Category Archives: Personal

Mar 27 2013
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Guest Post, Personal

Hole’s “Live Through This” Helped Me Live Through This (by Amy Berkowitz)

hole tape

Some people drink a cup of chamomile tea to fall asleep. Some count sheep. Others rely on a boring book or the soothing sounds of a white noise machine. But me? The summer before I turned 13, there was only one thing that calmed my mind at night: listening to Hole’s Live Through This on my Walkman.

On more than a few occasions, I fell asleep wearing headphones, listening to Courtney Love’s aggressive guitar and angry lyrics. I needed to hear someone else screaming about the same injustices that made me want to scream. If Hole could rage against sexism and conformity and the ludicrous claims that culture makes on women’s bodies, then I could take a break from it, at least long enough to sleep.

Just relax, just relax, just go to sleep. That’s a line from “Jennifer’s Body,” and sung soft and low, it’s the closest the album comes to a lullaby – if only it weren’t couched between hoarsely screamed verses and the machine-gun drumming and cymbal crashes that end the song. Live Through This is known for its “loud-quiet-loud” dynamic, and it plays with tempo in a similar way (“slow-fast-slow”). These sudden changes in volume and speed are among the many reasons why it’s a strange album to fall asleep to.

But then again, summer camp was a strange place. I lived in a cabin with nine other girls, and in those close quarters, anxiety and shame about our bodies hung in the air like bug spray. “You’re lucky,” my bunkmates would say, “you’re so skinny.” I didn’t think of myself as skinny or fat. I mostly thought of my body in terms of what it did, not how it was looked at.

Some of the meanest girls at camp were thin, and some of the nice girls were bigger. And of course, the mean girls would give the fat girls shit about their weight. Although I wasn’t heavy, I got shit, too: I was weird – I daydreamed all the time, didn’t have crushes on the popular guys, wasn’t in any hurry to start shaving my legs.

Live Through This was jarring and abrasive, sure – but it was also familiar. I’d listened to it countless times, and the intimacy was comforting. The cassette had been a birthday present from my friend Sara, the autumn before I brought it to camp with me. She knew I’d be happy to have my own copy, because we’d already spent hours listening to the tape in her room. After school, we practiced maximizing its cathartic potential, sitting on the floor by the stereo and rewinding over and over and over to the part in “I Think That I Would Die” when Love screams FUCK! YOU! 

FUCK! YOU!

FUCK! YOU! 

FUCK! YOU!

It felt good.

We didn’t know what the song was supposed to mean, but the lyrics were clearly about asserting ownership, then lashing out when that ownership is threatened. You can tell that without even hearing the words – just from the shattering violence of the clash between the moments of silence and the wonderful scream that follows.

It’s… [quiet guitar] Not… [same quiet guitar] Yours… [same quiet guitar] and then the FUCK! YOU!

Sometime between 1994 and now, I learned that Love temporarily lost custody of her daughter when she was two weeks old, and it makes sense that “I Think That I Would Die” was written about that traumatic experience.

But that didn’t matter to me and Sara. As we sat in her room, rewinding and rewinding and relishing the abandon of our favorite part of the tape, we were learning how to scream “fuck you.”

All 12-year-old girls have to learn how to scream “fuck you.”

Sara got her period before I did. I remember the package of Always pads that appeared next to her dollhouse one day. I remember she didn’t like to talk about it much. I remember boys making fun of her when they saw the pale green plastic of a pad wrapper sticking out of her back pocket. This was a signal. This was starting. Our bodies were not going to be our own anymore. They were becoming public; they could be commented upon, judged, held to sick standards; they could signify sex and whatever else, whether or not we wanted them to.

One of the main themes of Live Through This is the objectification of the female body: I am doll parts / Bad skin, doll hearts. 

Something the girls at camp understood better than I did was that women are required to be thin. No matter how many YM articles I read about “Skirts for Every Body Type!” where “pear-shaped” readers were perkily assured that there were “options” to “camouflage” their hips and thighs, I maintained some amount of immunity to the poison of this body shaming.

But even though the angst I had about my own body was minimal, I felt an overwhelming sense of outrage at the injustice of this requirement. How it made my best friend at camp anorexic, how it made the other girls in our cabin waste time worrying about the calories in pizza, how it made someone (we never found out who) vomit into Diet Pepsi bottles and hide them on the dusty shelves above our cubbies.

Nobody talked about the Diet Pepsi bottles. Nobody talked about eating disorders. Nobody questioned how damaging these standards of “beauty” were. Well, nobody except for Courtney Love, who knew just how fucked up it was: They say I’m plump, but I throw up all the time (“Plump”). Be a model or just look like one (“Asking for It”). Anorexic magazines / It smells like girl, it smells like girl (“She Walks on Me”).

The cover of Live Through This shows a beauty queen in a tiara, caught in the camera flash, clutching a bouquet of flowers. Contrast this with the image in the cassette insert: a picture of a young girl in a flannel shirt, standing barefoot on a gravel road (a family photo of Love at age 8).

courtney as child

The first time I opened the cassette and saw that photo, I was startled to see myself there: messy hair, sleeves too long, not quite smiling.

What is the “this” in Live Through This? For me, it was adolescence. How to understand a world that rewards women with crowns and flowers for being dumb and fake and smiling just right, when it makes more sense to hang out in a flannel and no shoes and do whatever you feel like.

If you live through this with me / I swear that I will die for you / And if you live through this with me / I swear that I will die for you. When I heard Love sing those lines in “Asking for It,” they felt like a promise. She understood my pain, because it was her own. She was like an older sister who had been to hell and back, and was there to tell me about it: Someday, you will ache like I ache (“Doll Parts”).

So, I did live through this. And I still am. That summer was the last one I spent at camp, and I haven’t needed to listen to Live Through This to fall asleep since.

Still, I return to the album again and again. It’s part of me. It played a tremendous role in the formation of my feminist identity. It taught me how to be angry. And even after nearly 20 years of listening, its cathartic powers haven’t dulled. There are some days when the only thing I want to do after work is blast Live Through This on my headphones and aggressively wash a sink full of dishes. Run the water hot, turn the volume up, and FUCK! YOU!

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Mar 07 2013
3 Comments
By Joshua, Personal

“It’s Good, But Will It Play In Peoria?” An Exercise in Pretension

shake on itThe bet was this: Could I come up with a playlist before our other friend showed up? I was sitting at a fairly well known sports bar in the shadow of Camden Yards with my friends Lucy and Eric and we were on our way to a fair bit of tipsy. I told them it would be done in a few minutes, let alone before Cassie, the other friend (who’s also notorious for running ridiculously late), showed up.

“But don’t let it be filled with all that pretentious crap you usually listen to,” Eric said.

I scoffed at this for two reasons: First, I’ve never thought anything I listen to is steeped in pretension, Arcade Fire aside. Second, coming from Eric, that was a rather hollow dig. You see, Eric is a good friend and a great guy, but he has the music taste of a drunk thirteen year old girl in 2001. His computer is filled with songs (see, I almost said albums, but I’m sure he buys songs rather than albums) by artists like  Blink 182, Bloodhound Gang, and Say Anything. Our music tastes clash violently, but have been known to come together before.  A good example of this is Stevie Wonder’s hit “Superstition.” It helps that the song has been replayed time and time again over commercials during the time we most often spend together, watching the Ravens kick the shit out of anyone who crosses their path on Sunday afternoons.

I can understand where he’s coming from, though. Some of the bands I listen to are about as far from his taste as possible, and take themselves probably too seriously for their own good. I mean, you’d catch Colin Meloy of The Decemberists masturbating to hardcore BDSM porn in public before you’d catch him listening to The Bloodhound Gang. He’d think the music beneath him, and it’d be because he takes what he produces seriously. The Bloodhound Gang obviously does not.

Here’s where creating the playlist became tricky, then. The original idea was just to create a list before Cassie showed up and one clean enough to play in a respected bar, but with Eric’s comment it quickly became a test of pretentiousness. Could I make a list that not only was really good, but accessible enough for everyone in the bar to enjoy it, including my musically-stunted friend Eric?

I made an attempt. I will give you the entire playlist here, then break it down, song by song, exactly how well I did. I will be judging the  list both by the construction and the pretension factor. Each song will have a rating (1 being the lowest, 10 being the highest) based on flow from song to song, how well it does in the theme of the list, exactly how pretentious it is, and whether or not both the bar and Eric and Lucy would approve.

(There also, along with any playlist I make for someone, was a secondary objective to inform and educate those who have not heard the songs before. In this aspect, the list was for Lucy: Most of the songs were ones I thought she hadn’t heard and probably should.)

“3-Way (The Golden Rule) by The Lonely Island featuring Justin Timberlake and Lady Gaga

As a starting song: I thought this would get the list off on a funny and positive note, and it works. Rating: 9

Theme: Musically, it’s pretty different from everything else on the list, due to it’s distinct Lonely-Island-does-the-90s sound. Rating: 5

Pretension factor: This song doesn’t even attempt to take itself seriously. I mean, the use of the word “diggity” twice in a line seals it. Rating: 2

Will it play in the bar?: No. It’s about a devil’s threeway – that is not appropriate for the children in the bar. Why where there children in the bar? I don’t fucking know. It’s a goddamn bar. Whatever. That’s my problem. Rating: 3

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: I can’t imagine why not. Rating: 9

Verdict: While I found a song that may play in Eric and Lucy’s house, it’s probably not appropriate for a bar. Rejected.

“Dirty Song” by Cars Can Be Blue

Flow: It’s a good second song, and with the drumstick intro, it can follow any song. Rating: 10

Theme: An interesting choice, and perhaps put there just to shock. Doesn’t play well with others. Rating: 4

Pretension Factor: Again, I was trying to find a song I thought didn’t take itself seriously, and I got that. Rating: 2

Will it play in the bar?: No. Rating: 0

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: I’d like to think so. Rating: 7

Verdict: Oops. I kind of forgot this was to be played in public. Rejected.

“Let It Be Me” by Sam & Dave

Flow: Perhaps a bit too much of a slowdown. Rating: 6

Theme: This sort of hits the head on the nail, and kind of was the song I built the rest of the list around. Rating: 10

Pretension Factor: This is sort of straddling the line, as it’s a cover, and perhaps not the most well known Sam & Dave song. And since Sam & Dave aren’t exactly household names anymore, it’s kinda tough. But it sounds like it was on every radio station in 1967. Rating: 5

Will it play in the bar?: Without a doubt. It would fade into the background quite nicely. Rating: 10

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: Lucy would love the song, but I don’t think it’s quite in Eric’s oeuvre. Rating: 5 (splitting the difference)

Rating: It’d certainly play in Peoria (if Peoria was in Detroit), but I don’t think it’d satisfy my toughest critic. Conditional Acceptance

“Evidence” by Candi Staton

Flow: Perfect flow from the last song. Rating: 10

Theme: Fits in like a good di…uh, nevermind. Rating: 10

Pretension factor: I’d say nearly nil, but who the hell is Candi Staton? Well, who cares, it sound familiar. Rating: 1

Will it play in the bar?: Can’t imagine why not. Rating: 10

Will Eric and Lucy Like it?: They both should. Lucy would definitely like it, and Eric probably would have no qualms with it. Rating: 7

Verdict: A virtual slam dunk. Accepted.

“Work All Day” by Portugal. The Man

Flow: I think this song works well to follow soul music; it has such a great back-beat. Rating: 8

Theme: Now that we’ve gotten to the more recent music, I think this fits in quite nicely. Rating: 8

Pretension factor: It sounds like something that’d be on the radio, but the name of the band is an issue; however, that only becomes an issue when someone tells you about it. Rating: 5

Will it play in the bar?: Yeah, it has a good enough beat to be enjoyable. Rating: 7

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: I think they really would. I picked this song specifically to test their tastes. Rating: 7

Verdict: I’d bet on this song working well. Accepted

“How Long Will I Have To Wait For You?” by Sharon Jones and The Dap-Kings

Flow: Man, I am on a roll here. Rating: 10

Theme: 70′s sounding soul in a contemporary setting? Hells to the yeah. Rating: 10

Pretension factor: While not the most well known band out there, they are fairly popular, and with that universal sound, why wouldn’t they be? Rating: 2

Will it play in the bar?: Why isn’t this playing already? Rating: 10

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: Lucy, without a question. If Eric has like some of the other stuff on this list, he should like this song. Rating: 8

Verdict: C’mon. Slam dunk, NBA Jams style. Boom shaka laka!

“Rich Girl” by the bird and the bee

Flow: Oh man, this is the song I was waiting for, and when it starts, people know they were waiting for it too. Rating: 9

Theme: Exactly what I was going for! Rating: 10

Pretension factor: Well, it’s a cover, and it’s by a band that doesn’t capitalize its name, but it’s fucking Hall and Oates. It’s patently ridiculous, and treated as such. Rating: 1

Will it play in the bar?: Will it? People will be laughing all over themselves. Rating: 10

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: Perhaps. It’s tough, because Hall and Oates sucks, but this is a seriously awesome cover, both in music and message. I’d bet yes. Rating: 6

Verdict: It’s too big to fail! More than likely.

“Forgot About Dre” by Dr. Dre featuring Eminem 

Flow: Kind of a huge change, but it works. Almost. Rating: 6

Theme: Uh, this is different. It’s an R.A. Dickey knuckleball. Rating: 2

Pretension factor: Nil. It has Eminem, Slim Shady style, before he became an “artist,” when he was gleefully homophobic. Rating: 0

Will it play in the bar?: I’d say no, but if I wanted to, I could find an edited version and it would work. But I won’t! Rating: 3

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: They’d appreciate the irony. Rating: 8

Verdict: If it was edited, it would work. Conditional Acceptance

“Hold On” by The Alabama Shakes

Flow: I think we just entered a different section of the list. This does not flow well from the last song. Rating: 1

Theme: It does work in the longer scheme; it has that old+new sound I’m totally obsessed with. Rating: 7

Pretension factor: I wish these guys were more well known. And I know they just played on SNL, but does anyone really watch SNL anymore? (Okay, “YOLO” was pretty fucking hilarious.) And I also know they’ve been all over the music scene and in Rolling Stone and all over the music blogs (including this one!), but I can’t imagine 70% of America knows who they are. Rating: 8

Will it play in the bar?: I mean, ostensibly yes, but it would just as soon be ignored as it would be enjoyed. Rating: 6

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: Doubtful that Eric would like it, but I hold up hope. I’m also hopeful Lucy knows and likes this song already, because it’s balling. Rating: 6

Verdict: Perhaps a bit over the heads of the sports bar audience. Conditionally rejected

“Someday” by Middle Brother

Flow: I think this song follows well from the last song, and brings a necessary pick-me-up. Rating: 8

Theme: I like the sound of this song. It’s a what if: What if the Beatles went to Detroit in the 60s instead of India? I think they’d sound like this. Rating: 9

Pretension factor: Well, it’s a folk rock supergroup, so it’s certainly not gonna run up the charts. But the sound is so very accessible. Rating: 5

Will it play in the bar?: Yeah. I think it’s upbeat enough to be enjoyable to the masses. Rating: 7

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: I’d like to think they’d both like it, but I have doubts. Big, screaming, in my face doubts. Rating: 4

Verdict: I think it might work, and it’d make a few people reach for their phones for their music-tagging-app-of-choice to figure out who it is, which I think is a win. Acceptable

“Never Forget You” by Noisettes

Flow: Perfect. Rating: 10

Theme: I knew this song had to happen eventually. Rating: 10

Pretension factor: Well, they’re well known in Europe, but so is fucking soccer, and they even call it something different over there. It’s a great sound, though, and with the success of Amy Winehouse and her untimely death, people might be looking for something to fill that void, and these guys could easily do that (though without the rampant drug use [I assume]). Rating: 6

Will it play in the bar?: Yeah, most definitely. Another Shazam-able song. I know if I hadn’t heard this song before, I’d want to know who did it. Rating: 8

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: Lucy would, without a doubt. I have a feeling it’s pop-y enough to grow on Eric. Rating: 7

Verdict: Oh, hell yeah. This song is prime bar fodder. Accepted

“Float On” by Modest Mouse

Flow: With the slow exit to the previous song and slow entrance to this song, the flow could only be improved if the note this song starts with was in the same key as the last song. Rating: 9

Theme: Indie rock with a big beat? There’s a surprise. Rating: 9

Pretension factor: Well, here’s the thing. I’d like to think this song is really well known, and it should be, as it was freaking sampled by Lupe Fiasco. Then again, I’m not willing to bet the people who listen to Lupe Fiasco know from whence the sample came. Rating: 5

Would it play in the bar?: It’s Baltimore, and the crowd was mostly 20-30 year old white people. I’d bet heavily on that these people know the song, at least passingly. Rating: 6

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: Finally, I don’t have to guess. I know they both love Modest Mouse. Rating: 10

Verdict: 60% of the time, it works, every time. Acceptable

“Breakin’ The Chains of Love” by Fitz and The Tantrums

Flow: Interesting choice. It’s a change, but it’s engaging. Rating: 8

Theme: Oh, hotness. Sweet hotness. Rating: 10

Pretension factor: Again, this is a problem of sound vs who knows it. But really, they’re on tour with Bruno Mars. Rating: 6

Will it play in the bar?: Yeah, sure. That thick baritone sax sound always seems to attract the listeners. Rating: 7

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: If they don’t, we’re gonna have a problem. But I can see Eric not being a fan. Rating: 6

Verdict: It’ll play, but people will think it’s Bruno Mars. Acceptable

“Wild Young Hearts” by Noisettes

Flow: There’s a bit of a pause, but it’s well worth it. The song picks up quickly. Rating: 7

Theme: I wish I didn’t have to include another Noisettes song, but I can never decide which song works better, so I always just put both in. It doesn’t bother me too much. Rating: 8

Pretension factor: Well, same as above, right? Rating: 6

Will it play in the bar?: Maybe even better than the other song. The guitar is more emphasized in this one. And it may have been in an iPod commercial (maybe?), so it may have instant recognizability. (Yes, I know that’s not a word.) Rating: 8.5

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: Lucy will definitely, and if Eric liked the other one, he will like this one more. Rating: 8

Verdict:  Done and done. It’s the hotness. Acceptable

“Trashcan” by Delta Spirit

Flow: Oh god, the lead in is so good, it barely matters what it follows. Rating: 10

Theme: Yes, and more. Rating: 10

Pretension factor: This song is in an ad for a popular show on FX, which means most people haven’t heard the song because they haven’t seen the ad, because they don’t watch FX. It’s not super pop-y, but it has that certain something. Rating: 7

Will it play in the bar?: I mean, probably, but I can’t say if many people would get into it. Maybe not at a sports bar. Rating: 6

Will Eric and Lucy like it?: Well, they like Legit, so I can only hope they know the song. I kind of doubt they’d like it. Rating: 3

Rating: Good for the playlist, perhaps bad for the masses.  Doubtful

“List of Demands” by Saul Williams

Flow: Eh. Not really working. Rating: 4

Theme: I’m not sure this is in the theme either, though it is jumping. Rating: 4

Pretension factor: A spoken word poet doing a music album with feedback and lyrics that require a course in race relations? Yeah, not accessable. Rating: 0

Will it play in the bar?: No. Rating: 0

Would Eric and Lucy like it?: Eric may like the music, but I don’t think either of them would keep the song. Rating: 2

Verdict: Total fail. Rejected!

“Bang Bang You’re Dead” by Dirty Pretty Things

Flow: Well, anything is better than the last song, and this works great as the final song. Rating: 7

Theme: A little more British than rest of the list, but it works, again, as the conclusion. Rating: 8

Pretension factor: Well, have you heard the song or the artist before? No? There’s a surprise. But the music isn’t terrible dissimilar to things available, so it’s not shocking to the ears. Rating: 6

Will it play in the bar?: Well, it’s a little loud, but yeah, no one would be offended. Rating: 6

Would Eric and Lucy like it?:  I honestly don’t know. I doubt Lucy’d be a fan, but Eric…maybe? Rating: 4

Verdict: Pretty thin, man. Doubtful

Jan 03 2013
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By Joshua, Personal, Top 5 Lists

Lose Yourself In Noise (by Joshua)

Two days ago I was driving home from visiting a good friend in Virginia for New Years. My brother Daniel had joined me, and he was causally sleeping off a hangover in the passenger seat.  He started waking up once we got back on the I-695 beltway around Baltimore. We were listening to a stand up album by Mike Birbiglia and he was laughing along with me. I was looking ahead to the road when I felt his arm jab me in the side.

I didn’t even look at him, I just told him to knock it off. We kind of have a thing we do where we knock each other’s arms off the armrests wherever we are, and I thought he was doing that. As he persisted, I said, “Dude, I’m driving,” before looking over. His arms were taut, his fingers cocked at odd angles, his back was arching up and down. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head and he started leaking fluid from his mouth. He was having a seizure.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had one, but it was the first one I’d seen start to finish. It was terrifying for more than a few reasons: First, it was my brother and he was seizing. Second, I was going 80 mph in the fast lane and I was now not paying attention to the road. Third, while he was seizing, he knocked the gear shift into neutral without me knowing.

I started braking immediately I as realized what was going on. I saw we were near an exit, so I put my arm up over him and I tried to accelerate to shift lanes. It took me a couple of seconds of revving the engine up to near red-line to figure out that I was in neutral. I managed to get it back in drive, lurching the car forward and tossing Daniel about even more. I darted across four lanes to the exit, not caring as people honked and flashed their lights at me. I pulled into the nearest thing I could find, which was a mall parking lot, and called an ambulance.

After a few hours at the hospital and a stern admonishment to take his medicine much more regularly than he had been, we went home. That was how I spent my New Year’s Day. Hungover and scared half to death.

I took the next day off to keep Daniel under observation and to reset myself, which I’ve found much harder to do. I can’t get the image of him thrashing around the seat, his fingers all curled up, his eyes rolled back, out of my head. At least until this morning I was with him and around other people. However, I had to go into work this morning and I am alone for the first few hours I was there.

The past few weeks, I’ve been listening to comedy shows while no one else was there. It puts me in a good mood and distracts me from the heat. Today, however, I couldn’t bring myself to want to laugh, so I had to find music to distract me from picturing my brother in that horrible state, which is exactly what happened every moment I had to think. I had to make up a list of songs that were loud enough to distract me. I needed to lose myself in pure noise.

“Lover to Lover” by Florence + the Machine

Florence Welch has a unique ability to draw you out of whatever you’re doing with her voice. It’s beautiful, haunting, and totally commanding. When she’s singing, she’s the most important thing happening in the room. And the best part is she knows it. Everything about this song says, “Hear me! Feel my anguish, feel my shame, feel my heartbreak. You must!” You can’t help but to do exactly that.

“Stay Positive” by The Hold Steady

Loud guitars are always a good way to go when you need a distraction, and The Hold Steady never, ever disappoints. And they are loud in this song. I had my speaker turned all the way up before this song came on and I nearly blew it out. And the palm muted verses are the perfect backdrop to Craig Finn’s acerbic, spit out lyrics. The ultimate distraction here is the superbly sing-a-long chorus. It’s like he wrote the song to be an anthem. I don’t know if it’s helping me get any more positive, but it did keep me from thinking for a few minutes.

“Around the World” by Red Hot Chili Peppers

I always lose myself in the opening bit. It’s so loud and in your face, I love it. And it’s a bass! You barely ever hear a bass be the forefront of a song, and even less so as distorted as it is, and far less so as fast as Flea plays that line. This song brings me so far back, too – I don’t know how many times I must’ve played this song on my brand new bass guitar when the album came out (1999 was a pretty damn good year for me, musically), but I’m sure I pissed off everyone in my house something fierce.

“Y Control” by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Another band who brings the noise when you need it. I love the guitars in this song – loud, driving, distorted, and unforgiving. Once this song gets going and gets into your brain, it doesn’t stop. Relentlessly pounding, and driving that in are the drums. That hi-hat line is the perfect driving force. It won’t ever stop.

“List of Demands (Reparations)” by Saul Williams

Like most things off of Saul Williams eponymous album, this song does not give up. It grabs you with its sonic palms and holds on, then smacks you across the mouth with the lyrics. It’s like the Florence + the Machine song in that it demands and requires all of the attention, but the technique is completely different. If “Lover to Lover”  is like the national anthem puncuated by fireworks (beautiful and loud), this song is more like a trashcan being pushed down a flight of stairs, and the trashcan is filled with nails, tin cans, and you, all crunched up. And some rocks or something, I dunno.

If you’re interested, here’s the rest of songs I came up with to distract me this morning. Hopefully you can use it one day when you need noise, not thinking.

Dec 17 2012
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By Joshua, Personal, Top 5 Lists

Top 5 Songs by Dave Matthews Band I Can’t Believe I Still Like

busted-stuff

This is going to be embarrassing.

We’ve been writing this blog for a year now, and I’ve, by virtue of some of the posts we’ve done, revealed some very embarrassing musical truths about myself. For example, how when I was a teenager, I was totally into Limp Bizkit and Korn. Or how I unashamedly like a song by The Eagles.  Also the fact, against all rhyme and reason, I just don’t like Bob Dylan. But this might be even worse.

There are still a handful of songs by the Dave Matthews Band that I still like.

I know. I have trashed them more than a few times on this blog, for a myriad of reasons. And I’m right to do so. Dave Matthews has a just god-awful falsetto (might go down as the worst falsetto of all time) and he writes bland, cookie cutter lyrics and he has a fiddle player who can get far too overbearing. Not to mention they have some of the most annoyingly self righteous fans out there. They are all frat boys and self-possessed sorority girls (read: rich, white people) and they somehow have gotten it into their head that Dave Matthews Band is the end-all, be-all of good music. They love the band’s ridiculously overly long “jams.” I hesitate to call these extended solo section jams because that would imply musical cohesion. I’ve seen this band a few times live (deal with it.) and while they have skill keeping their fan base happy, they will certainly make you look at your watch a couple of times as they bust out 15 minute plus versions of songs that are, at best, 4 minute songs.

But somehow I cannot shake these songs from my life. Maybe it has something to do with the fact I liked this band at such a formative age (15-19), or that I barely listened to anything else at those times (literally, my iPod was jazz, Laughing Colors, and Dave Matthews Band), or that these individual songs, whilst having the traditional DMB failings, are actually pretty decent songs. But I’m probably pretty biased.

“Stay (Wasting Time)”

There’s a reason people unabashedly like Dave Matthews Band. If ever there was a perfect example of why it might be okay to do so, it would be this song. It’s a great picture of a couple in love, hanging out on a hot summer’s day, and the music captures that feeling perfectly. It has this light, airy guitar line, backed up by a lazy but insistent drum and bass part. The drums are especially good here – it’s a relatively simple beat, but executed so perfectly. The best part is the lack of the snare hits during the verses: the drummer, Carter Beauford (I may hate on the band and their product, but he is an amazingly good drummer), hits the snare only once, and on the 2. It’s an interesting change from the normal rock beat, where we’re used to hearing the snare hit on both the 2 and the 4. But the best part of the song has to be the gospel-style backup singers they have singing at the end, with the elongated, arena-rock-style tenor sax solo closing it out.

“#41″

I couldn’t tell you why Dave Matthews has a habit of naming songs with numbers (I can think of least three songs named in this way), but this is a good one. I love the lyrics, despite the fact they don’t really mean anything. The last line of the song, “Why won’t run into the rain and play / and let the tears splash over you” is permanently stuck in my brain. Yes, I know, it’s not good. This song is not a good song. And the extended instrumental outro is boring. (However, most of you haven’t heard the worst of it. I used to own a recording of a show where they played this song with Bela Fleck and the Flecktones and the runtime was over 30 minutes. And I used to play this recording all the fucking time.)

“Grey Street”

Here’s another sign of my previously unhealthy level of love for the Dave Matthews Band: In 2000, they went back into the studio to follow up their album Before These Crowded Streets. The recordings, lead by producer Steve Lillywhite, were both productive and disastrous. By the end of it, the band had nearly self destructed and fired Lillywhite, tried to destroy the recordings, and hired a new producer and released a terrible album, Everyday. But before the album came out, someone got hold of the masters for the sessions with Lillywhite and leaked them to the interwebs (thank god for them interwebs!). They became known by the fans as The Lillywhite Sessions, and they were some of the best songs they had ever done as a band; moreover, this opinion was shared by nearly all the fans and the band themselves. After enough fan pressure, they released the songs, albeit re-recorded, for the album Busted Stuff. This song is from that re-recorded album, and is possibly they best song off of either set of recordings. Like most of the tracks from Lillywhite, the lyrics are dark, and the instrumentation is as tight as you can get. The best part about this song? No falsetto.

“Bartender”

Another track off of The Lillywhite Sessions/Busted Stuff. I’m pretty sure Dave Matthews was raised Catholic, and the religious imagery here is particularly good, if a bit heavy handed. And I really like the idea of pouring out your emotional and religious guilt to your bartender rather than your priest. The priest can give you homilies and make you say Hail Mary’s til your face turns blue, but only the bartender can ignore you to your face and hand you beer and expect you to tip them heavily. Which I do. Wouldn’t it be better if your therapist was also your bartender? Have a beer while you get psychoanalyzed? Seems like a good business idea to me. Lemme go get my MD and a bartender’s license.

“Gravedigger” (by Dave Matthews, solo)

This may be the most embarrassing one, as it’s not even a Dave Matthews Band song, but a song off of Dave Matthews’ solo album. But, hot damn, is that drum beat awesome. And even if the lyrics are a bit underdeveloped, the idea of creating stories of names off of headstones is wildly inventive. The song nearly comes to a crashing halt, however, over the terrible interpolation of “Ring Around the Rosie” interjected as the bridge. That part is terrible. But it picks right back up, and the end turns it into a pretty good pop song. The best part about this one? It’s not 10 minutes long, and it would be harder to make it longer than it is. It’s not setup to “jam,” it’s just a pop song. And, I’m not ashamed to admit it, a pretty damn good one.

Jul 27 2012
3 Comments
By Joshua, Personal, Top 5 Lists

Joshua at 13

This is tough.

I know I’m supposed to look back at my high school years with disdain, with intense dislike for the choices I made, the people I hung out with, the music I listened to, etc. And I do, without a doubt, feel that way. But there’s something so intriguing in the concept of burgeoning musical ideals: At 13, you’re not quite a child anymore, but you’re a long way off from being an adult (despite having my Bar Mitzvah that year, I wasn’t exactly rushing out to vote or find an apartment). Developmentally, you’re much closer to a child than an adult – puberty’s real effects are just setting in and your brain is at least a decade away from being fully developed. You don’t have any real control over the way you think and how you create your person because you don’t know you have that ability yet. You make small gestures at that idea, though – a big one being rebellion towards all things related to your parents, which, for most people, are the ones creating and shaping your social and personal development.

Which brings me to my music taste at 13. It’s fascinating to come to these conclusions and realize that the teenage “rebellion” wasn’t that – it was just another way of finding out how to be yourself. And I did that with shitty nu-metal.

“Break Stuff” by Limp Bizkit

I’d like to think that there was meaning behind these songs, that the message of the songs had some insight into the person I was at 13. But I liked a band fronted by Fred Durst. It’s like saying your best friends are Joe Rogan and that dude who makes the “Girls Gone Wild” videos (news flash: he’s a prick.). And I really liked this band, I had all of their albums. I even, in an insanely misguided emulation, bought one of those obscenely obnoxious red Yankee hats. Sidenote: Why is Snoop Dogg in this video? He thought this was cool? If so, I’m off the hook. Double sidenote: Apparently the members of this band had no idea the name of their band was a euphemism.


“Falling Away From Me” by Korn

I will say this: Re-listening to this song after listening to the previous song, Korn has at least a modicum of musical talent, and exponentially more than any member of Limp Bizkit. But they are terrible. Though the harmonies in the bridge are actually really good – kind of like a Gregorian chant, and has a major resolve in a minor key. It’s a shame they picked this kind of music to play. The drummer is really good. The guitarists rarely solo, so it’s hard to judge them but on their songwriting (which is bad). And the singer is annoying, but not horrible. I wonder if they would be good if they had gone harder (like true metal) or not been so fucking emo.

“Roll Into The Light” by Laughing Colors

Finally, we get into the artists I still like. Being 13, you can’t really travel to see bands (I was poor, I couldn’t jet off to the coast to see a band I loved but was only stateside for one show) so you’re forced to (if you’re like us, and obsessed with music to the point of having to go see a show even if you don’t know the band) go to the local venue and see whatever you can. I happened upon this band on one of those nights, and I’ve never regretted it. They have some of the best live shows I’ve ever seen, period. I wish they were still together.

“Guerilla Radio” by Rage Against the Machine

This band started out as a rebellion band (ridiculously loud, ludicrous political ideas) but became something more. It took me a real study of this band to realize that behind all the anarchism and screeching guitars was insanely good musical talent. They can hit a groove that would make a grown man weep (not an admission) and Zach De La Rocha has real lyrical skill, despite the subject matter. But these realizations came long after I originally liked the band, so I now know that the only reasons I liked them were for the rebellious reasons (ridiculously loud and ludicrous political ideas).

“Crash Into Me” by Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds (live)

It’s weird to think of Dave Matthews as the light at the end of the tunnel, but I think that’s what it was. I first this track in Pennsylvania at a distant family member’s house for my paternal grandmother’s funeral. On face value, you would say that this has some greater meaning, that the death of a family member was enough of a shock to knock me out of my ill-advised foray into terrible, but no. I never liked my grandmother, and she didn’t like me. It wasn’t a “I’m so happy she’s dead” moment; I just didn’t feel anything. But this song struck me that night. I had certainly heard the song before (it was such a huge hit in 1996) but I hadn’t heard it stripped down like this.

But the song isn’t what’s important, it’s the change it precipitated. Somehow, getting into Dave Matthews Band pulled me back to my roots, led me back to the music I should’ve been listening to all along. I can tell you how, but you’ve already seen my posts from my music at 16, 18, and 22. I can’t tell you why, however. I can’t figure it out. (Note to Dave Matthews: It’s not a sweet song. It’s fucking creepy.)

Jul 26 2012
3 Comments
By Claire, Personal, Top 5 Lists

Claire at 13: A Mixtape

At 13, I wanted to run as far away from the past several awkward years of bad haircuts, braces, and boys who didn’t merely ignore me but appeared (to my ever-sensitive self) to actively dislike me. I wanted to go on a date. I wanted to wear cool clothes. I wanted to go to art school, where I looked forward to dying my hair blue and falling in with the wrong crowd (I did go to art school; neither of those things happened. It was all pretty tame. That’s another post). I had a year of waiting, followed by a summer of daydreaming, before I turned 14 and bid adieu to my middle school years. Here’s what I listened to.

“Doo Wop (That Thing),” by Lauryn Hill

My clearest middle school memories are soundtracked by Lauryn Hill. “Every Ghetto, Every City” reminded me of apartments I grew up in, the pack of kids I ran around with, pooling spare change for melting popsicles, frying our organs as we lay on top of generators, the warm hum coupled with our screechy laughter. “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” was the slow song at my bat mitzvah. “When It Hurts So Bad” and “I Used to Love Him” played as I mourned a crush and reached echelons of heartbreak that I had only encountered in teen movies.

I listened to “Doo Wop (That Thing) every night before I went to bed, for three years. Karaoke is no friend of mine, but when this song is available, I sing the hell out of it. That’s my ultimate karaoke advice: If you can’t sing, if you’re not a natural ham, be a nerdy preteen in the late 90s who’s obsessed with Lauryn Hill. Three years of practice will really calm those pre-performance nerves.

“Candy,” by Mandy Moore

“When you start dating, your dad’s going to sit in the front yard with a baseball bat.” 

Around the time I hit puberty, I started hearing this a lot.  It was so clearly a stock thing adults say to maturing girls for a couple of reasons: We lived in an apartment and didn’t have a front yard.  I looked like a casting ideal for an indie flick about a mega-dorky Jewish kid’s adventures in misfitland. (Think “Welcome to the Dollhouse,” set in Pikesville.) I was pretty far from dating anyone.

But the main reason why this quote made no sense was because my relationship with my dad just wasn’t like that.  My first date happened when I was thirteen, and my dad dropped me off for it at the mall, sans baseball bat. When I came home, I sat in the basement and cracked jokes with my dad about how lame the guy was.

Dating? That was fine. Music? That was complicated.

Music was the territory where we fought about my impending teendom. He may not have come armed when it came to my first date, but he wanted to smash my Top 40 proclivities with a baseball bat. This came to a head when we were planning the playlist for my bat mitzvah. Aside from birthday sleepovers, this was basically my first party, and I wanted to make it count. I wanted to show off the music video moves I’d been copying in my bedroom for months. I wanted to lock eyes with some mystery boy and bat my blue eyeshadowed eyes at him and turn him into my dream boyfriend.  I wanted all of this to take place with a sexy, teen temptress soundtrack, featuring Mandy Moore.

My dad vetoed this soundtrack.  He was DJing. There would be funk. There would be a few upbeat Grateful Dead tracks and some fun, obscure 80′s stuff. There would not be 15-year-old Mandy Moore wailing “I’m missing you like candy.” I was crushed. My list of songs was friend approved. What would they think? How were we going to dance to his music? It was the first time my dad’s music was only his. It had always been mine too.

You can read this moral however you want, but here it is: We danced our little preteen hearts out, and the tapes from that night lived on for years. I played them throughout high school and college, until I stopped owning little old cars with tape decks. I wish I still had them now. Dad: 1, Mandy Moore: 0.

“Perfect World,” by Liz Phair

I was hooked on Liz Phair from the second I heard “Polyester Bride” on 99.1 HFS. My girlfriends didn’t get it; at a sleepover, I played them the album which they said sounded like “70s witch music.” Then we had a Liz Phair fueled séance in a blanket fort. My whitechocolatespaceegg t-shirt was a magnet for cool adults, who saw the shirt as a sign to treat me like a fellow (albeit shorter) cool adult. Middle school teacher: “Oh man I saw Liz Phair last week at a show in DC. We brought a bottle of wine, my ex boyfriend was there…you know how that is.” (I did not.)

Being treated like a cool adult was basically the dream for me, since cool pre-teendom was not working out. Liz Phair became my social wing woman. I turned my nose up at the middle school boys who did not return my affections, the popular girls with their tiger stripe highlights who never said hi. One day, I was going to be cool, tall, vulnerable, and luscious. One day, I was going to drink wine at Liz Phair shows and run into ex boyfriends. They didn’t even know.

“All For You,” by Janet Jackson

The summer before high school I went abroad for the first time, to England and Ireland, with my aunt and uncle. I had a Walkman stocked with Richard Thompson and Shawn Colvin bootlegs, and maybe a Melissa Etheridge album. And while I listened to that music constantly when I was there (Richard Thompson bootlegs were basically developed to soundtrack driving across the Irish countryside), the song that reminds me most of that trip is “All For You” by Janet Jackson. It exploded right when I got back, and in a way, so did I. That trip made me feel older, better able to shake off my mortifying middle school years and dive into my new high school self. So I did.

That summer I babysat at night, and spent the money on languorous, overly air-conditioned trips to the mall with friends where we hummed along to this song as we sifted through jeans and platform shoes, wondering what we were going to look like in a month as high schoolers. I slept over at my friend Ashley’s house and we went to parties, a novelty we never had in middle school. We wore mascara and too much jewelry, we sat in basements drinking fruit punch and rolling our eyes whenever some guy inevitably took over the stereo and blasted Eminem. I listened to this song on nights when I was home. It was hot. Things were changing. I wondered if they would play this song at the homecoming dance in the fall, and if I would go, and what I would wear.

“Jump, Jive, An’ Wail,” by The Brian Setzer Orchestra

Like khakis, short haircuts, and polo shirts, swing music is something so tied up in middle school angst that I can’t broach it again without an organ shifting internal shudder. I debated which mortifying middle school story to tell. The one most tied up in music takes place at the 8th grade swing dance.

Swing music was the trend du jour in late middle school. Our dance in eighth grade was an elaborate swing dance, complete with lessons and a swing themed set by the school band. In a fit of uncharacteristic bravado, I called a popular boy the week before the big night and told him that I liked him. He was unbelievably polite. Even though he was very clear that the feeling wasn’t reciprocated, the fact that he wasn’t a total ass seemed like an invitation for us to fall in love (…who taught me this stuff? Like really?) I showed up at the dance all aglow and gussied up. One of the popular girls came up to me and asked me if I liked Mr. Polite. I grinned and babbled about how cute he was, and she insisted, in a rare girlfriend-y moment, that she was going to ask him to dance with me. I was floored. Popular girl friends? Dance with popular-future-boyfriend? Okay! Let’s do this.

Popular girl went over and made a big embarrassing scene about how much I liked him, and how I had demanded that she ask him to dance to me. He said, and I quote (or more, repeat, since it was repeated to me several times over): “I don’t fucking like her. Hello? She called me and I said I don’t like you. I would never ever like you. Eww. Get with the program.” He even mimed the phone call by holding his hand up to his face like a fake telephone. For some reason that always stood out as the meanest part.

I learned a lot of lessons that night: Don’t trust people who have never previously been trustworthy and are suddenly overly interested in your personal life. DEP hair gel makes curly hair look like a frizzy turtle shell. A nice rejection is still a rejection. And whatever you do, don’t go to the swing dance. If you do, you’ll never want to listen to the Brian Setzer Orchestra again.

 

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Feb 29 2012
3 Comments
By Joshua, Personal

Musical Remnants (Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love The Decemberists) by Joshua

My very good friend Laura is as I write this trying to get over a breakup. She’s doing incredibly admirably, and certainly far, far better than I’ve ever done with one. But she said something to me the other day that I realized was so true I had lived by it always but could never admit it. We were talking about the various tv shows we’re into right now and she mentioned she has yet to finish Game of Thrones and the reason was at first she didn’t want to because her ex had introduced it to her. But then she said, “Then I realized that’s bullshit. It’s too good not to watch.”

Damn, girl. You said it. I have always felt that way about music I’ve been introduced to by my ex-girlfriends. Well, at least the stuff that’s really good, that is. I’ve only ever been in love with a few women in my life and they’ve (mostly) given me some music that I can’t help but love and will probably never stop listening to. Below is a chronological list of the three women I’ve been in love with the musical remnants I’m left loving. And as an added bonus, these are songs that I listened to during the period of being heartbroken or trying to get over them.

Paul Simon said on the title track of Graceland “Losing love is like a window to your heart – Everybody sees you’re blown apart, everybody sees the wind blow.” Maybe this is true. Certainly anyone riding in my car knew this to be true when they heard these songs come on…over and over again.

RAHNIA:

“Sympathique” by Pink Martini

Both Claire and I grew up studying French for at least 10 years or so, and I doubt we can still both speak it. But I know exactly what each word of this song translates to. This band was introduced to me by Rahnia as a teenage favorite, a local band where she grew up (Portland, Oregon) who has since risen to semi-national prominence. I’ve kept up with them ever since, but this album and particularly this song will remain with me because of how depressing it really is. The chorus translates to this: “I don’t want to work / I don’t want to eat / I just want to forget / And then I smoke.” That tends to be how I feel after every breakup and this, the first really hard hitting breakup, may have started that trend.

LEE:

“Long Black Veil” by whoever wants to a do a version of it this week

This song is trouble, as was Lee. We never actually dated, which makes this story rather pathetic. I was desperately in love with her and she either didn’t know and didn’t care or did know and liked to manipulate how I felt about her. I became the “good friend” that no one ever wants to be, stuck in the zone of perpetual melancholy and self-pity. It lasted years. At some point, I found this song and attached all the significance of my unrequited love and her antipathy towards me into singing it all the time. Whenever I sang it, all I could ever think about was her and how happy we could be together. Listen to the lyrics. That’s an extremely dysfunctional thing to think about a song that is about going to the gallows to protect your adulterous lover. I still get requests from people who went to St. Mary’s for me to sing this song, and I do it. But hopefully I’ll never be drunk at 3 am and want to play it when I’m by myself again.

KATE:

“The Hazards of Love 4: The Drowned” by The Decemberists

The first song I listened after we broke up was “Tears Dry on Their Own” by Amy Winehouse (an artist she also introduced me to) but I doubt there is a band I like as much that I’ve been introduced to by any significant other than The Decemberists. And I hated them at first. But once I started really loving them (and her), we went and saw them in concert and they played all the way through the album this is on. The experience was incredible. I rushed out and bought the album and listened to it all the way through many, many times. But I always turned it off before this song, thinking it to be really boring. It wasn’t until a couple months after we broke up that I actually listened to this song and how desperately heartbreaking it is, in both lyrics and simple, sparse guitar lines. The guitar part is not the usual broken lines that Colin Meloy loves, but rather big, wide open chords with some small arpeggio grace notes to accompany it. It’s straight up gorgeous. And heartbreaking. And now I’m stuck with it forever.

Feb 28 2012
3 Comments
By Claire, Personal

In Which Fergie Saves the Day—Claire

The summer of 2007: My last summer as a college student. I interned in DC all day, took English classes at night, worked at a catering company on the weekends, and spent every other waking moment reeling from a breakup with my boyfriend of two years.  I was heartbroken, I was exhausted, I was smoking half a pack of cigarettes every day, and I was rocking a head full of muddy brown hair that I had dyed within an hour of the breakup (Life lesson: don’t be fast and loose with your post-breakup hair coloring).

Musically, it was a lucky time to be heartbroken. Amy Winehouse had just exploded, and I couldn’t get into anyone’s car without them saying “Have you heard this?” and cranking “Back to Black” or “Tears Dry on Their Own.” It was the kind of music that made me feel like “One day I will turn all this pain into art, ART!” instead of my usual “Tonight I will turn all this pain into pizza, which I will eat in my underwear, UNDERWEAR!”

In another happy twist of musical fate, my dad had given me Aimee Mann’s “Bachelor Number 2” and Joni Mitchell’s “Court and Spark” at the beginning of the summer. I swished under the city on the Metro with “Calling it Quits” and “Down to You” blasting in my ears. I felt terribly deep. I imagined the many suit-sporting characters on the Metro coming over and asking “What are you listening to, over caffeinated tear-stained girl in half a catering uniform?”  “Oh just some Joni Mitchell,” I would respond casually, like this breakup was a time of great music-listening, poem-writing, maybe scotch-swilling, as opposed to a time of great toaster-streudel-eating and shower-crying.

I was working hard on the whole “change everything and get over this” game. I had a rearranged bedroom, the aforementioned new hair, the quick and joyless loss of ten pounds, and a well curated soundtrack. And though all of this was making me look thin and tired and very brunette, it wasn’t doing much to lift the breakup haze. Then it happened.

People ask Joshua and I a lot about our guilty pleasures. A real music snob will answer in a couple different ways. There’s the “no such thing” route. There’s the “what’s a guilty pleasure?” route. There’s the total lie route, where you pick a handful of clearly not questionable artists and add a time frame to their name (“Early Bonnie Raitt” or “Late Brian Eno”). And there’s the truth, which does not in this case set us free, but instead makes us blush. That summer, no matter how hard I tried to listen to the right music, a very wrong song got through to me: “Big Girls Don’t Cry,” by Fergie.

I don’t know why the artist known as Fergalicious was the one to break me out of my spell. But when that song exploded, it got under my skin. I sang the chorus constantly for weeks, and was basically half a step away from getting “But I’ve gotta get a move on with my life” tattooed on my upper arm. Singing it made me feel the kind of wistful empowerment I imagined a girl who was a breakup instigator would feel, even though I was firmly on the other side of that equation. The lyrics said everything I wanted to say: I miss you. You’re totally wrong for me. I’m going to go start my new awesome life with my backup band, the Black Eyed Peas.

That was my first, and last, experience as a Fergie fan. Though Joni Mitchell and Aimee Mann have stood the test of time, Fergie faded out for me. I gave you a hair dye lesson already, so lets close with a music lesson. Don’t be afraid of bad music. When you need something to get through to you, it doesn’t have to be beautiful or fraught: it can, on occasion, be something that belongs on a teen movie soundtrack. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Big girls don’t cry.

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Feb 23 2012
2 Comments
By Claire, Personal

The Old 97s and the Summer of Polyester Armpits—Claire

Here’s how the summer after college graduation started for me: At graduation, standing in the line in our caps and gowns, waiting to proceed, all the other English majors rattled off what they were doing next. All but three of us chirped “Law school!” or “Teacher!” I looked at the other two kids who had offered a nervous laugh and a shrug as their career goal and was fairly certain we were all screwed. If my family hadn’t been waiting in the audience, I’m sure that Susie Shakespeare and Tommy D.H. Lawrence and I would have gone to the local dive bar and tried to figure out how none of us got the memo on teaching and lawyering. Then we would’ve all gotten “Personal Agency” lower back tattoos. (Although once they found out I was Claire Post-Colonial Literature, they probably would’ve banished me from our English-major-failure club with a loud “Take your feminist explorations of Edwidge Danticat somewhere else, hippie!”)

Anyway.  In the month and a half after graduation, here’s what I acquired:

  • A resume that liberally used words like “Managed,” “Led,” and “Directed.” (Which we all know are verbs that apply to most intern tasks, right?)
  • A very sparse wardrobe of earnestly officey basics that said “Hire me!” and “I like primary colors!”
  • A response to “What’s coming up next?” that went like this: “Oh you know, I’m looking, and the job market, and jobs, and do you know anyone with a job, can you get me a job, job job job, jobbity job job?”

And then it happened. After weeks of darting in and out of DC, my face usually smushed into someone’s polyester-clad armpit (polyester takes that DC heat and turns it into a BO so powerful, it could create policy change), I traded in my resume-peddling and dwindling bank account for a brand new job in Dupont Circle. Suddenly after moving in very slow motion for half a summer, life sped up. My lease on my college apartment was up in a week, my boyfriend was in Asia for the rest of the summer, and my job started immediately. I had stepped into the next part of my life.

During my last week at the apartment and my first week at my job, my high school friend Noura Hemady (whose Old 97s post went up earlier today, go read it!) met me in College Park to go to an Old 97s show at the 9:30 Club. It was a silly evening: we were staying at my apartment, which I had already moved out of, so my room was empty except for a bed and a pile of blankets for Noura to nest in. I had rushed home from work and spent the rest of the night in my too-officey outfit. And when we finally made it to the show, my boyfriend started calling me from China, and no matter how quickly I rushed out of the 9:30 Club, the mob of Old 97s fans kept precluding me from leaving, so I missed every call. But here’s what I remember most about that night. I was standing against the railing upstairs with Noura, watching the Old 97s, as we both drank hard cider from long-necked bottles. I looked at her, at us, and I was filled with this really good feeling. I remember thinking “This is what my new adult life is going to be like! This is it! I’m a grown up, and everything is great!”

Did it turn out like that? Of course not. I didn’t know then that I was in the wrong job, in the wrong city, and that for the next year, I would grow up a lot over mostly unpleasant things. But for a moment, as I watched the Old 97s, I got to feel like a grown up in a totally innocent, blissful way. I’ve gotta thank them for that. And Noura, who probably forced me to go to that show.

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Feb 23 2012
4 Comments
Guest Post, Personal

Guest Post: Old 97s and the Summer of Freedom by Noura Hemady

I had my first show experience late.  I had been to plenty of jazz festivals and concerts with my parents.  I have a vague memory of going to a Santana concert at the peak of his Rob Thomas induced mid-90s comeback, only to turn away at the gate due to the overwhelming smell of pot.  There is a chance I made up that story, but I feel like it might be true.  My first show–to which I bought my own tickets and went sans parents–was the Old 97s at 9:30 Club in DC, Summer of 2005.

Summer of Freedom: driving curfew lifted, disposable income.  After a year of living away from home, my parents could no longer forbid me from making that most iconic of journeys for a kid from suburban Baltimore–a trip to DC for a show at 9:30 Club.  Heading south, I picked up my high school friend Meagan Ingerson along the way (this show marked the first in what is sure to be a lifetime of Old 97s shows together), and raced* down 295 into DC.  The whole scenario felt so cool to me.  I probably bragged to a bunch of kids at the pool where I worked that I was “going to a show,” ya know, in DC.  For some reason, DC felt so much edgier, dirtier than Baltimore.  This is, as most people know, obviously untrue (haven’t you seen THE WIRE, gawd).  Though, in 2005, the corner of 9th & V Streets NW was an unnerving location for a girl from the suburbs.

On our way home, we were so helplessly lost that we passed Gallaudet University and ended up in Trinidad, exactly the place I had been warned by sage adults to avoid.  We made an interesting U-turn somewhere off of New York Ave that precipitated by famous declaration, “Meagan, what are all these women doing standing out here in the dark? It’s 1:30am!” To which she logically replied, “Um…I think they’re prostitutes…”

I don’t actually remember very much about the show at all.  I think it ran for about two hours.  The music must have been endearing, because I’m pretty sure I spent the next week trawling Record and Tape Traders in Towson searching for their old albums.  It is the feeling of self-determination and sovereignty leading up to and following the show that has imprinted so deeply on this memory.  I felt so adult, and so cool! Although neither were (and probably still aren’t) true.  This show was the first in a month-long spurt of weekend shows I went to at 9:30 Club that Summer.  In retrospect, what makes this month so memorable to me is the dissonance between how I perceived the club at 18, and how I do now, at 25.  I now live less than a mile from the club.  I pass it on my way to work almost everyday.  I walk past it almost every Friday night on the hike back home from the bars on U Street. If I’m going to a show there, I hop on my bike at 9:15 and I’m inside 10 minutes later.  In daylight, it’s just a mid-century brick building, blending into the warehouses and Howard University dorms that it borders.  In the dark, at 18, it stood out from the uncertainty of the “big”** city.

So, to conclude, I should probably thank the Old 97s.  I’ve seen them twice more at the club, in 2009 and 2011.  In 2005, their music lured me down from Baltimore.  The show they put on sent me straight back to 9:30 Club’s website, looking for even more.

*I wanted to race, but on 295 you can be assured that State Troopers will be lurking in the dark for you at every mile or so.
** I may be wrong, but DC’s population may be smaller than Baltimore’s. Consult the appropriate sources [wikipedia].
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