Power of Music

Last Christmas, I gave my dad an Ipod. This Christmas, I have a growing suspicion that he may be leading a secret life of crime.

He spends hours night after night on his computer downloading music MP3?s. His library is so large that my mother says their hard drive no longer has enough memory to run her all important birthday banner and greeting card creator.

Either he?s spending their life savings on legally downloaded songs, or as she fears he?s slinking around the dark alleys and street corners of the internet like a cocaine addict hoping to scam a quick illegal tune fix for free - even at only a dollar a track, the entire Kingston Trio?s Capitol Collection Series isn?t cheap crank.

According to Billboard and Rolling Stone magazines, my dad?s Ipod now contains about 11,152 of the worst songs ever recorded, painstakingly sorted into playlists with names like ?Greatest Cowboy Songs Ever? and ?Crooning Kings of Las Vegas,? many of which I suspect he has illegally downloaded for free.

What worries me is that the music industry seems to be clamping down on illegal file sharing, and because of his bad taste in music, a criminal scandal of this sort would literally tear my family apart.

It would be something like getting arrested for a panty raid on an assisted living facility - the crime isn?t really so much that you stole padded underwear from a seventy-four year old grandmother of six, but that you wanted to do it in the first place.

Like the secret Nixon tapes, the embarrassing publicity over the content of his vast musical library would be much more painful to the family than any possible prison time.

I can imagine the trial - my dad, representing himself in the Gregory Peck vintage seersucker suit he pulled out of storage, my mother sitting stonily behind him in a Hermes head scarf, her swollen eyes hidden beneath a pair of big black Jackie Onasis sunglasses.

With great dramatic flair, he would tell the jury that his trial really wasn?t about the legality of downloading free music. No, it was about right of each and every American, regardless of their age, class or race to seek solace in the meaty musical arms of Mama Cass Elliot.

He would finish his summation with the inspirational lyrics from one of her deeper ballads.

?You gotta make your own kind of music, sing your own special song, make your own kinda music even if nobody else sings along.?

As his booming voice filled the air, the packed courtroom would begin slowly singing along, louder and louder over the sound of the judge?s gavel and his spittled commands for the bailiff to clear the courtroom.

The jury, not even needing time for deliberation, would declare him not guilty as the flash bulbs popped like lightening and the packed court erupted into hugs and great hurrahs.

The cocky team of high-powered lawyers from the powerful folk, cowboy and easy listening music industries would sit in stunned disbelief, slowly shaking their heads in their three piece suits.

Then again, he could just end up with a huge fine that we?ve quietly settled out of court and he'll be required to register with local authorities as a musical taste offender - he's already required to register as a fashion taste offender.

In the meantime, I?ve created a playlist on my Ipod called ?Intervention,? a compilation of songs like Johnny Cash?s ?Folsom Prison Blues? and Merle Haggard?s ?Will You Visit Me on Sundays.?

These days, it seems the best way to get my dad?s attention is through the power of music.

And yes, I paid for every single one of them.