Back in the Day

The Beginning of the Soundtrack

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Thirteen years ago this morning, I awoke in a hotel room, walked tentatively to the window and opened the blinds, and was relieved to see a perfectly blue August sky.  We had planned an outdoor wedding on the side of a mountain at a spot we had both fallen in love with, and there was no contingency plan for bad weather.  The gamble, thankfully, had paid off.

A few hours later, I cruised LBJ (‘Little Black Jetta’) down I-90 with my sisters, wedding dress laid across the back seat….Dave Matthews Band “Live at Red Rocks”, disc one.  My car didn’t have a CD player, but, being the resourceful type, I had taped my CD so that I could listen in the car:  Seek Up, Proudest Monkey……Two Step, with my favorite jam in the middle.   My husband hates those jams that make the song drag on forever; just one of our many differences that help us to balance each other.

12:00pm is not exactly the time for a dancy, party kind of wedding.  Our plan was to get hitched, have some food and cake, then get the heck out of Dodge and fly to San Francisco for the night, before heading out the next morning on our Italian honeymoon.

No dance floor, but I did feel compelled to hire a DJ to play background music during the reception.  He gave me a list of suggested standards, and asked that I edit it to let him know what I wanted him to play.  I made big X’s across most of the list and gave it back to him, along with lawyerly-typed instructions of what not to play (“under NO circumstances are you to play that Celine Dion song from ‘Titanic'”).  Looking back on it, I suppose it was a little Bridezilla-ish, but why did he give me a list if he didn’t want input on it?   During the reception, he sat solemnly off to the side of the bar.  Someone must have requested an obnoxious song, because I learned later that he was overheard explaining “sorry, I’m just here to play background music”.

The weather held.  I did not slip on the grass while walking down the aisle.  We made promises to each other in front of our family and friends, Mount Si bearing witness in the background.

Hours later, we were whisked away to the airport by our oldest and dearest friend, who had been my husband’s best man.  Sunburned and shiny, we boarded the plane, and the adventure began.  What a trip it’s been so far….and always with background music.

Quality Time in the Back of a Van

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Only two of my major life decisions have an exact date of origin, meaning that I can pinpoint exactly when they were made.    One of these is the decision to not move back to my home town.

Since New Year’s Eve, I’ve had U2 on the brain.  (“A 1987 Bono for the New Year”).   I’ve pulled out all of the old albums, so it was only a matter of time before this nugget came my way.

There is a short list of music that I associate with the Fall of my Freshman year of college, for all the obvious and not-so-obvious reasons:  R.E.M., Guns n’ Roses, and U2, with a dash of The Doors on the side.  These were the albums playing in the dorm halls, fueling our parties, and bonding us with new friends.

U2’s Rattle and Hum was released that fall, and for many of us, it was cause for an expedition out of the dorms, to purchase it at Tower Records on the Ave  (on cassette tape, of course.  And by the way…..R.I.P. Tower Records).    The day it came out, you could walk down the hallways of McMahon Fifth South and hear it wafting from every other door.

Those first few months away from home, I didn’t have reason to venture much farther than the University District.   But my RA had an internship that gave her access to free passes to movie premieres.  When she scored enough tickets, we headed out of the U District for the night (one of these outings, of course, was to see the U2 movie “Rattle and Hum”).  The movies were held at theaters all over town, giving me a chance to see other parts of the city.

On the night when the Big Decision was made, whatever movie we were seeing was playing at Uptown Theatre on lower Queen Anne.  I had never been to Queen Anne, although I would later live there for four years.  We piled into a van, and I loved the feeling of not knowing where we were going, and not being in charge of getting us home.  I was along for the ride.

We traveled down I-5, towards the sparkling lights of downtown – very far from the wheatfields and desert vistas of my hometown.  I had never consciously thought of it, but maybe in the back of my head, I assumed that, after college, I would move back home.

But on this night, looking out that van window, I thought to myself:  This is my city now. 

In a strange way, the world just opened up.  I said to myself — I don’t have to move back there.  I could live here (or anywhere else), forever.   And in that moment, I knew that I would never again live in my hometown. 

I had fallen in love with a city.  The hook set even further with the onset of grunge music a few years later, when Seattle became the self-proclaimed music capital of the world (and maybe it was, for a while).  If there was a better place to be in college during those years, I don’t know where it was.    

I’ve now lived in Seattle longer than I lived in my hometown, a milestone that did not go unnoticed.  The University District haunts that I knew are mostly gone.   The entire city has cocktail lounges where once there were dive bars, and the grimiest of my old college bars, although still in business, now proclaims itself to be a “nightclub”.  I’ve watched the influx of California and East Coast transplants, with their incessant whining about the rain.    But I still don’t see myself living anywhere else.

And the other life decision with a precise point of origin?   I’m keeping that one to myself, but I will say that, in true Pacific Northwest fashion, it happened on a crystal clear September day, on a trail about halfway up the side of Mt. Rainier.

A 1987 Bono for the New Year

/ Deb / 2 Comments

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.

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.

We’ve Got a Thing, and it’s Called..

/ Deb / 2 Comments

Radar Love. In the car coming home from Costco today. One of the best driving songs ever, hands down. But what it really reminds me of, instantaneously – 1992 Apple Cup, Pullman. The Drew Bledsoe year.

Freezing cold in butt-deep snow, we ended up in The Cavern, which, if memory serves, was a bar…on campus(?)

By the second half, the game was of no interest to any UW fan.  We danced, we spun, with the game on in the background.  A Coug stole my Husky hat and probably did unspeakable things with it.

The game wore on…we lost, convincingly. By this time, the jukebox was playing Pearl Jam, and in our Seattle-centric, drunkenly superior mindset, we taunted the Coug fans: yeah, you cowboy hicks, you might have won the game, but we’ve got Eddie Vedder.