A Dangerous Queue

It’s dinnertime, the mood is set with The Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Time Out LP. A perfect accompany piece to a family-friendly dinner. The instrumental jazz meshes perfectly with the relaxing aura an outside meal amongst the trees and sunshine has created. Time Out is upbeat at times, peaceful at others, contemplative throughout, and lacks offensive language.

When streaming, I incorporate three different devices to listen to Spotify. Silly in reality, but convenience is king when you’re a parent who sets his day to a consistent soundtrack. If I queue up tracks on my mobile and stop the music mid-queue, it will be continued upon hitting play next time on any device in Spotify; if I stream via my iPad in the kitchen, that previous queue will continue after one newly selected song plays. Depending on what’s happening, and who’s present in the room, this can either be irrelevant or mission critical.

Dave Brubeck Quartet’s Time Out record kicks off energetically with “Blue Rondo a la Turk” with a bright, frenetic piano melody. The melody provides many bookends throughout as each member improvises between the initial piano refrain. When listening to music amongst my family, I respect their ears and maintain a reasonable volume. But we’re outside, the smooth sound of jazz is setting the stage, the dial is cranked more than usual.

Spotify has a crossfade option, and on the dinnertime device, it’s set to three seconds. As the quartet brings it all together for the finale of “Blue Rondo a la Turk”, they fade out, the rat-a-tat-tat fades in:

“Back at it like a crack addict/Mr. Black Magic, crack a bitch back” Killer Mike explosively spits in the introduction to RtJ’s adrenaline fueled banger of an opener “Yankee and the Brave”.

My body instinctively springs up, throw my plate onto the table, and sprint with extreme urgency over to my device. My wife, never one to appreciate a fair share of my musical choices when I listen independently, shouts, “Oh, we’re now listening to Daddy’s gangsta-rap!”. After clearing out the queue, I saunter back to my meal and retort with, “Yeah, that’s more of a protest rap.”