Nirvana

Come Down and Waste Away with Me

/ Deb / Leave a comment

Today FB reminded me that two years ago, I was at a Foo Fighters show.   Remember when we used to go to rock concerts?   It’s a tiny thing in the grand scheme of all we have lost in the past few months, but I still miss it.  I heard Everlong on my run today.  I’ve always thought that it was about the bliss of being at a concert (“And I wonder/as I sing along with you/if everything could ever feel this real forever/if anything could ever be this good again”).  Maybe it isn’t about that. 

Anyway, it’s available to you if you need loud music and want to visualize yourself as a drummer.  Then follow it up with some Jane’s Addiction and Nirvana to really piss off your headphones and generate an Apple Health warning about the volume being too high.  

Garage Regret, 20 Years Later

/ Deb / Leave a comment

Twenty years ago when Kurt died, I was in law school and living in Tacoma.  I recall driving down the hill on my way to work, towards Commencement Bay, and hearing it on the radio.  The sky was blindingly blue – one of those crystal clear, early spring days when it seems like it should be warm outside, but isn’t.  It wasn’t yet confirmed to be Kurt, but of course everyone knew it was.  My stomach dropped, and I very clearly remember thinking that it was too beautiful of a day to be lying dead in a room above a garage.

As the weeks (and years) went on, regret loomed.  As a music lover and Seattle resident since 1988, I am almost embarrassed to say that I never saw Nirvana play live.  I had plenty of opportunities, including the infamous “Four Bands for Four Bucks” shows at the UW Hub while I was in college there.  I had a friend who sported a Nirvana sticker on his VW bug long before “Nevermind”.  He saw them plenty of times.  At the time I remember considering him somewhat of a slacker, but now I think he’s a goddamn genius.  I graduated, moved to Tacoma for law school, and a Nirvana show just never seemed to work out for me. I barely remember that I once had access to a ticket, and then couldn’t go, for some reason which must have been important at the time.

I took my kids to the EMP recently, and we toured the Nirvana exhibit.  They enjoy music and of course know about Nirvana, so they were interested.  They listened to my stories as I pointed out the great artifacts and pictures in the exhibit.  This was my time, my youth, my Seattle. I was excited to show them.  But at 9 and 11, my kids lack the emotional connection that I have to that music, to that slice of history.  Plus they don’t understand that parental reaction of – “20 DAMN YEARS! FUCK! HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?  HOW is it POSSIBLE that I can remember that time so vividly, and now in the blink of an eye it’s 20+ years later and I’m looking at all of this stuff, IN A MUSEUM, with two tweens, and wiry grey hairs poking out of my head?”

I realized instantly that, for me, the EMP’s Jimi Hendrix exhibit was the mirror image.  I like his music, and I appreciate the impact he made, but I don’t have an emotional connection to that time.  I toured the exhibit politely, but I didn’t have earnest stories or reactions to the displays, like the people nearby, 20 years my senior, who had lived through his music.

And that is the cyclical nature of things, of course.  On the huge screen in the Sky Church down the hall, a Macklemore video played.  People gathered and watched.  My kids ran down the hall to see.  I had taken my 11 year old to see Macklemore & Ryan Lewis in concert back in December.  It was my son’s first “real” concert, and he had a blast.  I did too.  Our evening was precious to me in the way that only a lover of live music can understand.  (And I feel I’ve properly set him up for the “what was your first concert?” discussion down the road.  Mine was Night Ranger….not exactly the same).   Truthfully, I wanted to see Macklemore as much as my son did.  He feels like a Seattle artist whom you ought to see when you have a chance.

So I’m trying to do better on the regret front, at least where my kids are concerned.  I let them skip school and took them to the Seahawks Super Bowl victory parade in February, mainly because I figured they will remember it in 20 years, a lot more than anything they would have done in school that day.  You know – kind of the opposite of thinking about an elusive Nirvana ticket, and not being able to remember why you didn’t go.

The Kids Are Alright

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This vignette recently took place in the back seat of my van, and it made me smile:

My son (“J”):   “Oh man, you should see this album cover that my mom has.  There’s this baby on it, and he’s totally naked, and he’s swimming after a dollar bill.” [the preceding conversation must have concerned either baby brothers, or general nakedness; I wasn’t really paying attention].
His friend (“A”) [emphatically, matter-of-factly]:  “Oh, I’ve seen that!  I know that band.  I know that band. They’re good.”
J:  “Yeah, I think it’s Nirvana.”
A:  “Yeah.  They are like, a really good band.”
J:  “Yeah, they are.”
[and…..scene.  The conversation likely then returned to either Minecraft, baseball, or hamburgers].

Knowledge From the Box

/ Deb / 2 Comments

The Showbox and the Rock Box, that is.  Here’s what I learned recently from each:

The most obvious thing I learned from the Rock Box was that I should have gone there much sooner. It is a music lover’s dream – individual, various-sized karaoke rooms, with food and beverage service while you sing.  I do not have a good singing voice except when alone in my car, and therefore do not often feel the pull of a karaoke microphone. I had done karaoke exactly one time, in college, and my inebriated trio’s rendition of Devo’s “Whip It” was so loud and awful that the karaoke guy turned our mic off.  But now I’m older and wiser, and on this October night, in the company of a small group of girlfriends and armed with a tablet device that gave us access to any song I could think of, I found my inner karaoke goddess. Our group sampled nearly every musical genre, from show tunes to rap, 1970’s to present day, and I had a blast.  Three lessons from the Rock Box night:

1.  I don’t know all the words to Naughty By Nature’s “OPP” like I thought I did;
2.  Journey is really hard to sing.  Kenny Rogers is not; and
3.  “Smells Like Teen Spirit” is just as fun to yell now as it was 20 years ago.

A few nights later, the stars aligned – both kids had sleepovers away from home, and Portland band Blind Pilot was playing a gig at the Showbox.  I surprised my husband with tickets and a night out.   Blind Pilot is a current favorite of his, and we’ve never seen them live before, so this promised to be a good time.  Blind Pilot is what I call kitchen music…music to listen to while I am making dinner. It’s melodic, unobtrusive, easily digested. Surely their live show would be the same.

We had appetizers and cocktails at a bar, while we strategized about Halloween costumes for our friends’ annual party.  We talked about the kids; we talked about college football.  It was all so easy and in synch….we moseyed over to the Showbox and staked out our spot, and watched a few opening bands before Blind Pilot came on. The show had a great vibe, and they proved to be just as enjoyable as I had predicted. I got my Concert Moment, when they closed with one of my favorite songs, “Three Rounds and a Sound”, which, especially on this night, is a life-affirming tune. Here were my takeaways from the evening:

1. I might be too old to attend shows that don’t start until 11:30pm.
2. People really need to stop groping each other and playing grab-ass at concerts. Seriously. (possibly another sign that I am getting old).

The third thing, though, and really the most important, is that the next time someone asks me, “Why are you like that?” in relation to my concert-going habits, I will now have a better answer.

I recently fielded that question across a dinner table, and the answer was so simple that it eluded me at the time. Now I know that my answer should be – because I want to have nights like this.  I am “like that” because, after I go to a show, the memory is mine.  It gets woven into my musical history.  It is burned into my soul and into my heart.  So that now, in my kitchen on a random Tuesday night, I get to hear this song and remember a great night out with my sweetie, who is still, after all these years, my favorite concert companion.

(Or, as Blind Pilot would put it:  “‘Till kingdom come, you’re the one I want”.)  Indeed.

Territorial Pissings (yes, that’s a Nirvana reference)

/ Deb / 1 Comment

You know what’s cool?  Offering a free download of your concert for those who went to the show.  I saw Dispatch for the second time last weekend, and I loved being able to download a copy of the show on Monday morning, for free, with the barcode from my ticket.

I was excited that they decided to play Seattle on this tour. Last time, (which we thought was a one-time reunion tour), we had to fly to Berkeley to see them. (“A Badger and a One-Eyed Toad”).   But a show at the Moore Theatre meant an easy, well-deserved night out with my sister, and their sing-along vibe is just plain fun – which is, after all, the entire point of live music.

Dispatch enjoys the ubiquitous status of being the “biggest band no one has ever heard of”, and maybe they are.  They’ve achieved a loyal fan base without any major record deal, and, despite taking a break and various side projects, they’ve stayed true to their roots as an independent band.

Offering a free download of a live show is a great throwback to the days of tape trading and authorized bootlegs.  And, while it might just be a publicity stunt, it makes you feel like like they appreciate the fact that you buy their music and tickets to their concerts.

I give these kudos to Dispatch – freely – but as preface to what I am about to say.  I’ll keep listening, and I’ll always buy a ticket when they come to town, but I might need to have a talk with my imaginary friend, lead singer Chad Stokes.  (“On Sisters and Pineapple”, “The Pixies, Chad Stokes, and Pineapple”).  It seems we might differ on one important Seattle music issue.

It was really a great show….good energy, lots of old favorites.  And then, it happened.  In between songs, Chad made reference to playing at the Moore Theatre. I can’t remember the exact words, but it went like this: “We’ve gotta pay our respects to Seattle……the Moore Theatre…..hallowed ground for those who have played here before us…..bands like Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Pearl Jam…..”

I suddenly got all territorial and defensive.  Really?  You are leading with Alice in Chains?  I liked them just fine, but….really?  You are putting them at the front of a Seattle list that includes Nirvana and Pearl Jam?

You can argue all day about who should be #1 or #2 on the list.  And even I will admit that’s is probably Nirvana at the top, if for no other reason than, let’s face it – dying young and tragically elevates you to cult status. (And for the record, do I love Nirvana).

But in no universe would anyone ever put Alice in Chains as #1 on that list.  Was he trying to be ironic?  Make the non-obvious choice?  Or maybe he was just naming them alphabetically.  Either way, I was now officially on a rant.

To my sister beside me:  “Dude, if you are paying your respects, then pay them properly.  It’s Eddie Vedder who scaled the damn walls of the Moore Theatre, thank you very much.” (maybe Kurt and Layne did too, I really have no idea.  But I was on a roll.)

I couldn’t stop bitching about it, leaning over, again:  “AND!  CHAD!  In case you haven’t noticed, Layne Staley overdosed, and Kurt blew his brains out.  Eddie Vedder’s the only one who’s still around”.

My sister considered this, briefly, but then hit the bullseye:  “Yeah, but dude….when’s the last time Pearl Jam even played a show here?”   Ouch. I hate it when she’s right.

(P.S.  It was September 2009 and, since then, they chose to have their 20th Anniversary Celebration Concert in….Wisconsin, and their most recent gigs have included a festival with Jay-Z (?!), and an Oracle corporate event.  Not that I am keeping track.)

(P.P.S.  You know you have to go and watch the Moore Theatre-filmed video for “Evenflow” now, right?  Best line, at the beginning:  “This is not a TV studio….Josh!  Turn these lights out.  It’s a f*cking rock concert!”)

Express Yourself, 2012 Style

/ Deb / 1 Comment

One thing irritates me like no other:  the Music Snob.  You know the type – they only like the coolest bands that no one else has heard of, or claim to only like music done by “true artists” or “good musicians” (read:  no pop, no Top 40).  I am not a Music Snob.  I like a lot of different music, and I won’t disparage you for what you like. 

Behold:  today’s post is about Salt ‘n Pepa.  You Music Snobs know who they are, so don’t pretend otherwise.

In 1990, Salt ‘n Pepa’s “Expression” was a mainstay on my Walkman.  I was in college and worked part-time at the prosecutor’s office, and rode the Metro bus to and from campus and work, every day.  A Walkman was essential in order to avoid having to talk to any weird older men who might sit next to you on the bus.  I really loved that song; I must have listened to it a million times.  (Favorite line?  “Yes I’m blessed and I know/who I am/I express myself on every jam/I’m not a man but I’m in command/hot damn, I got an all-girl band”).                                 

Soon thereafter, with the onslaught of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, et. al., my flirtation with rap and hip-hop ended.  My DJ/rapper nickname was cast aside (email me and I’ll tell you what it was), and my Salt n’ Pepa cassette was relegated to a box.  I decided I wanted to become a lawyer….went to law school,  got married, had kids, blah blah blah……20 years passed.  Cut to present day Seattle, on a path around Greenlake:

I honestly forgot that I ever loaded the song onto iTunes or put it on my workout mix.  I don’t think I’ve heard it in years.  But today, on my run, for the first time ever – the Shuffle Gods went to work, and there it was – Salt ‘n Pepa, speaking to me in scratches and beats:

“Hey, you used to be that girl on the bus…..you carried a leather bookbag and had big dreams and a five year plan.  How’d that all work out for you?  Are you where you want to be?  Have you done what you set out to do?  How realistic were the plans of a 20 year-old anyway?   You can laugh at the 20 year-old You and how she didn’t know anything, but she’s still out there on a bus somewhere, and you need to settle up with her”.

Enough already, Salt! (and Pepa.  And Spinderella)  As if I wasn’t already introspective enough, as a result of the new year and an unexpected event in my family, now here you go, poking me with your catchy grooves.  OK, I will play along.  January is always a time for cleaning out and purging.  Why else would all the stores have organizational items on sale, and all the diet centers run specials?   More importantly, though, it’s also a time for mental housecleaning – to satisfy that list-maker in all of us.  

Much like a Metro bus route, our lives will always be filled with delays, detours, and some dead ends.  But the end result is that I don’t need any do-overs.  I’m ecstatically happy with the past 20 years, potholes and all.  I am looking forward to 2012 in a way that I haven’t done in a long time.  It is full of promise, full of new beginnings, and chock-full of big plans, both personally and professionally.

It might have taken me 20 years to realize that, in the end, you really are only accountable to yourself.  Or, as it were, to your 20-year old self on a bus.  I’d still like to buy that girl a cup of coffee and talk to her, but otherwise, I think we’ve settled up.