Author: Deb

Mark It Old, Dude

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I did it again this morning.  Given that this is the third time, I must sit up and take notice of the fact that it’s a pattern.  Not a pattern that I am proud of, but one that, as a music lover and a mother, I must acknowledge.

I could blame it on a frantic off-to-school morning of looking for socks and lost yoga mats, or rationalize by saying that it’s the end of a long week. 

But nothing can change the fact that, (not for the first time), I yelled these words at my daughter:  “Turn that music DOWN!  It is TOO LOUD!” 

It’s official:  January 2011, the month that I became old.  

A 1987 Bono for the New Year

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I found the old t-shirt at the bottom of a drawer, and I am taking it as a sign.  Ordinarily it wouldn’t be, but fresh in my memory were two things:  1) a recent viewing of “It Might Get Loud” that reminded me how much I love U2 and The Edge’s trademark guitar riffs, and 2) a discussion with a friend at a New Years’ Eve party, where I lamely tried to justify why I didn’t buy tickets to the upcoming U2 show.

On the heels of these two things,  the discovery of the Joshua Tree concert t-shirt (buried deep in a drawer) was therefore quickly elevated to “sign” status.

Long before there was Pearl Jam in my life, there was U2.  I loved their distinct sound, and to the junior high small town girl that I was, they seemed worldly and sophisticated.  I had The Unforgettable Fire on cassette and made a mix tape for myself, shuffling the songs into an order that I liked, and repeating others.  (So high tech, wasn’t I…. to have a double tape deck for dubbing?)

The Joshua Tree album nursed me through the late Summer and Fall of 1987, after my older boyfriend broke my heart and ditched me for the bright lights of college and college girls.  But I had Bono, the boyfriend had never liked U2 anyway, and the music on that album was perfect for an autumn of hometown teenage angst.

Years later, I’ve worn the Joshua Tree t-shirt a lot, although I feel like a fraud when I do, since I never went to a show on that tour (the closest they came to my small town was 200 miles away).   I do, however, love the shirt.  It belonged to a guy whom I dated later that fall.  It was a brief and mostly forgettable relationship of convenience, borne out of the fact that our friends were dating.  But he did have great taste in music, and I got custody of the t-shirt.

Which brings me to the New Year’s Eve conversation.

U2 was supposed to play here last summer, and the concert got re-scheduled for this coming June, due to Bono’s back surgery.   My friend and I were talking about The Edge, and then discussion turned to the upcoming show, and how excited he was for it.  He asked whether I had tickets, and I told him no.

I explained how I had seen U2 in 1992 at the Tacoma Dome, and had been underwhelmed.  I had been so excited for that show, to see one of my long-time favorite bands.  But the band was in a weird phase then; they had decided not to play any pre-Unforgettable Fire songs.  The venue was terrible, more suited for monster trucks than concerts.  I heard nearly all of Joshua Tree, which was great, but mostly Achtung Baby.  No “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, no “New Year’s Day”, none of the early stuff.  I didn’t get my Concert Moment (“Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?”), and I’ve never felt the need to go and see them again.

I explained this to my friend, earnestly.  Was I trying to make myself believe it?  His look said it all:  You call yourself a longtime fan, a teenager of the 80’s, and you don’t want to go to this concert?

But therein lies the problem:  I want to see 1987 U2, not the U2 from 2011.  I want Bono and The Edge with long hair, before they were UN ambassadors and had back problems.   I want “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “New Year’s Day” and all of Unforgettable Fire and Joshua Tree, not any new stuff that has already been featured in an iPod commercial by the time you see it.

I understand that when bands have been around for awhile, they can’t make everyone happy.  Really, I do.  And I get the fact that the music needs to stay interesting for them, too.  Still, as a concert-goer, I am selfish.  I want what I want.  And what I want is U2 from 1987.

However, the fact that it’s not 1987’s U2 was probably my friend’s most persuasive point.  He said “you know, with the back problems and all….they aren’t going to be around forever”.   A reminder of our mortality, and on the heels of my Big Birthday, too.   Point taken…. now I am looking for tickets.

There Will Be Vodka

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I bought the tickets before she actually agreed, but I had hoped that I could talk my sister into attending a State Radio show with me, scheduled for this coming March.

Luckily, she said she was in — with the caveat that, since the show is on a Wednesday, she might take the next day off, since I will be “pushing” vodka tonics on her during the show.  (This, apparently in reference to the last time we went to the ShowBox – where, I should add, she was a willing participant. (Buttercup! Buttercup!)).

I am a big fan of Dispatch….. I dig Chad Stokes, and State Radio is his post-Dispatch band, so I am excited to see them.  They opened for John Butler Trio at the Paramount last Spring, and I ran into Chad in the lobby after their set.  But I was too chicken to go up to him – and would probably have said something dorky like “I like your music”, or even dorkier (or maybe not), “my 6 year old daughter loves your music”.   (“You Know I Would”).

So maybe I will run into Chad again, and this time actually say something.   And maybe after the show, I can talk my sister into going to the Dispatch reunion show with me in Berkeley in June.  Either way, a night out with her is a guaranteed good time, and yes, dear sister, there will be vodka.

Drop the Gyro and Run

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I recently saw The Black Keys in concert.  They totally blew me away.  When others have asked me how it was, I can only describe it by saying that it was the most life-altering show I’ve seen in a long time.  This is not a designation that I award lightly.  In fact, only two other times.

The first Life Altering Concert, and really the only one that matters in the grand scheme of things:  the first time I saw Pearl Jam.  Lollapalooza 1992, Kitsap County Fair Grounds.   The lineup, even then, was phenomenal:  Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Jesus and Mary Chain, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Ministry, Ice Cube (who dropped more F-bombs in a sentence than I had ever heard, then or since — he had been stopped at the U.S./Canadian border, and barely made it in time for his set.  But that’s another story).

Come to think of it, these life-changing concerts have always occurred at the intersection of a major life change.  The Pearl Jam show was a month before I started law school.  DMB (Life Altering Concert #2) was around the time of my wedding.  The Black Keys show came right before the Big Birthday.  Skeptics would say that it’s not really the music that is life-changing, it’s just the timing of the concert.  But of course I know differently.

On that July day so long ago, my main reason for coming to Lollapalooza was Pearl Jam.  I was a huge fan, but hadn’t seen them live yet.  My friend and I thought they were taking the stage later, but as we sat eating lunch, we heard the roar of the crowd and…..Eddie.  We literally dropped everything (the gyro was terrible anyway), and sprinted over.

It’s funny that in a concert setting, your concept of personal space is miniscule.  Standing shoulder to shoulder with sweaty strangers is not only acceptable, it’s preferred.  We got pretty close to the stage, and while I couldn’t tell you the playlist, I do remember very clearly thinking:  these are my people.

That is what concerts are all about.   Live music is collective yet private, public but intimate, all at once.   And aren’t we all, throughout life, just looking for our people?  Our village?   We are lucky to find it in different contexts along the way – in friendships, in our profession, in our kids’ schools – people who share a similar world view, and make our daily lives better.

But a love of live music bonds us in a way like no other.  To the dude at the Gorge with the Pearl Jam tattoo, and the guy with the tattered “Drop in the Park” t-shirt (“Buttercup! Buttercup!”), I say:  I get you.  You are my people; you are my friend, even if I don’t know you.

And the friend who was at the Pearl Jam show with me that day — that life-changing show cemented our friendship, forever.  He’s always been my friend, even when we didn’t see each other for nine years.   That’s just the way it works.

My Running Buddy

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I don’t usually run with anyone.  I understand why people do, though – it helps to push you farther.  I once had an old guy wave me down while I was running.  He continued to chat me up, all the way around the lake, despite the fact that I was wearing headphones (which I thought was the universal signal for “don’t talk to me”, kind of like reading a magazine on an airplane).   Short of stopping, I didn’t know how to get away from him. And so I continued running with him, mainly because I did not want to be outpaced by an old guy.

Running with him wasn’t awful.  But for me, running is a solitary, mediative experience.  I far prefer my headphones to any idle chit chat.  I de-compress, I relax, and I figure out whatever problems are nagging at me.

The weather is hit and miss these days, so recently I had to run at the gym.  A few minutes in, a guy about my age got on the treadmill next to me.  I immediately noticed a tattoo on his forearm:  “without music, life would be a mistake”. (I have since learned that this is a Nietzsche quote.  I vaguely remember some Nietzsche from college, but I like him much more now that I know this quote.)

The dude was jamming out as he ran — he stopped short of playing an air guitar, but he drummed his hands on the treadmill, and punched the air a few times.   He was a kindred spirit, in his own private concert just like me.  (“The Sweatiest Music”).

I was dying to know what he was listening to.  Am I missing essential music on my workout playlist?  But, of course, treadmill etiquette dictates that you don’t really acknowledge the person on the treadmill next to you.  And asking to see someone’s iPod is akin to asking to read their journal.

So I didn’t.  But we ran on, side by side, each in our own world.    Kind of like running together, only better.

Namaste, Eddie

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I am not mature enough to be a yoga person.  I am too fidgety, and I can’t clear my mind, and, most of all, the trippy new age music either annoys me or makes me giggle.  

Lately though, I’ve been doing hot yoga, and I have to say that I really like it.  I think the stench of the sweaty guy next to me is distraction enough from the music, and the heat makes my non-flexible body feel stretchier.

I found my musical soulmate at a coffee house once.  The playlist was perfect, and this is not something that happens everyday.  But I took that poor barista for granted, and paid for it by sitting through hours of bad coffee house playlists later on.

Therefore, I intend to cherish the yoga teacher that I have found, who just might be my yoga music soulmate. I am loath to reveal her location for fear that the class will become too crowded.  Let’s just say — Jimi Hendrix, Radiohead, Eddie Vedder – now that is music I can Downward Dog to.

The Unfairness of The Fair

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I would not really call myself a country music enthusiast, but I’ve experimented.  I’ve tried it.  One might say I’ve dabbled.   I do appreciate country music; in particular, the way that most country songs can make me cry at the drop of a (cowboy) hat.

I pulled out a bunch of old country CD’s the other day and uploaded them to iTunes, intending to give some tired playlists a shot in the arm.  Now I’m thinking that maybe certain songs should have a weepy mix all their own. (Seriously, email me and I will send you a playlist that is guaranteed to make you cry.)

I did cry a bit at these old tunes, but what I also found is that I smiled when, unexpectedly, my thoughts turned to my Grandma.

As kids, my sisters and I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house.  My grandma has endured as one of the biggest influences on my life, and a true icon of unconditional love.  Of course my grandparents’ house had the requisite 70’s enormous console TV……broadcasting shows like The Brady Bunch, The Lawrence Welk Show and Hee Haw.  I seem to recall that my grandpa didn’t like Lawrence Welk, but Hee Haw was fair game.

Some of my favorite childhood memories are of going to the county fair with my grandparents.  We’d see the exhibits and ride a few rides, then we’d see the music show.  I wish now that I had paid attention to who we saw.  It was always country music, but the only one I can really recall is Buck Owens.  Or maybe it was Roy.  At any rate, it was one of the Hee Haw guys.

Later, after Grandpa was gone, my sisters and I would go to the fair with Grandma and, in usual teenage fashion, be embarrassed to be be seen at the very ‘square’ country music show.   My mom assured me that cooler acts were coming to the fair soon.  In fact, she was right.  Rick Springfield just played my hometown fair this summer.  Apparently by “soon”, Mom meant “in 25 years”.

It breaks my heart that my grandma didn’t live long enough to meet my kids.  I talk about her a lot, and tell them funny little stories about her.   I’ve got to remember to tell them these tidbits:

1.  When I first started dating my husband, Grandma thought he looked like Randy Travis.  He doesn’t, but maybe that’s one reason she loved him right away.

2.  In the midst of the 80’s, she decided that she liked Billy Idol.  I think that my older cousin bought her a Billy Idol tee shirt, but in all fairness, I could be confusing it with her “Fonz” shirt.  (Either way, how cool of a grandma is that?)

3.  She saw Hank Williams Jr. in concert and hated it.  She said that he was too dirty, and he was drunk, and he was a disgrace to his father.   Harsh words, but Gram had opinions.

4.  The song “Proud to be an American” always made her cry. Now it makes me cry, because it reminds me of her.  Good tears though; I feel lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I did.  And maybe, for my Grandma, it’s time for me to give country music another try.

The Opposite of doing a Beer Bong

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Imagine that it’s 1989 and you are a freshman in college.  You’ve gotten a job at the athletic rec center on campus, and the only shift available is the worst time for any college student to be at work:  Friday night, 7pm to 11pm.

Your job involves sitting at a front desk and clicking a counter when patrons come in and show their ID.  There are not many people coming in to exercise at this time, except for professors and grad students.  Even worse, your two co-workers are dating each other, and are too busy playing grab-ass to talk to you.

Now imagine that, for some strange leftover disco-era reason, there is roller skating on Friday nights in one of the gyms.  It is attended by the aforementioned grad students, professors, and 70’s holdouts.  I’m talking full-on Skate King mode: disco lights, music pumping — and it’s so loud that it can be heard as far as the front desk.  Songs are recognizable by their bass line, thumping through the wall.    You sit every Friday, eavesdropping on this music, imagining your friends up the hill, who are most certainly having more fun than you are.   What stage of partying is going on up there?   What fun hijinks are occurring in your absence?

There is one song that is played every Friday, several times throughout the course of your shift.   It is unmistakable, as its distinctive “Woo!” comes through the wall, taunting you as the hours roll by:  none other than “It Takes Two”, by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock.  Twenty years later, you still hear that song and are immediately transported back.

Welcome to my little slice of 1989 Friday night hell…. (and did I mention that it was accompanied by the pungent odor of funky B.O.?)

Pick a Shell, Any Shell

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The past two days, I’ve been digging the Smashing Pumpkins.  This really doesn’t make sense to me.  I like them just fine and have some of their old stuff, but it’s never been ‘go to’ music for me in any way.

Then yesterday while I was running, this lyric from “Tonight, Tonight” jumped up and hit me in the gut:

And you know you’re never sure
But you’re sure you could be right
If you held yourself up to the light.

I just love that.   It resonated with me, I think, because of an image that popped into my head recently while talking with a friend:  that each of us is basically a shell game.

We meet people throughout stages of our lives, we form relationships…people drift in and out and really only know a portion of us, or what we allow them to see. 

A constant shuffle, reminiscent of the law school “hide the ball” analogy…letting certain aspects of ourselves show, and cautiously guarding others.  Do we ever really lift up all the shells at once?

This seemed profound and deep at the time.  In print it seems more akin to late-night college drunk talk.  Twenty years too late, and I’m not drunk, but I still like it.

The Sweatiest Music

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I was thinking yesterday about what makes a good workout playlist.    What works on any given day is always up for grabs.  The lawyer in me, though, can distill it down into these essential elements:

1. VOLUME.  The music must be mind-numbingly loud, creating an audio cocoon that drowns out any peripheral noise.  I don’t want to be talked to when I have on headphones, so whether I can hear what anyone is saying is immaterial.

2. CONTENT.  Live recordings are best, but studio versions will do.  The perfect tempo is one that coincides with your running pace, resulting in a sweaty bliss as if you are dancing in the summer sun at The Gorge.   I have a recording of a really hot Pearl Jam show at The Gorge, and when those songs come on, it’s almost — almost — like being there again. And I’m usually just as sweaty, considering the temperature at that show was 110.

3.  TRANSPORT.  Creative visualization is a nice bonus.  If a song reminds me of a funny memory, it shifts my focus from thinking about how tired I am.  That being said, some songs have inexplicably made it onto my playlist, and I have no idea why.  Crosby, Stills and Nash only remind me of late nights in law school, and thus have no place on a workout playlist.  I can’t hit “skip” fast enough, yet I have been too lazy to remove them.

4.  CONTEXT.  And finally, of course, the music does not have to be music that you listen to at any other time.  Do I ever listen to Public Enemy or Soundgarden while I am making dinner?  No.  But are they a mainstay in my workout playlist?  Absolutely.