Amanda Lamb: Let the music play

Let me start by saying that I don’t have a musical bone in my body.

Sure, I’m a great fan of good music, but I have never played an instrument and don’t pretend I can carry a tune even in the shower. Luckily, my children inherited my husband’s music gene and have been making music since they could walk and talk.

Hence — the recent metamorphosis of our family rec room. Things have started to appear, turning it from a game room into more of a recording studio. First, it was the massive homemade stage courtesy of my husband complete with a carpeted surface and a hot pink bed skirt around the edge. The acoustic guitars, stools and electric keyboard then migrated to the stage. Soon a sound mixing board and microphones appeared, and most recently, very large speakers that make me think we might be opening a nightclub soon.

On any given day, I hear thunderous versions of “Lean on Me” with various electronic beats in the background and just about every Taylor Swift song that she’s ever written emanating from the basement. When my children’s friends come over, the music continues.

Sometimes, after a jam session, I find handwritten song lyrics on notebook pages strewn around the basement.

As a non-musician, I have clearly entered a strange new universe where I have a permanent front row seat to the many concerts I’m sure will take place in the basement. Secretly, I’m thrilled that my children have inherited my husband’s musical DNA even if it means having to listen to the same songs over and over again.

I say, let the music play…