The Music of My Life

Music has been a part of my life since I was a child.

I would dance the Charleston, a fast, very athletic dance that was sweeping the country in the 1920s and ’30s. Later on, I remember really liking a very popular and goofy Alvino Rey version of “Cement Mixer (Put-ti, Put-ti)” from 1946. It was so weird and funny.

Also, I remember going out and dancing to “In the Mood” by Glenn Miller and His Orchestra (1939), and on the more romantic side, I liked Tony Martin, particularly his “All the Things You Are” (1939). He had a great tenor voice; it was like a bird singing a beautiful courtship dance.

Soon the legendary American crooners came along. Frank Sinatra became big around the time I was in middle school. He was the preeminent teenage star. Girls “swooned” when they heard him. I thought all that was somewhat silly, but I did like his singing best. And I have to say, once I had the opportunity to go see him in Pasadena, I was also smitten. My favorite song of his is “Serenade in Blue” (1962).

Later on, once I was married, rock ’n’ roll became very popular. I was not going out that much anymore, but I loved Elvis Presley’s “Jailhouse Rock” (1957) and the early Beatles, such as “I Want to Hold Your Hand” (1963). Los Angeles is quite far from London, but it was not saved from Beatlemania, and the year after they released this song, they came here and played at the Hollywood Bowl.

Music has played an important role in some of my artworks as well. For the video With Love from A to B (1977), a collaboration with Nancy Buchanan, we chose a dated, sentimental song from a 1950s album called Dinner in Caracas by Aldemaro Romero (1955). It accompanies a short video drama taking place on a tabletop, where my hands play a male suitor and Nancy’s hands play a woman who first accepts the man’s attention and then rejects him.

Like for most of us, the death of my mother was shattering and difficult for me to process. As I was close to her in her last days, I kept hearing a song over and over again, on the radio, on the street. The day she passed, I finally figured out that it was “What a Fool Believes” by the Doobie Brothers (1979). The song is clearly about two lovers, but for me it was about her passing—about my parents’ relationship, her unquestioning love, and the illusion of death and life being separate. Soon afterwards, I realized an intimate ritual performance to celebrate her life and my last moments with her, which I titled Watching Her Go (1979).

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The exhibition Barbara T. Smith: The Way to Be is on view at the Getty Center through July 16.