You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish

Late in high school I found myself in the inevitable phase of dressing my bedroom walls with images of bands I’d barely listened to. Some were posters I’d grabbed for cheap at Walmart, others the unfolded inserts of CDs (somehow I’ve never owned a car with Bluetooth, so I’ve amassed an unfortunately large collection), but most prominent was a grid of record sleeves borrowed (without asking) from my dad’s collection, hung directly above my bed as if to say, “These are definitely mine.”

I hand-picked the covers I liked best: The Rolling Stones’ Tattoo You, Loverboy’s Get Lucky, Rush’s Moving Pictures, and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here come to mind. The prize of the bunch, though, was REO Speedwagon’s You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish. The cover image was delightfully predictable: a tuna holding a glowing tuning fork in its mouth. I thought it really nailed the sort of kitschiness I found interesting and clever at the time. I was very smart. I understood REO Speedwagon, and REO Speedwagon understood me.

But not only had I never heard any REO Speedwagon, I’d probably never even listened to a record at that point in my life. I’d also shown little to no interest in learning about my parents’ tastes, so it’s a small miracle that, when my dad discovered these mementos of his past hanging on my bedroom wall, he allowed me to continue posturing as this sort of old soul trapped in a teenage body. I’m sure he cringed. But he must’ve seen it as an opportunity. That or high time to choose his battles.

Whatever it was, I’m grateful he let me pose for a while, because eventually some self-awareness kicked in. I don’t remember the moment, but I must’ve realized I’d look like an asshole if anyone saw my room and asked about Blue Oyster Cult, the Eagles, or anything but “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey. I figured it might be wise to ask my dad about his music and then actually listen to it, at least if I intended to keep a bunch of 70s and 80s record sleeves hanging on my bedroom wall in 2014.

Of course, I came to appreciate a lot of his favorites in that process, but only after ditching the rather teenage idea that we’re somehow much different from our parents. Along with the adoption of my dad’s music tastes came the better-late-than-never understanding that all things age — some well enough that they become hip again several times over. I also realized that REO Speedwagon was probably never aiming at the sort of meta high art I pegged them for; You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish sounds a lot more like a dad joke to me now.

You Can Tune a Piano, But You Can’t Tuna Fish is a collection of jams for you and your dad. At 100 songs, it’s a reasonable cross-section of 70s and 80s rock: blues & roots, prog rock & new wave, hard rock & metal, soft rock & pop, and on and on. Hike your socks, wear your free-est t-shirt, and get down with your old man. Enjoy:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3XYzOvg8Qnmfe2pbw3fFDc?si=ApjNhpX6SGWoN4SHvz0YGg&dl_branch=1