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I spent considerable time driving around today with the original cast recording of The Sound of Music playing in New Silver, insufficiently motivated to pull a different CD from the case since the two I would have liked to hear had already been removed this morning. It pleases me that Skylar has developed an appreciation for the Broadway musical and, what is more, that she is doing it by listening to discs I bought for her five years ago in anticipation of a possible future interest. There aren't many discs that hold up as well as West Side Story of Cabaret, her all-time favorites. But I don't think Rogers and Hammerstein's hit will have the same staying power.
I love Oklahoma!, Carousel and South Pacific, so it's not that I'm biased against their work. It's just that The Sound of Music manages to be cloying despite the fact that it concerns the Nazis' persecution of all those who refused to put the Third Reich before God. A remarkable achievement, I suppose, yet not one that I can hear on auto-repeat. Throw in the offensively patriarchal lyrics to a few of the songs and the Phil Spector-on-a-gallon-of-Glühwein production and you have the aural equivalent of the sugar rush I denied myself at breakfast this morning when I opted not to get a waffle and then had to watch Skylar eat what she declared to be, "the best waffle ever." In other words, a herd of cowbell-banging yodelers is currently oozing out of my pores and I'm not liking the sensation.
