"No, I don't like Joni Mitchell."
My ears hear; my brain cannot process this garbage. "I don't see how you can't like Joni Mitchell ... she is awesome."
"It's her voice, honey." He shrugs. "I don't like little girl voices."
I usually let him alone at this point. There's obviously no reasoning with him.
The first time we discussed it, I must have pestered him for at least 30 minutes. He just kept laughing, good naturedly and red-faced - like he always does.
I must have found out by accident. In fact, looking back now I believe I can recall. We were traveling to see my family in Louisiana. I had packed all the music after hearing him say, "Oh ... whatever, honey." About half-way to the state line, I believe that I plugged in "Blue." It was probably all the way to "This Flight Tonight" and I am sure I was singing along, when I gushed "Isn't she great!"
"Not a big fan..." was all he said.
So began the cycle...
I still check in every now and then. "You really don't like Joni Mitchell?"
He just laughs and says slowly to me (like I'm a child), "No..."
So when I want to listen to women artists, there is some safe ground:
- Bonnie Raitt - "Sure!"
- Amy Winehouse - "With or without the meth?"
- Shelby Lynne - "By all means!"
- Rickie Lee Jones - "Oh, c'mon..."
- Juliana Hatfield - "Did she just sniff some helium?"
- Abra Moore - "Well, the music and arrangement are both nice..." Nice ... hhmmph.
When I got home from work today, I shuffled him around the office to "Solace of You" by Living Colour.
(it's all right, Joni ... I love you enough for both him and me...)