As a kid, picking a favorite month was easy. School let out in early June and picked up in September and, truly, any of the months between the two would do. Summer lasted forever, with each day the equivalent of a week in today’s time once growth inflation is factored in. You woke when you woke, met with friends not long thereafter, played ball or this or that unless it was rainy, and sometimes hit a matinee in the afternoon to escape the heat and humidity, as none of us had air conditioning in our homes (or, if we did, it wasn’t for us kids). At night, you gathered with the family for dinner, maybe watched TV, read or listened to records, stayed up late to watch Johnny Carson, and then went to bed—and did it again the next day.
Months, books, movies, TV shows, albums, songs, singers and bands—we had favorites in every conceivable category. It wasn’t just us, either. Newspapers and magazines routinely listed their top picks of the year at some point in December, with the lists curated by their oft-cranky critics. In 1978, at age 13, I followed suit for my main passion in life, music, jotting the name of my favorite LP of the past 12 months on a piece of looseleaf paper. I did it again the following year, and the year after that, and on and on, for no other reason than…why not? In time, I transferred the list to typing paper, entered it into the first computer Diane and I bought, saved it to a floppy disc and, in the late 2000s, moved it to an external hard drive and then the iCloud, where it shares space with all my Pages documents. Now I list my Album(s) of the Year here, on this blog—as I’ll do again in a few weeks.
The funny thing is, my certainty has diminished with every passing year. It’s why I often joke that my Top 10 Albums of All Time includes some 100 or even 250 titles, state that my favorite concert was the last one, etc., etc. There is so much good music, past and present, that it’s near impossible to rate one release over another. Do I have a favorite artist? As a kid, it was actually a collective—the Beatles. Then Neil Young. Then this artist, that artist, that band, and on and on. It’s safe to say I favor some artists over others, but—to borrow a quote from Neil and apply it to music writ large, “It’s all one song.” I feel it all.
The same’s true when it comes to months. January, though it’s cold, offers the promise of a new year, May brings spring and June summer, while the autumn months provide beautiful foliage and more temperate weather. There’s something to be said for each.
The Old Grey Cat 