I grew up on Doo Wop, Motown, and Swing, noting my first happy memories of singing Straighten Up and Fly Right with my grandfather, Splish Splash with my grandmother, and Under the Boardwalk with my dad in the car.
At age four, I was playing my first 45 on my very own record player. By five, I was standing by the radio in the kitchen, listening to American Top 40 every Sunday morning for four hours straight, only taking breaks to pee. My grandfather even asked me one day, “How do you remember all the words to every song?”
When all the other girls in the neighborhood were toting Barbies around in cases, I was carrying around a media case that held eighteen cassettes. As they dressed and combed their dolls, I studied the cassette jackets until they fell apart. I used broom handles, curtain rods, vacuum cleaner attachments, glass bottles, hairbrushes, and the occasional crudité as a microphone.
By the time I was ten, I was playing a Casio keyboard constantly, imitating songs I heard on the radio. That keyboard never left my side, inside our outside the house. I made mixtape after mixtape, and hoarded CDs as if they were gold coins.
To me, this was completely normal. It was everyday life. That’s why no one batted an eyelash when I started singing in the bathtub, on the bus, on planes, in stores, on the beach, in the car, and walking home from school.
Suffice it to say I’ve never been shy. Let’s just say I’ve earned the special seat at school a few times. So, singing in front of strangers barely fazed me. I sang at my preschool graduation, in Glee Club, at karaoke, and during high school musicals. I lugged myself back and forth to All-City Band, getting home after dark from every practice. Later, I’d graduate to singing at church and for the kids with whom I worked.
Sadly, not much has changed. Today I have binders of CDs with which I refuse to part, songs on my iPod with which I refuse to part, and playlists set up on my computer and online. Concerts. YouTube. iTunes. Tour Documentaries. Videos. Competition Shows. Concerts. Pandora. Live Performances. Music. Music. Music.
You might say I love music.
And I do. Music brings me joy. It always has. But no artist, living or otherwise, has brought the joy to my life that Bruno Mars has. His music comforted me like a pair of fuzzy slippers on a snowy day. At times when I just couldn’t hack it, I’d play Bruno. When things weren’t going well in my life, I’d hop in my car and hit ‘play‘. When the trials of life were just too difficult to manage, Bruno’s music was there.
His music kind of saved me.
You can call me a fan, but I prefer admirer.
And everyone (and I mean everyone) knows how I feel about that boy – my kids’ teachers, our pastor, the lady across the street, my hairdresser, our sitter, my aunt I hadn’t seen in seven years. Everyone. Of all the things I’ve tried to hide in this world, my admiration for him hasn’t been one of them.
Through all his performances, appearances, releases, and Rolling Stone covers, through all the fog and flashing lights, I started to hear the voice. And beyond the PR photos and album covers and TV spots, I started to see the person.
And I liked this one. A lot.
When Uptown Funk was released, I was cautious. Well, who IS this Mark Ronson guy? I questioned. But after the first, second, umpteenth time (you know what I’m talking about, people), the song had me dancing. And my kids dancing. And my family dancing. And random strangers in Twitter Vines dancing last Thanksgiving.
Watching those families gathered in their living rooms, all ages and sizes and nationalities, crouched around their La-Z-Boys, dancing to Uptown Funk into their cell phone cameras, was the first time I realized just how special this song was.
And then came the YouTube videos. And more videos. And more videos – of kids, of families, of octogenarians – dancing to Uptown Funk. Hell, well-timed and elaborately-choreographed videos at that. Let’s give these people some credit.
That was the point at which I recognized that not only was Uptown Funk bringing people together all over the world, but it was making them all very happy.
This song – and this guy – has pretty much brought the entire world together. As a matter of fact, he’s brought me together with a group of amazing ladies (Shoutout to the BLC! I love you all!) I can chill with (and talk Bruno to) anytime.
So, when offered the opportunity to write about the 58th Annual Grammy Awards taking place on February 15 on CBS, I jumped straight up and yelled, “ME! And I want to write about Bruno Mars!”
Come on by SheKnows, and help me thank him for bringing me (okay, fine, and the world) so much joy.
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Featured Photo Credit: Kristy Ryan, Bruno Mars Updates
