“And Sophie has never liked The Wiggles,” I exclaimed, at the end of a diatribe about the short shelf life of this group. More blank stares.

OK, so maybe New Times wasn’t the right venue for the piece. But hey, as you’ll learn, it wasn’t my idea….

“What?! Blogging about childrens music?!” one of my colleagues (a childless one) asked, as I announced I was headed out to do an interview (a rare occurence in my job, these days; mostly I edit other writers’ stories, after they’ve gone out and done the interviews).

Actually, as Stefan Shepherd, creator and author of Zooglobble, explained over Asian fusion, the kid music thing is downright passe at this point. I figured, since I’m so into it.

I was a little nervous about meeting Shepherd. “How’d you hear about me?” he emailed back when I found him. “I”m much bigger outside of Phoenix.”

Here we go, I thought. A huge snob. A Brooklyn type, slumming in Phoenix. Actually, Stefan was all but the opposite — the guy works at the state’s Joint Legislative Budget Committee and randomly started writing reviews of kid CDs for a local parenting group’s newsletter his wife was editing, several years ago. He liked it, so he started a blog. (Zooglobble is a reference to a word in a Sandra Boynton song.) And in 2006, not everyone was starting a blog (like they were in 2008), so it stood out and took off.

I liked Stefan, mainly because he takes pains to not be snobby about childrens music. (And if you’re not intimately familiar with the genre, you’re chuckling right now, but trust me, there’s a lot of room for snobbery.) He even recommended a Raffi album as one of his top six. (I’ll save the rest for the story I need to write for New Times, which I’ll link to — wait with baited breath, people! It’s about the Wiggles!)

He doesn’t make money off the blog, per se, but he does have some fun. He’s the music guy for the Land of Nod catalogue (that gave him serious cred with me) and does some work for NPR, including on All Things Considered.

I came close but didn’t quite admit to him that I find my favorite kid music the same way I tend to find my favorite adult music: on comps. (With adult music it’s actually worse: soundtracks.) That’s really embarrassing. I know that because I learned my mixed tape (it was tapes back then, and if you haven’t read Rob Sheffield’s book Love is a Mix Tape, you must — immediately) etiquette from an ex-boyfriend in grad school. This guy was Israeli and okay, yes, I’ll stereotype: he was very sincere and committed to his convictions (see? I put it quite kindly), one of which was that when making a mixed tape, there are certain rules that must be followed.

I made the mistake of taping an album one day and presenting it to him. “I made you a tape!”  I said. Oh no, I didn’t, I was informed. I taped a tape. I didn’t make a tape. A mixed tape is made with forethought and love — one must consider each song individually, and consider them as a whole. Each must merge into the next seamlessly, each must have a purpose in both its music and words.

The guy was a total pain in the ass. I broke up with him as soon as I could (not easy, since we lived across the hall from one another, and the break up was delayed by the fact that the first Gulf War was on, and his family was at home in Tel Aviv, in gas masks) but I saved those tapes (til Ray “accidentally” threw them away — he swears to this day it was an accident) and I always think of this guy when I’m copying an album for a friend.

I do make a mix once in a while, always for the girls’ birthdays. But this year I felt guilty making Sophie’s, because most of the songs came off the “For the Kids” CD comps. I can’t help it. That music’s the best. If you want to complete your kid music library, you can go to Stefan’s blog and he has fabulous advice. Or go to amazon (don’t tell my indie book/record friends I said that) and buy all three “For the Kids” collections. That and some Beatles, and you’ll be set — with apologies to kid music bloggers and ex-boyfriends. OK, throw in some Dan Zanes. He’s the best kid-music-maker out there today — the Zooglobble guy and I wholeheartedly concurred.

Sophie’s comp has “For the Kids” music by Of Montreal and The Format, and I also tossed on Hotel Yorba by the White Stripes and Move It from Madagascar, two family favorites. The key to good kid music, Stefan Shepherd explains, is simply that it should be something you can listen to eight times between here and the grocery store.

Make that nine and I am in complete agreement.

“You know which one I like!” she shouted back, and I did. The keyboard guy, for sure.

(Here’s a picture I took — but you can’t see anything, so I’ll include another better image of the band.)

I then had a sudden flashback to the last concert Deborah and I saw together — The Wiggles, 2003 (or so), Gammage Auditorium in Tempe — and a similar debate over the cutest member of the male foursome.

Now that’s pathetic.

(For the record, I recall that we both liked Anthony, the Wiggle in the blue shirt, til we saw his fake tan on stage.)

That Vampire Weekend concert is the kind of event I didn’t think twice about in my carefree youth, but which now requires planning and scheming akin to a military maneuver. Despite the fact that our music editor at New Times later labeled it a kiddie concert (he saw a couple kids there) this was definitely an adult event, if only for the f-bombs VP drops in song after song. My kids stayed home. (Hence the maneuvering, changing of schedules, hiring of babysitters, cajoling of sad-faced girls, all for less than 4 hours out of the house at regularly unscheduled time.)

It was worth it.

Vampire Weekend is an overnight sensation, a college band with a fabulous first album (sort of Paul Simon/Elvis Costello/indie-pop-rock-with quirky lyrics and strong, odd melodies — you see why I never made it as a music critic) and as it turns out, an odd group of followers.

Deborah, our pal Michele and I fell for Vampire Weekend when the album came out last spring (these guys are such cool nerds, they met at Columbia in New York, where Michele and I went; Deborah spent years in the city) and when tickets went on sale, I grabbed three.

The band was wonderful — joking that someday Phoenix and Tucson (our musical rival, Tucson always wins) would merge into Phucson, playing their entire album as well as some promising new songs, and belting it all out really well, despite the way-too-strong bass that literally shook our chests (that’s something that never happened in my 20s and 30s!).

I was worried I’d be the oldest person at the show. I wasn’t, not by a long shot, nor was I the geekiest, most out of placed or the worst dressed.

But if I don’t get out more often, I fear just that description is in my future. And the Wiggles don’t count.