My dad was (and is) obsessed with the Disney Davy Crockett TV series/butchered films. As a result, I am all too familiar with this song. It’s here to remind me that not all music speaks to your heart. Sometimes you just want to hit the television or stereo with a baseball bat to stop the horror. I’m sure my father felt the same when I was blasting Nirvana during the 1990s.
My father may have led me to Tchaikovsky, but his taste in popular music is questionable at best. There was a row over a Johnny Horton tape. I didn’t wreck it directly. My best friend at the time did. But yeah- that one is on me, because I’m pretty sure God sent her to destroy it as result of my frantic prayers. But these “country” (puke) classics were my dad’s idea of fun music, so every once in a while, I hear “Battle of New Orléans” sung through some nasally twang, or this ridiculous theme song, and I think at least mum indulged my taste somewhat and spoiled me musically. Imagine what would have happened if I retained my father’s taste in pop music.
Yeah, I have nightmares with this song as the soundtrack.
I love you, Dad. Really. Thanks for Tchaikovsky.