By Isa Jones
By Mary Willson
By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
But listen more closely. Amid the electric, acoustic and pedal-steel guitars, the mandolins and banjos, the drums and percussion, singer-songwriter Mark Ledwig's lyrics are a dead giveaway: "Take it away and call it subtraction/Put more in...when you add," he sings on "The Math Song," the disc's opening track. "Split it just right and call it division/This times that, multiply like mad."
This is not music for grownups. Ledwig's target audience is a group whose members, by and large, aren't tall enough to reach the average record-store counter, not even on their tippy-toes. The seven-song-long Permanent Teeth is full of whimsical, instructive lessons in the areas of language ("Punctuation Marks," "The Backwards Alphabet," "Prepositions"), self-esteem ("There's No One Like Me") and eco-awareness ("Mama Earth") -- schoolhouse fundamentals with a beat. Whereas a lot of music produced for little ones -- from Barney to Raffi and every Mister Rogers record in between -- veers toward a simplicity of sound that mirrors its subject matter, Ledwig's is often positively rockin'. The Irie, island vibe of "There's No One Like Me" seems almost suited for the indoor adult activities associated with traditional reggae music, and "Prepositions," with its garagey guitars, rambunctious chorus and agitated vocals, sounds downright subversive. When Ledwig barks out "BEFORE and AFTER, all ALONG/You need a preposition to get INTO this song," he's singing about grammar, but he may as well be decrying the monarchy.
"Yeah, I guess that song probably works better with older kids," Ledwig says, laughing. "That's kinda like our Who song. I've always done a lot of good-timey, Beatlesy type stuff. But when we got that Who vibe in there, all the other stuff kind of got kicked to the curb."
If Ledwig occasionally pushes the boundaries of what's considered "kids' music," it's because he knows his audience. Permanent Teeth is the result of eleven years Ledwig spent playing for children in Los Angeles, where he lived and worked as a bilingual elementary-school teacher. For approximately fifteen minutes at the end of each school day, Ledwig would break out an acoustic guitar and guide his students -- many of them Hispanic children in English as a Second Language programs -- through the pop canon; songs like the Grateful Dead's "Ripple," the Beatles' "Hello, Goodbye" and the Romantics' "What I Like About You" were staples in Ledwig's class, as were his own tunes. And when he found himself with a particularly musically adept group, he'd put some of the sessions on tape. Those recordings -- raw with the noise of recess and the calamity of a second-grade classroom -- nonetheless burst with infectiously joyful readings of sometimes difficult material. The sound of 25 seven-year-olds offering a nearly flawless "Octopus's Garden" is enough to suggest that Ringo Starr should have cut his losses with the Fab Four and written soundtracks for cartoons instead.
"Kids have a sophistication of understanding that a lot of adults don't appreciate and don't have themselves," Ledwig says. "When the song stops on a downbeat and the kids are right there with it -- stopping on a dime, all perfectly in sync -- well, that's because the band is tight."
Watching students react to music-based lessons led Ledwig to think that his own songs could serve a legitimate educational purpose. And though his content was simple by design -- even borderline silly sometimes ("The Halloween Song," he admits, is "just for fun") -- Ledwig found inspiration in serious places. He became a disciple of psychologist/linguist Harold Pinker, whose book How the Mind Works set forth the theory that music is a useful tool in fostering language acquisition. By using music to teach fundamental concepts, Ledwig says, he introduced students to two worlds at once.
"We always had a lesson before learning a new song, where we would talk about the words and try to figure out what the composer was trying to say," he says. "When you hear the kids picking up on the nuances of the melody and sensing where the emphasis should go -- when to be quiet, when to be loud -- you know that they are really getting an idea of what the words are saying and what the music is doing."
Encouraged by his friends and educator-heavy family, Ledwig decided to record his music professionally in 1999. Although he considered himself an average singer and guitarist (he learned guitar as a Spanish and Latin American studies student at Colorado State University in the mid-'80s and then had plenty of time to practice as a Peace Corps volunteer in Honduras following graduation), Ledwig kept good musical company. When Natural Selection came together as a band, it included his friend John Jakubek, who was a member of the now-defunct Zoo People, an L.A.-based rock band that had been courted by Atlantic Records in the mid-'90s. Keyboardist John Nau, who appeared on the first two Hootie and the Blowfish records (including the mega-seller Cracked Rear View), was also a Zoo person. Flutist/clarinetist Richard Hardy, who'd recorded with Lowen & Navarro and Kenny Loggins, among others, currently toils in the Vibe Experience along with producer/drummer Jim Doyle. Ledwig even called on a couple of his students to provide childlike choruses here and there.