Okay, we’re driving back to Texas from the Great Home School Convention in Greenville, South Carolina. We have our 2½ year old granddaughter Patti with us. She’s a superb traveler. Still, it was late, and we needed something to get her through that last 200 miles. “Patti, grandma has a surprise for you. Here’s some new music to listen to.”

As a rule, I sing to her, making up the worst lyrics you can imagine. She picks the topic: “Sing a song about a bear, grah-ma; sing a song about a cookie, grah-ma; sing a song about poo-poo.” (If you’re  in the middle of potty-training a child, you know why that song is in useful.) But every once in a while, you need a stand-in.

So, I whipped out a hastily bought Fisher-Price CD of Children’s Classics. “Hastily” is the key word here—no research or pre-screening on iTunes or Amazon was involved. I learned my lesson!

This particular Fisher-Price production offered the classic tunes, especially Wheels on the Bus—the one Patti asks me to sing 23 times a day. “Aha,” I thought, “Now I’ll let this CD play it for her ad infinitum. At least for tonight.” Hank and I braced ourselves for the nauseously cute arrangements. (I hate to admit it, but with repetition, they can be endearing.)

Yikes! Out blasted a nightmarish version of Old McDonald. Then, an even more offensive Itsy-Bitsy Spider. It got worse and worse, as each arrangement aped the tackiest aspects of disco, rock-n-roll, and country rock. Cheesy, hackneyed, and loud, these songs were “sung” by flat-toned kids’ voices in a lifeless style. Only a robot could sing worse.

I skipped ahead, trying to find a cut we could tolerate. My heart sank at Wheels on the Bus. It began with a horrible rock drum passage. In came the lifeless kid voices. A hyped-up “guitar riff” exploded between each verse. “What is this,” I held my ears, “The dogs on the bus go woof, woof, woof meets Jimmy Hendrix?”

Then something wonderful happened. Little Patti, bless her heart, said “noisy, grah-ma, noisy.” We turned it off. I started singing again. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

Thousands of people buy these types of CDs (probably on impulse, as did I). Perhaps some parents like such arrangements, but, if so, I cringe to think of their children encountering such cultural treasures in arrangements that are not only annoying but stylistically at odds with the spirit of the song (you should have heard what they did to Twinkle, Twinkle).

I have plenty of items to put in my offensive “so-called music” box. But this CD adds a new dimension. Children’s songs are an important part of our musical heritage. And they have distinct characters. Three Blind Mice is not supposed to sound like London Bridge. And it’s certainly not supposed to sound like Stayin’ Alive.   

Don’t tell me I’m being close-minded about stylistic flexibility. I’m eager to hear a classic Cole Porter song performed by any good singer. Or hear orchestral pieces turned into band arrangements. But only if the character of the piece is retained. The essence must remain true. I Concentrate on You (one of my favorite Cole Porter) rendered as an up-beat waltz won’t cut it. Nor will I Come to the Garden Alone turned into a Sousa-style march.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make peace with a world that has handed its crown over to mediocrity, and its musical keys to whatever committee of tasteless sound engineers who make these types of children’s CDs. I’m debating whether to return it or keep it for use as a prime example of “musical offender” in my lectures. Which do you think?