Music: Food For the Sole- Naomi Weisman

Naomi Weisman is the writer of Nomi's Pics and the editor of the Rambler Cafe Blog. She is a Canadian-Australian and mother of three who loves to Ramble with her dog, cook for family and friends, and laugh whenever possible.

I went to my first concert when I was five years old.

My mom had discovered that Chuck Berry was coming to town, and at the time I was obsessed with his song My Ding-a-Ling. I sang it constantly, particularly the chorus:

"My ding-a-ling, my ding-a-ling, I want you to play with my ding-a-ling."

You get the picture.

Entirely inappropriate for a five-year-old, of course, but that went completely over my head. What I did understand was that every time I sang it, the adults around me dissolved into hysterical laughter. Naturally, this only encouraged me. If singing a song could make a roomful of grown-ups laugh that hard, why wouldn't I sing it more often?

So when Chuck Berry came to town, my mom took me to see him.

It was a very big occasion in my five-year-old world. I wore my favourite dress—purple with white polka dots and a Peter Pan collar—and somehow, because my mom was a wizard,  we ended up sitting within the first five rows.

At some point during the concert, Chuck Berry invited someone from the audience to come up onstage. Among all those grown-ups, he spotted the cute little kid sitting near the front who quite clearly should have been home in bed.

And he called me up.

One of the stagehands came to get me from the audience and carried me onto the stage. Mr. Berry shook my hand and asked if I had a favourite song.

I nodded yes but was suddenly unable to speak.

A wave of shyness had come over me, and when he put the microphone in my hand, all I could manage was:

"Hi, Mommy."

Thus, my musical career stalled before it had ever begun.

My love affair with music, however, was just getting started.

Throughout my life, music has dominated so much of what excites me. Even now, when people come to visit me in my city, one of the first things I do is see if there's a concert we can go to. And the smaller and dirtier the venue, the better.

I simply love the intimacy of live music in a small space. Being close enough to see the musicians' expressions and hear the imperfections. There's something about being packed into a room with a group of strangers, all listening to the same thing, that I don't think can ever quite be replicated in a large arena.

But music hasn't only accompanied the good times in my life.

When my marriage had finally circled the drain, I was really feeling down.

Around that same time, I was discovering iTunes, and I started spending hours going down musical rabbit holes. One artist would lead me to another, and then another. I was discovering musicians I'd never heard of and music I hadn't known existed.

Then I started picking up the local events newspaper and combing through the concert listings. If I saw the name of an artist I didn't recognize, I'd look them up and have a listen. Sometimes I'd fall in love. Sometimes I'd move on.

And when I found someone who intrigued me, I'd book the concert.

Looking back, I think those musical rabbit holes gave me something I desperately needed at the time: something to look forward to.

Music has done that for me again and again.

There are musicians—and very specific songs—that immediately return me to certain times in my life. Some songs bring me back to my parents or grandparents. Others transport me to my teenage years, goofing around with friends at a party.

I can look at a photograph of one of my kids as a toddler and immediately harken back to us dancing around the kitchen, laughing.

That's what I find so extraordinary about music. Somehow, our memories attach themselves to it.

A few notes of a song can transport us somewhere we haven't been in decades. Sometimes it brings back a person. Sometimes a place. Sometimes it's a version of ourselves we'd almost forgotten existed.

Music can be a tonic when we're sad. It can be the source of joy that gets our bodies moving in the most joyful way. It can be the quiet, poetic melody we need when we're feeling pensive.

And sometimes it's simply loud, fun, and exactly what we need.

The older I've become, the more I've realized that my life has a soundtrack. I suspect most of ours do.

And that realization is really where the idea for the Tuning In Challenge began.

I started thinking about the conversations we have within Sole Sister Ramblers and the many ways we learn about one another. We share stories about travel, books, food, family, friendship, aging, adventure, and all the unexpected turns our lives have taken.

But what if we shared our lives through music?

What if I asked you for the first song you remember loving?

The song that takes you back to your childhood home?

The one that reminds you of being a teenager?

The song that helped you through heartbreak?

The one that makes it impossible for you to sit still?

Or the artist you've just discovered and can't believe the rest of us aren't listening to yet?

I realized that I didn't just want to know what song someone chose. I wanted to know why. Because behind almost every meaningful song is a story.

And that's what inspired me to create the Tuning In Challenge.

For 30 days, we'll explore the soundtrack of our lives together—from our musical roots and the songs that get us moving to the music that touches our hearts and the new sounds we're discovering today.

We'll share our songs and, hopefully, some of the stories behind them. And as we go, we'll build playlists together until, at the end of the challenge, we've created something that belongs to all of us: a collective Sole Sister soundtrack.

I have a feeling we'll discover new music.

But I think we'll also discover quite a bit about each other.

Because when you tell me the song that makes you think of your mother, your first love, your best friend, your children, the worst year of your life, or the night you danced until your feet hurt, you're telling me far more than what kind of music you like.

You're telling me a little bit about who you are.

And maybe that's why, more than fifty years after a very shy five-year-old stood onstage with Chuck Berry and could only manage "Hi, Mommy," I'm still so captivated by music.

It has been there for so much of my life.

And now I'd love to hear the soundtrack of yours.

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