing in the U.S. for the first time in six years, but featuring that specific album, I knew I had to go.
Listening to the album and being at the concert led to a deluge of memories. Sitting at my desk in college, playing music over my computer speakers, trying to drown out the fondness for pop country of my housemates. Playing the first song for one of the few people I thought would understand and having them dismiss it as “just punk.” Analyzing lyrics by the band in my communications papers in a desire to share my discovery. Escaping to hang out with my friend who introduced me to them, who now lives outside DC and attended the concert with me. And most of all, singing along with everything I had, clinging on to it, the music and the darkest lyrics resonating with the all the shit I was going through at the time.
But listening over the last few days was much more than a nostalgia trip. While other albums of theirs mean more to me now and music just doesn’t play as large a role as it once did, I still felt a kinship with it. Lately, I’ve gone through frustrating cycles of activist fatigue. I read about something unjust in the news, which makes me angry and sad. Black children and their parents needing to worry about police violence, climate change worsening with few successes in sight, water shortages and corporate control of water in California, pedestrians and bicyclists being killed in accidents with drivers, women gamers being threatened with rape, famine caused by war and broken food aid bureaucracy. I do what I can – sign a petition, educate the people I know, organize events – but it can never be enough. So frustration and helplessness set in, the antithesis of accomplishing anything useful. Instead of feeling hopeful about the ability to make change or at least fight the good fight, it drains me, leaves me empty. I read more and it starts again, reinforcing its ugly self.
But when I listened to angry music for the first time in a long while, I remembered why it was so powerful for me – it short-circuits that nasty cycle. It provides an outlet for the anger, stops it from turning into frustration, provides immediate catharsis. Most importantly, it draws the darkness out of my head, like sucking out a poison. All of the nasty unpleasantries that crawl through my mind about the general state of humanity are externalized, someone else’s words that I can sing but are no longer mine. That lifts the burden off me, allowing me to see the light and beauty of things. Banging on the elliptical machine with every chorus released something in me that I had been holding onto, holding down far too tightly.
So this seemed like a good viewpoint at the concert. As a photo, less so.
Even more than just listening to the album, the concert provided that double dose of nostalgia and relief. While it started with a bit of a stutter – the first song on the album begins with a recorded quote and they came in way after the song would have normally started – I quickly fell into the Concert Trance. That’s when you’re watching a band that you know every song of theirs by heart. You let yourself go, allowing the music to wash over you. It’s both a communal and intensely personal state. It’s also uniquely freeing, especially because I feel responsible for something all the time, whether it’s my job, my child, my writing, my own well-being or an event I’m organizing. I sung along, head banged (gently), jumped up and down like a ninny, and disregarded any hesitations or judgements I might get from someone else or myself. Despite the darkness of lyrics, I came out of it clear-headed and renewed, able to breathe the night air in deep.
Besides the rare opportunity to see my favorite band play live, I’m so glad I rediscovered the power of this music. To my frequent bafflement, mothering has brought out much stronger emotions in me than I’ve ever experienced, both in my reactions to Sprout and the world around him. To be the type of person I want to be and set a good example for Sprout, I need to find better outlets for my emotions, better ways to filter and express them. I don’t think I ever verbalized it, but I think some part of me assumed this music was juvenile, something that moms of toddlers don’t listen to. But that’s actually harmful to my mental health. While it’s not important to me the way it used to be – thank God it doesn’t have to be – it still holds an important place in my life. And I have a poorly researched newspaper blurb alerting me to an incredible concert to thank for it.
Remembering one’s first concert is often an exercise in teenage nostalgia, full of the haze of hormones and overwrought emotions. Unfortunately, we’ve already denied Sprout such pleasure, as we brought him to his first concert this weekend. But then again, my first concert was Sharon, Lois and Bram and the only lasting effect was a life-long love of music, so I think he’ll be okay. (My first concert without my parents was Santana, where there was definitely a different kind of haze.) On Saturday, at the pre-nap hour of 10:30 AM, we joined the audience for Marsha Goodman-Wood, part of the Junior Jams series and a “kindie rock” artist.
The venue, the FNDTN Gallery, was a small space in a local antiques district, crammed between a furniture store and a fussy, white tablecloth restaurant. Not exactly where you’d expect to a have a children’s concert. In fact, I would have walked right past the entrance if another parent hadn’t given me directions. Most of it was hardly wider than the single door that made up the storefront, a long, narrow hallway with chairs on both sides. Near the stage, it stretched out a bit, a bench with pillows lining the back wall. Despite its odd shape, the venue was warm and intimate. The walls were decorated with colorful, psychedelic paintings and there were art figurines lined up on one shelf. It was so small that there wasn’t a bad seat in the house.
As the musician did sound check on her guitar and the start time approached, more and more families filtered in. While some parents took the seats – particularly those with smaller children – a number sat on the floor, giving their kids lots of freedom to move. We sat in seats right near the front, so Sprout could dance if he wanted, but could sit on our laps if he didn’t.
Finally, after extended tweaking of the speakers and a surprising amount of patience from the kids, the music got started. From the beginning, it was clear that Marsha Goodman-Wood was no ordinary children’s singer. Contrary to stereotype, she was very, very good. Her clear voice reminded me of Carole King, as did her very curly hair. Her stage presence was lively without being grating, a highly delicate balance for a children’s performer.
And the lyrics to her original songs reminded me of They Might Be Giant’s Here Comes Science album, a high bar to clear. (I’ve never seen anything else on Amazon related to kids that actually has 5 stars.) In a song called “Why Can’t We Dance on Jupiter?” she explains that because it’s made of gas, there’s no dirt or grass. However, with 68 moons, “there has to be one where you can groove.” Along with random facts, she also did an adept job of explaining scientific theories. She opined that “gravity’s not just a good idea, it’s the law” and reinforced the fact that invertebrates have no bones about 20 times in a catchy number about giant squid. The music was fun too – upbeat, with her on guitar accompanied by a drummer.
In addition to her original songs, she also did some covers. I recognized “All Around the Kitchen” from one of Sprout’s Music Together classes. She also sang Jason Mraz’s Sesame Street adaptation of his famous song, which I think I like much better than his original.
As the music was quite danceable, plenty of kids took advantage. Marsha Goodman-Wood encouraged it, of course, suggesting possible moves that included imitating spaceships, astronauts, sea creatures, penguins and roosters. While some kids tried to take direction, most just wiggled their little bodies to the beat (sort of). But the absolute cutest thing that happened during the entire concert was three little girls that joined hands and twirled in a circle, like a nerdy version of Ring Around the Rosie.
While many kids were grooving, Sprout watched with an focused but rather blank expression on his face, chewing on his hand. This isn’t exactly unusual – when he likes something but is still processing it, he tends to just stand and stare. In fact, it was the same expression he had for most of Disney World and when I read to him. As he insists that Chris or I read at least 15 books a day to him, I know this is not an expression of discontent. But despite the rational part of my brain telling me otherwise, I was still anxious that he wasn’t enjoying it. How his stillness contrasted with the other kids’ energy just made me tense, even though I knew it wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, my anxiety ebbed when he climbed up on my lap and receded further when the musician handed out bells. While he wasn’t super-enthusiastic in his bell-ringing, he did show some interest.
While Sprout’s reaction to his first concert wasn’t the stuff parental dreams are made of, I do think it was worth it. After all, we all enjoyed it, in our own way.
Listening to Puff the Magic Dragon on the iTunes children’s radio station, I stopped and frowned. Then I started crying, snuffling, blinking sobs that I tried to hold back in front of Sprout. I once thought I liked this song, but my memory was different than the reality.
Unlike other children’s songs, my dislike of it isn’t because of an annoying melody or inane lyrics. That day, I realized that I hate Puff the Magic Dragon’s message.
I was never a big crier – until I got pregnant. While I hardly ever cried at movies or books before, these days it seems like everything inspires tears. My first inkling of this affliction came during last year’s Super Bowl, when I cried over the Budwiser commercial with the horse and his friend. I blamed it on pregnancy hormones then, but I cried at their follow-up commercial this year as well. It must have been emotional imbalance brought on by sleep deprivation, right? Because I don’t want to be the type of person who cries during commercials.
Since then, music has had quite an impact on me, with a number of songs evoking very strong emotions. Not surprisingly, all of these songs are about children or family.
Songs that now make me cry:
Barenaked Ladies, When You Dream: This was the song that kicked it off. I love this album and probably had listened to this song 50 times before. But hearing it towards the end of my pregnancy, I realized for the first time how it encompassed all of the wonder and mystery of this little person who was going to be with us soon. From the ethereal music to the slightly surreal lyrics, it’s the perfect description of watching your newborn sleep peacefully. Eddie From Ohio’s on the same subject is very good too, but not as tear-inducing.
Raffi, I Wonder If I’m Growing: This was the first post-baby song that made me cry. While When You Dream illustrated the emotional difference between having a child or not, this song demonstrated the vast gap between children and their parents. The song is in first person, from the perspective of a little boy. He complains that he can’t tell if he’s getting bigger, but his mom reassures him that he is. He says he doesn’t know if he’s growing until he can reach the sink by himself one day and declares, “I must be growing!” At the time, thinking about my little baby being able to reach the sink by himself seemed in the same realm of imagination as sending him off to college – so far away, with so much fear and hope before then. With Sprout almost walking but frustrated by his limitations, I understand the mother’s perspective better now, watching your baby grow up quickly while they claim everything is going so slowly. Yes, honey, you are in fact growing.
Ben Folds, Still Fighting It: I don’t know if this song has triggered a full-on crying jag, but it definitely makes me sniffle. While the Barenaked Ladies’ song is all about the awe of being a parent, this perfectly summarizes the fear and neurosis. While I was pregnant, I was terrified that I wasn’t going to be a good enough mother. Even now, despite Chris’s encouragement, I still feel like I’m not meeting my own expectations, not happy enough or patient enough or anything enough. This song reminds me that I’m far from the only parent who feels this way. It also captures the inevitable level of at least occasional ennui of adulthood. “You’re so much like me, I’m sorry … I can tell you about today / how I picked you up and everything changed / It was pain, sunny days and rain / And me still feeling the same things.”
Frances England, You and Me: This simple little ditty took me by surprise when I heard it on Pandora’s kids station. It’s another one about watching a kid grow up fast, but from the parent’s perspective. The clear affection for the child and joy of spending time with her shines through. It also encompasses my complete bafflement as I watch Sprout grow. “How did you get so big overnight? / How did you get so smart and bright? / Yesterday you were asleep in my arms / Today, you’re growing off the charts.”
Sesame Street, I Don’t Want to Live on the Moon: Ernie sings this song, which works well because I think he’s the most emotionally earnest of all of the Sesame Street characters. It’s about how he would love to visit many wonderful places – the moon, under the ocean – but he wouldn’t want to live in any of them because he would miss his family. As someone who has traveled and lived abroad, I definitely relate. In addition, since having Sprout, I’ve come to appreciate my family – especially my parents and in-laws – and feel the geographic distance more than ever. I’ve also grown to value our local support system even more. As Ernie’s family is his friends on Sesame Street, it’s particularly poignant.
While crying at the drop of a hat is vaguely embarrassing, it also shows how parenting has made me more open-hearted. I’m willing to put up with a few tears for a greater ability to love.
Songs to Grow On will be semi-regular feature on the blog, talking about children’s music, music not for kids but related to childhood, and random reminiscing from me on songs that were important to me as a kid.
Children’s music is a much-maligned genre. Some of it for good reason – Barney’s “I love you” song is intolerable in even the smallest of doses. I haven’t heard a single song by The Fresh Beat Band, but its name alone makes me shudder. Some of it is out of exhaustion born of repetition – even Love Reign O’er Me by The Who would be tedious the 30th time in a row. But despite its reputation, there’s some fairly good children’s music (and music appropriate for children) out there if you know where to look.
The Old-School Classics: Sometimes, it’s best to go back to the basics, as many of the musicians who follow are but poor imitations. Obviously, nursery rhymes were the first form of children’s music to exist. In addition to the music, a lot of nursery rhymes have accompanying hand motions, which are great for developing kids’ visual tracking and motor skills. If you don’t happen to remember the lyrics on your own, you can actually find whole albums of them. I particularly like the Mainly Mother Goose album by Sharon, Lois and Brahm, who actually put on the very first concert I ever attended.
While nursery rhymes have probably been around as long as nurseries, one of the first artists to popularize children’s music as a specific genre was Raffi. And his music is just as great as you remember it, especially if you like folk. He has fun riffs on classic songs and charming original material. We have The Singable Songs Collection, which is a great overview.
The Non-Children’s Musicians Making Children’s Music: Not all children’s music is made by people who cater only to the little ones. Some of the best stuff is done by artists who largely write for adults. In particular, art-rock geek favorite They Might Be Giants has a bunch of kids’ albums. We have Here Comes Science, with its hilarious songs about evolution and astronomy, but I’ve heard their others are good too. The Barenaked Ladies’ Snacktime album isn’t as educational, but it is quite entertaining. Of particular note is the title song, where they manage to cram in guest spots from a shocking number of famous folks including Rush’s Geddy Lee, Sarah McLachlan, and Weird Al. And this isn’t a new trend. Both Pete Seeger (who has recently been wonderfully honored in so many places) and Woody Guthrie put out albums of original material specifically for children. (Respectively, Birds, Beasts and Bigger Fishes and Songs to Grow On for Mother and Child.) In addition, some artists have one-off kids songs, like on this collection, although I can’t speak for its quality.
Non-Children’s Music that is Appropriate for Children: There’s a ton of music that wasn’t written for children, but nonetheless appeals to them. Obviously, it’s important that the lyrics are appropriate – I think most people would prefer not to inadvertently teach swears to their three-year-old or bring up adult subjects before you are ready to talk about them – but it’s good if the music is kid-friendly too. The best bet for fairly simple, melodic songs is going to older rock or folk-rock. In particular, The Beatles have a lot of lovely songs in this category, whether fun ones like Yellow Submarine or lullaby-like ones like Blackbird. A number of other artists have individual songs that reflect on childhood but are still appropriate for kids as well on otherwise adult albums, such as James Taylor’s Sweet Baby James, Billy Joel’s Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel), and Loggins and Messina’s House on Pooh Corner. (There are a couple of lullaby-like songs from other artists that are best avoided unless you’re prepared for some tough conversations like Harry Chapin’s Cats in the Cradle and James’ Lullaby!)
Movie and TV soundtracks: There are a lot of movies and TV shows with great songs, especially from the classic era of Disney musicals. Sprout doesn’t watch any TV right now, but in most cases you don’t need to have seen the movie to enjoy the songs. Other good possibilities include anything from The Jim Hensen Company (the Muppets, Fraggle Rock, Sesame Street) and kid-friendly musicals (Wizard of Oz, Sound of Music).
The “Radio”: Pandora sometimes comes up with some good options that I’ve never heard of. We usually use the Raffi station to start with. Unfortunately, commercials interrupt the music unless you subscribe.
While these are my favorite types, I know there are others some parents enjoy. For example, I think Led Zepplin done as lullabies is weird and vaguely distresses my musical sensibilities, but to each his or her own. Pregnant Chicken and Rants from Mommyland also have some fun lists.
What is your favorite music to play for kids?