You sick of IWTDI and Gray Young reviews yet? TOO BAD. I WARNED YOU.
I know I've done several entries in a row that were intensely personal, almost like diary entries, but again... I WARNED YOU. maybe this is why people aren't really turning to me for true show reviews; just my friends seeing what I had to say. and maybe all this will turn into some fucked up memoirs for a book one day... "A Year in the Triangle Music Scene, Durrr" by Karla Anne... Sounds good to me. It's certainly not full of journalistic integrity so far, is it? Just a lot of me rambling about personal growth and art for art's sake. That's how I do. and if you want the real technical review of the shows, look to the right for the Blogroll.
Digression aside, more personal confessions instead of technical perspectives ahead: One of the things I like best in life are surprises. I LOVE SURPRISES. In any capacity. Surprise parties, a postcard when you weren't expecting it, a cute puppy coming around the corner who is dying to be your new friend; on any and all levels: I love when life isn't what you expected it to be. And in the same vein, what i *really* love is when someone isn't what you expected them to be, and more importantly when someone has a place in your life and in your heart you never expected them to hold.
One other thing I love in life: recognizing signs and coincidences, taking absolutely nothing for granted and relishing every second, (even the terrible and boring ones,) of this life as a gift. I sometimes dub myself "Queen of Perspective". I love putting the pieces of my life together. I love playing the six degrees of separation in events and people and moments that brought me and my friends and lovers together. I love recognizing and appreciating the butterfly effect of my precious moments on this earth that lead me to the ones I have chosen to share these moments with. I love life; the sacredness, the fragility, the urgency, the shitstorm, the gift.
That being said: 1) I met James the day before I met James. 2) And when I met James he was not the person James actually is... IWTDI did the U2 show at TNN and I met James and then the very next night I met James at Whiskey. When I first officially met and spoke with him, I pegged him as a hippie but then I got to know him and he's someone so complex that it defies a label. He's somewhere between a hippie/missionary/radical/egomaniac/shit stirrer/lionheart/asshole/saint; other than myself, he's probably one of the more fucked up, complicated, beautiful people i've known in my real life. I don't carry a flame for James, I carry an inferno... One of those crazy damn oil well fire hurricanes like in that John Wayne movie "Hellfighters." I love James. but that's the thing; EVERYONE loves James. but this isn't the James Hepler Fan Club, I'm just trying to partly explain why every time IWTDI plays, I see IWTDI.
Ok, Now THAT being said: Through my getting to know James, I got to know the rest of the gang. I got to know the well oiled machine of IWTDI. The dynamics. The heartbeat. the drama... I got to know the songs so well. I got to know the reasons and the meanings and I found myself getting songs stuck in my head. I found myself recruiting more and more people to check them out; dragging friends to shows, etc. I am beyond proud of this band, I know too well that very soon they are going to be huge. HUGE.
This show was probably one of my more favorite shows... random reasons; I was in a great mood, the new songs are so good, it was the kickoff of their tour, i was with the right people, the sound guy was on point, I was seeing one of my favorite bands. The crowd around us were a little tame, but the room was packed. I didn't notice really because i was dancing my ass off and having a blast. Roo had to tell me later that most people "weren't even moving". I didn't notice, because I was. A lot.
So as I said, the new songs, off the new album Preludes, they are on a whole different level from what we've heard from them before. The first couple releases are good, yes. This is something different. Preludes is hitting that point of depth and fullness that I absolutely need to devote myself to a sound. If i had walked in, note unheard, to this show at TNN and never heard the band before, didn't love them the way I do on such a personal, completely biased level, I would have told you the same thing: this was one of the best sounding shows I've heard/seen in months. and the funny thing is I heard the new songs live at the Redress, but there was some sort of energy and perfection to this performance. Maybe they were riding high after the SXSW trip, but I really think IWTDI has found their moment. I am only expecting them to come home superstars.
So they just released a new video for Fight/Flight, as I briefly mentioned last week. This song, as I said, I'd heard it live once or twice before, took on a whole different personality for me Thursday night. There was an intensity, a heartbreak, a fire under it's belly. It was one of those rare instances when seeing a show live where an otherwise non-weepy song hit me in just the right way and I got the goose bumps and my eyes welled up. It was during this song I knew, i knew... my friends are rock gods. my friends are amazing. I cant even being to describe to you how much they deserve it and how much i love them.
My incredibly talented, beautiful and courageous friends, I Was Totally Destroying It, have released the official music video for their (my favorite so far) song, "Fight/Flight" off of their new album Preludes (Out 4/12/11 on Greyday Records - available now for pre-order!) IWTDI is now on a whirlwind tour across the country promoting the new album - definitely check them out if you get the chance!
I have a vested interest in the band I am going to now review for you. When I first posted about the conversion of the blog to reviews, I promised you would see lots of Gray Young (noted) and These guys... I Was Totally Destroying It... My loves, my friends. I am so emotionally invested in the success of this band that I had to seek council to negotiate a level of personal asides I was or was not allowed to digress into. I have decided the best route is terse honesty. The people that know me IRL know what's up so I don't need to explain. Short answer: I love these guys.
Here is how i found the band... and I am suddenly realizing that although it was over a week ago that I saw their last show, I have subconsciously waited until today, St Patrick's Day, to write my review of it; coincidentally I saw them perform exactly one year ago in the incarnation that sealed the deal of my love for them... I Was Totally Destroying U2. J.Booker is probably one of the top 3 biggest U2 fans, besides myself that I've ever met. I'm not here to tell you about that show, but I have to squish about it a little. Seeing IWTDI do the U2 show is as close to the real thing (ha) as one could get if only for the reason that they have obsessively watched and studied enough live shows to throw in all those random ad-libs and asides from ancient shows that only the true fans know. The first time I saw them do it, (the night before the U2 show at Carter Finley in 2009) I almost went wild with kindred-ness. I had found my people! IWTDI are U2 fans, and that certainly helps in any attempt to "cover" a band, but what makes their interpretation is the professionalism. There are no mistakes. That is the secret of IWTDI in any incarnation; especially as their true selves... These guys are PRO-FESS-ION-ELLL.
I probably know way more about the history and mechanics of this band than any other band. I am not here to bio the band, but I do want to elaborate on the perfection of the structure... So sure, John and Rachel share the LV spot, but that's the thing - there is no standout superstar in IWTDI. they are all superstars, there is equality and balance. I don't know if it's because of the U2 connection I have with them, but just how i feel about The Boys, (there would be no U2 if any member of U2 were to leave the band,) But IWTDI would not be themselves without every single member of this band. It's a perfect balance, They work so well together that if one were to move the others fall into place. There is no IWTDI without Joe, Curtis, Rachel, John or James. I have watched this band pay dues after dues, playing shows to 12 and playing shows to thousands; and it's an added bonus for me to be sat here writing this as they are playing at SXSW right now. I'm beyond proud. Beyond any level of ecstatic than i could express at their success. I can't think of any group of people i respect artistically, professionally, musically and personally that deserve it more. I love these guys. Big love. Big, big love.
There is so much I could elaborate on my connection to these guys, but long-time readers will know how to find the stories so there is no need for redundancy. It's been a long year full of lots of incredible shows, some awkward shows, some secretly attended shows, but i was there. I was there for all of them. I will always support and love this band. So they come to my King's? Of course I'll be there... Of course!
Raleigh Redress is "an ecologically conscious and forward thinking fashion show that challenges designers to think about impact on the environment in the development of their concept. Redress aims to showcase eco-friendly designers with accessible and innovative collections that show “green” is in all aspects of life, including fashion." (from their site, obvs) I don't personally know any of the designers this year, but i totally support the cause. I'm no eco-hippy, but I'm all for this idea. I was only more than happy to donate to the event by attending a show i would have gone to see anyway! ha! I dragged Hillary and Shawn along and my dear God, we had a blast. 99% of the time the show i see is directly affected by the company I keep. Just so happened I was seeing a show I would have loved, regardless.
Wesley Wolfe: I didn't stick around too much for. I did like what i heard, but I was having an off ear-night, and the acoustics were rough on me. I didn't have enough drink in me to tolerate the really really loudness of it. and if you know me, to say "this band was too loud", you know they were LOUD.
Bright Young Things: This is a band I've seen a couple times now and I have a budding interest in. I don't want to be completely superficial, but ooooh lordy, the LV is beautiful. And the closer you get to the stage, the prettier he gets. But okay I promise, that's not the only draw, they are adorable! And by adorable i mean their music is totally adorable. I don't mean to get all girly, but almost every song is like running in a sun-blinded wheat field wearing a sundress chasing butterflies. Every song is like the most adorable "falling in love" quirky montage in a Ben Stiller Rom-com. Somebody soon is going to pick up on this and these guys are going to get big, quick. I'm calling it now. BYT = famous soon. very soon.
IWTDI = already famous. or am i biased? I am biased. and also i am right. This show featured songs from the new album that I wasn't too familiar with (YET) but executed perfectly. That is the thing people need to know about this band, the level of dedication, the sacrifices made, the jobs quit, the dues paid, the time and money invested. You don't get to the point where they have now finally reached without the work they've put into it; and i can promise you, there may not be a harder working band in the triangle that I know of. and I know a lot of local bands. They went on a little late this night, so the crowd thinned out but they didn't seem to mind and played their hearts out, as per usual. So the show was stellar, as per usual. My pride and love was off the charts, as per usual. I'm tempted to gush, but I will refrain. and I will tell you once again, I Was Totally Destroying It are going to be the next big thing out of this town. I'm so glad I get to one day say I knew them when. Love you, guys!!! xoxo
Imagine you are a girl. (If you are actually a girl, this exercise will be much easier for you.) Now imagine you are not just any girl; you are an overweight, clumsy, awkward girl with a heart of gold. Imagine you have broken almost every rule enforced upon you by your parents in some misguided attempt to protect the honor of your friends and to uphold your own personal beliefs in being a friend to the friendless and living a strictly Carpe Diem life. you make poor choices, like staying out late because if you don't your friend might drive drunk or get involved with the wrong people; so you come home late and you get grounded. Imagine you find yourself entangled in these stupid scenarios over and over because you were raised to believe that your specific deity which you have chosen to worship rewards those who selflessly take care of those who can't or won't take care of themselves. Then imagine after several years, say 23 or so, of being constantly taken for granted, ignored or abused you start to question your motives. are you doing these things because you want to or because you're supposed to? Are you doing these things selflessly after all or are you assuming there is a reward? Are you supposed to expect the reward? Then maybe you have a crisis of faith here and there because ... you want that reward! you feel so guilty for wanting it and this causes so much anxiety and depression in you.
Now imagine you are seeking answers. Imagine the only way you know how to do this is a constant internal dialogue. You see everyone around you making life make sense with college degrees, husbands and wives, hobbies or sports, and with unquestionable religion. You see most everyone around you contented, calm and accepting. The only way you have found, however, to make anything make sense is to keep quiet and be alone and to escape into some music. Your headphones are your church. Your mix tapes are your religion. When the music stops, the confusion creeps in. You drown yourself in it, it is the only time your imagination runs free, there are no expectations and you dream wildly. it keeps you calm, it keeps you awake, it keeps you safe. you have no husband, you only have Bono. You have no degree, you have Peter Gabriel. You are not working a job you care about, but on the way to and from this job you get blast Jesus Christ Superstar at full volume and sing along. This somehow makes it all okay.
Sometimes when you are alone with your music, you are someone else. You are on stage. You are flawless and loved. You are thin and beautiful. Pretending you are someone you aren't becomes something you do so much it almost becomes who you are. you become an amalgamation of the pretend you and the real you. Then suddenly someone comes along, the right girl at the right time who encourages you to try and be both. why not? Dream out loud, be wild, be free, kick and sing! You may be in a stranger's bedroom at a house party and meet this girl and never think twice about it and then sometime down the road that moment becomes legend in the story of who you are together. Then one day you're sitting out on a patio of a coffee shop and this same girl decides to sit with you and you find yourself telling this practical stranger things about yourself you never said out loud before. Through a series of twists and turns, broken hearts, dead ends and towers falling, this girl becomes so much a part of yourself that you forget where she ends and you begin. You start to depend on her, to love her like family, to trust her input and opinions more than you trust your own. Her approval feels better than your parents'. You need too much sometimes and she kicks your ass in gear. you get stuck in a loop and she pulls you out. she watches you fly into the same closed window over and over again and she never judges you, she just waits until you learn your lesson. You love this girl. she is your best friend.
As you get older, it gets harder and harder to stand back up when you fall off the hypothetical horse. You feel so sure about something and it falls to pieces and you, therefore, fall to pieces. Your best friend will listen and nod and offer kind words and keep you moving. Sometimes the weight of the poor decisions and the heartbreak and the pain keep you in bed for days. Your body aches, your brain can't sit still, you walk aimlessly around the house for hours, heaving with sobs. Your best friend knows this about you, she is never cruel, she is never demanding, she is never condescending; she listens.
Somehow through the grace of your chosen deity, you suddenly find yourself becoming the person you always wanted to be. your body is cooperating and looking better, your self esteem is in tip-top shape, your mental imperfections are under control and your bills are being paid on time. and for this you suddenly start seeing those rewards you hoped would come. so then one day, you meet a man. This man takes you back to the girl you used to be before your best friend. this man reminds you of all the times when you were a kid and you just knew your chosen Deity would repay you for your kindnesses with just this type of person. The strength, beauty and goodness radiates from this man with such high intensity you want to just linger in it all day like a cat with a premium ray of sunshine. This one man represents everything you admire and respect in humanity, he represents everything you ever admired about yourself and your best friend in a beautifully bearded package. you can even see your mother and father in him, you can see such gentle kindness, such wild passion, big dreams that he will determinedly make come true, and most importantly you can see every reason in the world why you should be a better person because of him. You find yourself taking those final steps your best friend laid out for you and now through the strength and conviction of your love for this man, you are strong enough to take them. You feel justified and finally like a complete person, not just a collage of ideas. you feel whole. you finally feel better than the rest of the people who thought they had it figured out because you know the real secret; you solved the riddle of true love.
you start a project. you are on step-whatever of your never ending-step-plan to become the best you that you can possibly be by actually doing something you set out to do; you start writing. it may not be the best written thing out there, but it is yours. and with every new thing that is written, you feel more and more confident. you feel that empty vessel that was meant to hold your pride all along start to fill. you are writing for three people. yourself, your best friend and your true love; the only three people in the world you trust with your life and most importantly, your heart. you make a decision to dedicate songs to the people you love the most as a Christmas present as a part of this writing project. From day one you start to realize the two hardest entries will be for these two people. It takes you months to make a decision and as soon as you make it, you realize it was the wrong one. Imagine this: you have to stand at the graves of your grandparents. You have to look into the faces of the people who share your blood. You have to spend Christmas Eve alone and lost. You have to hear the right song at the right moment, you have to read just the right poem at the right time and you have to have just the right dream during the right nap to know the answer...
There is no one song for your best friend. There is no one song for the love of your life. They are your songs; they are every song. These two, these two random people your chosen Deity has chosen to set before you that he or she gave you to love more than life itself, they are your soundtrack. They ARE the music.
There is only one thing in the world I think about more than music, which should be baffling to some people, but when I confess what that thing is it should come as no surprise: Love. I think about love a lot. A LOT, a lot. What it is, what it means, what it could be, what it should be… What I want, what I have, what I need, what I feel. What I deserve, why do I deserve it? Is “deserve” even the right thing to say? Does anyone DESERVE love? Is it a human right or is it a privilege? What is the ratio to human suffering and the retribution in the form of someone worshiping the crap out of you? Have I suffered enough? Is there such thing as karma? Am I repaying some karmic debt from some terrible thing I did in the past in the form of being forever alone? Why? Isn’t my faith enough to combat this self-imposed solitary confinement? Am I doing it to myself? Am I just too stupid to know how to love correctly? Why am I my favorite person on earth and yet I am no one else’s favorite person on earth?
There are a thousand other questions… I won’t burden them with you for now.
So I was walking in to work this morning and this song randomly popped into my head, so I was walking along, whistling the tune, when I realize. Damn, I’ve really never had that. How have I never had the kind of love I deserve, to this point? How do I keep missing the mark? I have such a good, clear vision of what it is, what it feels like, I know exactly how to love someone else, but why has no one ever figured out how to love me? Why hasn’t anyone bothered? I’m so …. Loveable? How is it even possible that no man has written a love song about me? How have I never gotten a love letter, like a hand written “you are perfect” love letter? How has no one ever written me a poem? How have I never gotten a mix cd from a man? How is this even possible? ME? Of all people? Me, the girl who has made more mix cds than friends, the girl who makes such perfect mix cds I should practically put this skill on my resume. Never has it happened; it blows my mind.
I should clarify. Yes, men have loved me. Men have loved me well; socially acceptably, restrainedly, technically correctly, cautiously… but I don’t want that. I want the right man to love me the right way. I want someone to go the whole wide world just to find me… so then I say this, (I type this,) and I hear the voice of my conscience and my father and certain friends saying things like “you should be reasonable and you should accept that men are the way they are.” I hear every ex of mine say, "You live in a fantasy land." Or something like that. I would rather live in a 'fantasy land' than on a planet where that kind of love doesn't happen. I don’t want a sane, rational, calm love. I know it exists! I know it as well as I know that *I* exist, or god exists; I can feel it. Look at this song, for Christ’s sake. There are men that feel like this. Look at every incredible love song written by a man. Look at Ian Curtis or Shane MacGowan. Look at Lord Byron or Nicholas Sparks, even. Listen to Explosions in the Sky, dammit. There are men that are capable of great loves and very capable of expressing that love without hesitation or fear. I want this man. I have a habit of saying that I need a man to have bigger balls than I have. And for someone to have literally no physical testes, I have certainly dated my fair share of weak men.
About a year ago, actually a year ago this month, my ex, Gigi, and I split. We had a good run, but there was about a million things wrong with our relationship, which I really don’t feel like going into right now… after a month or two of going wild and being free I started having that “oh god, why did I dump my boyfriend, I might have screwed up” feeling. I ran into a good friend who had me make a list. I made this list. This is part of the “story” as I related it on my private journal at the time, 3 days before my last birthday:
I’ve been in love before. Lots. I have loved more in my little lifetime than most people do in five lifetimes. There is nothing on earth I have pursued or fought harder for than true love. I have loved men who pulled my pigtails, men who didn’t know I existed, men who knew I existed and exploited me, men who abused me, men who tried to hold me while I wriggled free, men who loved me some but not enough… I almost got married once, but we were kids. I can look back on that and see how we both dodged a hellacious bullet, but I mostly think I missed my only chance there. I was with Gigi for almost 3 years. We ended things at mostly my insistence because I thought we were going nowhere and at the secondary insistence of my friends who KNEW we were going nowhere and that someone who would love me how I needed was out there. I knew it too. I got single, I got laid. I met some guys, I dated one young guy and had a really good time and dumped all my emotional garbage on him that I never dealt with after Gigi. I got really close to losing my mind for a minute there. I kept talking to a good friend of mine who kept insisting I meet this one guy because he was my ‘soul mate.’ I knew who he was talking about but I let old ugly me take over and insist that I had no chance with this guy. Through some impossibly coincidental circumstances that I, at the time, took as fate (which was the prognostication of my entire spiritual downfall let me tell you,) we wound up dating. I literally did everything by the unspoken girl rule book, aka ‘He’s Just Not That into You,’ every Cosmo mag EVER, everything your mama ever told you about how to get a man and every bit of bad bar bathroom advice from your girlfriends all in one. I played it cool, I acted indifferent, I stayed calm, I didn’t run my mouth, I didn’t get carried away, I let things happen, I was a cool customer. But somewhere lurking in the shadows, as always, was the ‘OMG MAGIC! TRUE LOVE! TAKE A CHANCE, THIS COLD BE IT!”
We had a few really amazing nights together, then one REALLY amazing night together and I realized that I was falling stupid head over heels for this guy. So what did I do? Got drunk and told him, of course. And what did he do? Run for the hills, of course. There are some really stupid circumstances surrounding this situation. One of which is this: either right after or soon before Gigi and I split I was hanging out with one of my hippie mama outcast weirdo’s at the coffee shop and she told me to make a list of everything I could ever possibly want in a man, as if I created him in a lab, make it as outlandishly impossible as I wanted, just dream out loud…. I made the list. This man was the list. NO ONE SHOULD BE THAT LIST. IT DOES NOT EXIST. IT IS ME WITH A DICK… …I am so pissed that I am getting pissed about it. He was so different; I don’t want to get over him. I want the phone to ring. I want magic. I had the opportunity to see him again last weekend and I was a fucking coward and I drank myself into blackout status. Don’t remember the majority of the night, just that I finally told him that I loved him and he pretty much patted me on the head and said “Aww, you’re just drunk!” and then proceeded to let me drive home…? In what universe is the logic that I am too drunk to understand what love is, mean that I am in any way capable of driving? This thought fucks me up too much to continue right now.
Part of the first, which is not explained in the journal entry above, no one ever saw that list except me and my best friend until him, now you. As me and this guy were dating, I started feeling brand new about it all, about life in general, it was off the charts exceptional. Not just him, but the way I *felt* about him, the way my body and my heart my very being reacted to his existence and presence. The calm and confidence I felt when I was near him or thought about him. I asked my best friend about it, and she simply said “well yeah, because he’s ‘the list’.” I thought about it for a minute and pulled the list out of my wallet, where I had toted it around like a good luck charm for almost a year and read through the list. By the time I got to the bottom I was crying because I knew I had found him. It is an amazing yet almost horrifying feeling when you realize you’ve met the love of your life. Maybe it’s what parachuting feels like? … The best and worst feeling ever. It was all within the same week that I realized I had found him and I loved him that he broke up with me. I was a wreck for a long, long time. (I had a really shitty summer this year. Lost my faith, my coping abilities, too much weight, etc...) Sometimes I still backtrack; mostly now-a-days I propel myself recklessly forward, taking whatever chance life throws at me to prove me wrong about him. So far, no luck, but it doesn’t mean I won’t give up giving up on him. I’m trying, still. One day it’ll stop being him I compare every man to forever. I’m really ready for that to happen. But the point of this is… the list.
When he ended things, we sat on my couch and cried like idiots and I decided to show him the list. I can’t say what he felt when he read it; I just know we were both emotional wrecks that day. I did my best to stay strong and make the hurting me hurt him less. I loved him that much. So I kept my head up and waited until he left to lose it. but after he read the list, he either that day or in a later email said something to the effect that I needed to add one more to that list… a final bullet point that says more or less that the man of my dreams has to be “ready and willing to accept the kind of love that I have to offer.” So yes, that. I have thought about that a lot. It’s something my best friend and I have discussedmany times. So the thought that this guy was "everything but" has helped talk me down off that “but he was THE ONE” ledge many times… but the right word or song or thought or memory triggers him like a leg cramp; I am paralyzed with the loss. I’ve stopped talking about him and reconnecting him to everything and everywhere I go (much to the relief of my friends, I’m sure) I’ve stopped crying myself to sleep and finding myself driving in circles on the beltline listening to horribly heartbreaking love songs. I stopped hurting and started dating. I’m moving ahead slowly, doubting every step in the opposite direction from him, but I have no choice, so I keep walking. Some days are terrible, some days are awesome. Most days are just another day without him, but what are you going to do, right?
So what I NEED is the right person feeling that much for me. And I could have any guy being in love with me, but I want THE guy to be in love with me. The one I love back… The perfect one, the man from before plus one - how can something so seemingly simple be so hard? I still fervently believe the man of my dreams will be that list; he will be gratefully excited and ready to accept my intense level of love, he will write me unprompted love letters and show up with red tulips because it’s a Tuesday and he loves to make me smile, he will push through a crowd of strangers to get to me across the room because he is so excited to see me, he will sing acoustic version of glam rock pop songs to me on a barely tuned guitar in a dimly lit living room; he will love me so much it leaves me shell shocked and drunk without the drink.
on second thought, I think I might actually hate this song.
I am the self-professed Music-Nazi. However there is a softer, more accommodating side to my ear. I will be the first to admit that I am a sucker for a well crafted, super catchy pop song. I listen to top 40 radio, I am not ashamed. I usually justify this by telling myself and others that I’m “just really well rounded.” This doesn’t go for just overplayed pop music, there are literally millions of songs in any genre that one wouldn’t expect me to appreciate that I adore. A good song is a good song, regardless. (I still cannot justify my ke$ha fandom that last a few weeks this past summer, let’s just let that one slide.)
Par for the course with any music snob that spent any time working at a music store, there is a reverent obsession with Nick Horby’s novel “High Fidelity.” I often reference it. I own a copy so outlined, creased and reread it’s practically in three pieces. I relate to that book on such a personal, professional and artistic level it baffles me.
"I've been thinking with my guts since I was fourteen years old, and frankly speaking, between you and me, I have come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains."
The reason I digress so fully from the point that I am writing about a Katy Perry song is that is still being played every 13 minutes on every station at the moment by trying to reference a novel (and make myself look smarter, I suppose,) a song I shouldn’t necessarily have a strong memory associated with already, is because not only is it a technically well written and fun song, but when it first started getting regular airplay, I met a boy. ...Sigh... I always meet a boy.
"What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?"
I had fully convinced myself I was in love with a man that was only more than eager to not love me back. This happened earlier this year. (ps – This has been a recurring theme in my life. I think I just like a challenge?) Rather than let myself deal with the rejection in a mature manner, my ego backfired and my pride rebelled. I convinced myself this man was the love of my life and that I would rather die alone than live without him. And I was only so happy to make this public knowledge, to him and anyone who would listen. It turned into some sort of public performance art project via my facebook and drunken tirades on the patios of local bars. Now that I am on the other side of this situation, looking back, I can honestly only let myself laugh. (Note: I dated this guy like… a month?) *facepalm*
“Then I lost it. Kinda lost it all, you know. Faith, dignity, about fifteen pounds.”
Things like this are the most …awe inspiring… thing about me. Not only to myself, my family and closest friends, but mostly to the men I leave open mouthed and confused when I say/do shit like this. My best friend keeps telling me that she told this man something along the lines of “One day you’re going to ‘get her’ [with regards to my intensity, capacity for love, and my sense of humor, whatever,] and when you do, you’ll be the luckiest man in the world.” A) I truly believe this about any man who attempts to be with me. B) I wish my best friend was a man. Why no man can understand me and love me the way she does keeps me up at night sometimes. (Note: He never got it. It’s totally fine, he’s a great guy, I’m still totally looking forward to being his friend when I can restore some trust I lost over the course of the past few months.) I do, however, fully believe with my whole heart and soul one day there will be a man who gets it. This post is about the man who came after who ALMOST did and restored a little faith for me.
"Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as mere consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship."
I took a chance on a dating site again. (This is how I originally met the first guy. Why not?) The dating pool in my home town, especially since I have lived here my whole life, is incestuous. I can’t go to the bar and meet a single person who hasn’t slept with, kissed or attempted to date someone else I know. I do somehow seem to meet men in other random places that are outside my circle, like coffee shops or bars or Harris Teeter, but these random encounters don’t give me the kind of information I feel like I really need to make an assessment. Not that I need a resume before I date a guy, but without the most basal of information upfront I feel like I am just being superficial. Just because a guylooks like my type, doesn’t necessarily mean he is, so I get resentful. So for me, right now, with my air tight schedule and skittishness, online dating is okay.
"Have you got any soul?" a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues."
So I randomly start talking with this new fellow. He is almost so perfect for me on paper that I start to feel like he is a plant; Like my friends are fucking with me. While the man from earlier in the year appealed strongly to the musically obsessed side of me, this man was tugging at my inner-lit-nerd. He was a literature and film grad student on his way to becoming a professor. His apartment was like a library full of every book I’ve ever loved and slept with under my pillow. (I could just as easily write a blog about my associated memories and bonds with certain books. Or films.) This guy hit that part of the puzzle on the head. (yay! mixed metaphors!) From the first bit of an exchange, it was like we had been talking for years. What followed were a few weeks of novella-type emails full of confessions, adorations, secrets, seductions, and dare I say… love? He lived a little bit further away than a nightly hangout session would warrant (about 25 minutes on the highway as he worked at a local university.) so it was a week of gigantic emails and incessant text messaging before we finally met. I got swept up in the magic and created a beautiful fairy tale meeting scenario. It was literally one of the most surreal and magical experiences of my life and I still can’t decide if I’m irritated that I had to create it for myself or really proud that I am capable of a love like that. It involved a treasure map, a secret trail, a camera obscura, a first kiss in the middle of the day by moonlight. I’ll never forget it.
"What did I think I was doing? What did she think she was doing? When I want to kiss people in that way now, with mouths and tongues and all that, it's because I want other things too: sex, Friday nights at the cinema, company and conversation, fused networks of family and friends, Lemsips brought to me in bed when I am ill, a new pair of ears for my records and CDs, maybe a little boy called Jack and a little girl called Holly or Maisie, I haven't decided yet...”
So part and parcel of this whole brief experience with the professor is that this silly song started getting played all over. I randomly sent it to him in an email, saying something to the effect of “don’t judge me, but this song exemplifies how ridiculous I am feeling about you.” he concurred, of course, admitting he had already memorized the lyrics, because we were idiots over each other for a minute. (That's always nice; to know someone has made themselves just as stupid over you as you have over them. That's my favorite part about falling in love; the irrationality and absurdity of it all...) And also because it’s a pretty decent love song. Things, of course, went south. You can’t keep the spotlight on all the time; you have to get some sleep, you have to take out the trash and do some laundry. It’s not rational to keep that level of devotion and blind passion going for any longer than we seemed to do. I was crushed for a minute, but then I thought it over and I worked it out and I’m ok. This fact alone, that I didn’t pull a (man’s-name-from-earlier-this-year)-type reaction, reaffirms the fact that I am growing up a little, that maybe my self-esteem is stable and fine. We have since stopped speaking, but I have a feeling he will come back into my life again at some point, even if it’s just to say hay over the bananas at the grocery store. That much of one thing doesn’t happen for no reason. Or maybe it does. I am learning to accept the fact that I might be wrong about things. Most things. Love, first and foremost.
"It would be nice to think that as I've got older times have changed, relationships have become more sophisticated, females less cruel, skins thicker, reactions sharper, instincts more developed. But there still seems to be an element of that evening in everything that happened to me since; all my other romantic stories seem to be a scrambled version of that first one. Of course, I have never had to take that long walk again, and my ears have not burned with quite the same fury, and I have never had to count the packs of cheap cigarettes in order to avoid mocking eyes and floods of tears... not really, not actually, not as such. It just feels that way, sometimes."
BUT – the real point of all this… this whole experience… in any previous experience in my life, any other strongly associated love song attached to someone who broke my heart would become like holy water or a cross in Dracula’s face. Instant channel change, grumpy face, mumbling under the breath. (There are a few songs like this for me associated with long ago exes that I am still working on disassociating.) But this song, when I hear it, I smile. I still sing along. I think back on my time with the professor with gratitude and respect. He came along in my life and gave me the exact combination of attention, affection and words that I needed to reassure myself that I am loved, loveable, loving. And piggy backing off my last post about accountability, I’ve learned a big, beautiful lesson that feels like a “missing puzzle piece” throughout this experience. And it’s something I’ve heard myself thinking about over and over again the past few weeks… Not every broken heart has to be a tragedy; sometimes there is grace and a delicate lesson learned. The ego doesn’t always have to get involved. Sometimes things happen because they were supposed to happen and that’s that.
Sometimes a broken heart is simply a mile marker. I know I am closer to my destination that I have ever been; I'm learning to enjoy the journey.
"Sentimental music has this great way of taking you back somewhere at the same time that it takes you forward, so you feel nostalgic and hopeful all at the same time."
(note all quotes are from the novel, not film, version of High Fidelity)
When I think about Roxy Music, there is always this hesitation. It’s like, I really like them, but it took me a while to like them because I was prejudiced against them for some reason. I can remember a time when I knew the reason, but now I don’t. I do know it has a lot (everything) to do with some sort of jealousies involving my ex, Rob Roy. Whatever our relationship was, forever how long it lasted, for whatever aftermath remained, and whatever damage was done, one thing remains: Rob Roy was my musical soul mate. We spent the majority of our time playing, speaking of and buying/trading music. We both had a deep and abiding love for Britpop. I met him once briefly at a friend’s house, but then truly remember falling all over myself for him at my first Morrissey show here in Raleigh, Nov 16, 1997 at the Ritz. I then spent the next 3 or 4 years laying my soul to waste for him.
We were so off and on for so long, it’s hard to say when it all started, but we both know when it ended. We lived together so many different times and attempts, but it was the second to last time, in Cary, that we had our last big stand. It was the longest time we made it, but it was the hardest. The most damage was done then. However, I do remember one special occasion we had decided to drive all the way out to Carrboro to the Visart video store to rent music videos, because there was nowhere in Raleigh to find the kinds of concerts we wanted to see. On one occasion we rented Peter Gabriel’s Secret World Live and Roxy Music’s Musikladen, live from Bremen, Germany.
By this point, I had overcome my unfounded prejudice against Roxy Music, (save one song, to this day I can barely tolerate to hear, “Virginia Plain”. This song is so awkwardly uncomfortably bad to me. The vibrato of his voice, the tempo, I don’t know what it is, but I just straight up dislike it as a song in general.) We made a special trip to my parents’ house, who had 2 VCR’s at the time and made our own copies of these two videos before returning them to Carrboro. We spent many times of the next few weeks and months watching Musikladen. This song always sticks out.
I cannot accurately tell you the myriad of things about this song and video that please me, but i can name a few. It may be the saxophonic hijinx and acrobatism of Andy MacKay, but then again, it may be his pants of extreme excitement, with codpiece of proportionate mystery. It might be the overall bewildering Riff-Raff-itude of Brian Eno. My god. How can you love someone so much but yet be so terrified of them? It seems weird to me that I didn’t like Roxy Music for a while there, when I have such a deep Eno connection with the whole U2 thing, and all.
But i think what does it for me, what REALLY does it for me is not so much the fact that i want to do Brian Ferry six ways to sunday, (i always have, and always will, no matter how old and crusty he gets,) it just has to be the reign of fire he lashes upon us with his Rockin' Piano Hands at about 5:00. Few things in life have truly seemed as cool to me. In fact, that became a kind of private joke between Rob and I, if you misbehaved, Bryan Ferry would shoot you would his ‘Rockin’ piano hands’. We would often replay this part and pretend to fall over dead from being shot.
We had some good times.
Side note, in more recent times, this song also makes me think of the first time i met Frank Black after a show (incidentally) also in Carrboro at the Cat's Cradle which, as my livejournal confirms, was Jan 30, 2001. He covered this song that night, and I remember being super-psyched to hear it. Forever coincidentally between us, this was the first time i officially met you, although neither of us can remember and it wasn't the first time we were 'together'!
(ps - did you piece together that at this show the pixies opened for U2 and the next time we were 'together' was when you opened for Frank Black? THEN we met again because of U2... how's that for fate, sucker?)
