Tell me a story about you and your favorite nineties alternative* rock song**:
There are too many "favorites" for me to name. I was in high school in the mid-nineties and worked in a music store/managed one for 8 years, five of them falling in the nineties. Both of these experiences make for lots encounters with music. But, I will get the ball rolling so to speak and choose one song, one memory:
Not long after I graduated high school my best friend Reuben and I went to a Pearl Jam concert at Alpine Valley with our other buddy, Jesse. We had lawn "seats" and had a really good time: we heard the songs we wanted to hear, weren't surrounded by assholes, and the weather was nice (nevermind the torrential downpour that occurred on the way home that led to the car dying and us having to hitch a ride home, but that's another story entirely).
The best part of the evening, the most memorable, the thing that sticks out and as time passes turns from momentarily remarkable to permanently nostalgic was during the encore. PJ came out and played the song "Once" which just kicks so much ass all the way through. Well, at, "Once/ Upon a time/ I could love myself" I looked over at Reuben and he was bathed in orange stage lights, screaming along as hard as he could. His eyes were closed, he was sweaty and shirtless and sans irony or silliness or self awareness he was really rocking the fuck out. After that night, "Once" fast became my favorite PJ song, replacing "Corduroy." My favorite PJ has changed over time, one of the hallmarks, I believe, of a really good band: not only do they remain good, but what kind of good they are changes over time, just as their old songs are able to take new shapes for their fans. I wouldn't have one of their songs tattooed on my forearm if they weren't capable of the transcendent (Incidentally, it is neither "Corduroy" nor "Once" but yet another one).
What's really interesting to me about "Once" now, is how much the lyrics reflect so much of the turmoil between Reuben and I at the time:
The lyrics are as follows:
I admit it...what's to say...yeah...
I'll relive it...without pain...mmm...
Backseat lover on the side of the road
I got a bomb in my temple that is gonna explode
I got a sixteen gauge buried under my clothes, I play...
Once upon a time I could CONTROL myself
Ooh, once upon a time I could LOSE myself, yeah...
Oh, try and mimic what's insane...ooh, yeah...
I am in it...where do I stand?
Oh, Indian summer and I hate the heat
I got a backstreet lover on the passenger seat
I got my hand in my pocket, so determined, discreet...I pray...
Once upon a time I could CONTROL myself
Ooh, once upon a time I could LOSE myself, yeah, yeah...
You think I got my eyes closed
But I'm lookin' at you the whole fuckin' time...
Ooh, once upon a time I could control myself, yeah...
Once upon a time I could lose myself, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Once, upon a time I could love myself, yeah...
Once upon a time I could love you, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Once (4x)
Yeah...once, once...yeah, yeah...
Yeah...yeah, yeah...yeah, yeah...oww...
Mistakes were made, the innocent were hurt badly. But thinking back to Reuben that night reminds me of the indelible nature of music, especially for the young: it marks you up, scars you, and reminds you of the things you've done, for better or worse, of the things you've experienced, that make life worth remembering. I've always wanted to write a "memoir" of sorts, one all tangled up with that time in my life, and this memory makes me pine for it, this piece of writing I haven't written yet. I think Chicago, back home, is the place to start writing it.
*You know what I mean--the genre that was commonly known as "alternative" that became popular.
**Extra credit to the person whom can decipher the reference to a song title from said genre in the title to this post.
3 comments:
Don't you mean a glorified version of a 'pellet gun'? :-)
Wow. This brings back a flood... no wait, a torrential, levee breaking, catastrophe of memories. You are so right. There are certain songs that take me right back there. In an instant.
Lit..My Own Worst Enemy, NIN..Something I Can Never Have, DM..Home. Remember that night when you and I were driving (probably to Denny's) and listening to DM (as usual) Policy of Truth? "Never again is what you swore the time before". So many moments that are cemented in my brain that return so innocently, so easily when I am flipping through radio stations. That's the power. It's permanent. And we wouldn't have it any other way.
The three of you were such a major part of my life and my heart. You will remain there forever. I miss you.
as i mentioned to you on the phone the other evening, i think of ALL the rockstars we've had the privilege of meeting. only the FOO FIGHTERS have remained relavent. Bush, No Doubt, Veruca Salt, Cypress Hill, Seven Mary Three, and Lit (remember we met them at midway airport) just to name a few have all fallen by the proverbial wayside.
so i shall remeber that day long extravaganza know as Jamboree 96.
"started off with Felicia and Sara smoking a blunt while we sat in the back seat giggling our sober asses off.
i had a green plaid dress on. why not it was the mid nineties- and i was an alterna-kid.
we get into the friendly confines of the ampitheatre formerly known as the world music theater. it's pissing drizzly rain.
we notice there is an obsticle course competition. i easily beat 3 jocks, in the dress. still don't remember what the prize i won was, but that is irrelavent.
we walk around the grounds, seeing immemorable opening bands. then i suggest we wait around the access gates near the back of the arena to see if we can get an autograph.
we meet this guy and his girlfriend. strike up a conversation, i notice he has a pass for the Foo Fighters.
ask him "wow how did you get that"
he says "i designed the Foo Fighters web page on the internets" at this point the internets was in it's infancy. no googles, no yahoos, no myspace, or blogs.
after a bit more conversation, he turns to his girlfriend, "should i?"
she responds "they're yours, it's up to you"
from a minella envelope, he produces 2 green and white passes with Foo Fighters written in black sharpie marker.
at this point you and i about shit our pants.
he told us "you'll need someone with a laminate pass to get backstage, but this will get you in, we need to find someone with one, meet up with us and we'll get you in."
we wandered around a bit, and stopped off to see the Afghan Whigs. dude showed up, with a laminate. we got in, stood behind the second stage, enter Shirley Manson of garbage, so tiny.
then the moment of truth- mr David Grol walks up to see his friend Greg Duli rock the fuck out with the Whigs.
i introduce my self "hello mr.grohl, it's a pleasure to meet you" he responds "call me dave"
i got a little gay a that moment.
from there we were escorted backstage and into the foo's dressing room. where we hung out with the original lineup for a few hours. various artists breeze in and out of the dressing room.
we then watch the foos blistering set from the stage! we follow them back to the dressing room where we are asked to wait outside for a moment as they collect themselves. we get our autographs- too bad we didn't have a camera!
we then walk out to our boring old seats, and proceed to brag to tamkea, felica, sara and anyone else who would listen about our amazing time!
on the drive home Sara had to pee, got out of the car and felicia drove away.
a good time was had by all.
Reuben:
It is so crazy home memory works, I remember many of the details differently, and forget others.
I forgot we saw the Whigs, forgot about the obstacle course, forgot it was drizzling.
I thought the guy we got the passes from was with another dude, not his gf? I do remember you sitting on the ground, indian style, in that fucking dress. hilarious.
Rememebr I traded rings with gwen stefani backstage? we were standing outside the foo's dressing room...
and on the way home, i thought it was you that drove up a bit when felicia was peeing...she was sitting in the backseat with me, oh I REMEMBER that, and I thought you and sara were in the front...strange how all this gets mixed-up and shifted, how I have images of these things in my head that you have differently. It's also kinda romantic to think of memory as this shifting, alive thing. We should write this book together.
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