MY MUSIC (Part 2)
Where was I? Oh, yes. Nirvana. January 1992. (Boy, go get your dad a beer while he continues telling his story to the web...Thanks.) Funny thing, the passing of time. I'm listening to "Nevermind" right now on the ol' iTunes (replacing my long-defunct dubbed-off cassette), and it really doesn't do much for me. I admire it's technical qualities, I enjoy basking in the memories it brings back, but it's definitely just an old picture in a thick frame for me now. I am much more moved by much more recent music. That gives me hope. Maybe I'm not ready for the elephant's graveyard just yet.
That is now, but I'm writing about THEN. When I, and the friends I had at the time (scattered to the four winds now), thought this music was a manifesto created by disenfranchised garage-rock punks in the Pacific Northwest just for us. It was like a secret handshake. Shaking our heads in pity for the few, straggling peers who weren't in the know. "Oh, you still listen to Bon Jovi? Jeez."
I started dating a certain girl right around this time. As of this writing in mid-2007, I can state with a fair degree of certainty that she despises me for reasons both accurate and imagined. (Again, that's a story for another time.) But at the time, she shone for me like the north star. January '92. Eventful. Loss of virginity on Superbowl Sunday. First glimpse on Nirvana on the TV...
The girlfriend and I were faithful weekly viewers of Saturday Night Live. This was the time when Dana Carvey was considered cutting-edge, Adam Sandler and David Spade were up-and-coming supporting players, and Phil Hartman was alive (and all was well with the world.) Week in, week out we watched them come and go on SNL. Guest hosts like Patrick Swayze and Rob Morrow (remember him?). We watched Sinead O'Connor tear up the picture of the Pope and asked each other "What the fuck?" We would get dozy after Weekend Update, and lean against each other. If I was at her house, when the show was over at 1:00 am, she would walk me to her front porch, kiss my forehead and admonish me to "sing along with the stereo so you don't fall asleep driving home" even though I lived less than three miles away.
I don't remember that date off the top of my head, but I according to my research, Nirvana was the musical guest on SNL on January 11, 1992. I had looked forward to it all week. They did not disappoint.
When I drove home that night, guess what I was singing?
My ultimate point is, I think people are losing something vital. You don't have to wait a week to see a band play two songs on a late night TV show. You can look them up on youtube. You don't have to bring in a pocketful of change scrounged over six weeks to take a chance on a full CD. You can pick and choose what you want off the Internet for free, or at most, for 99 cents a song. And yet...
The emotional ownership of the music is the same. Kids still share knowledge of a new band like a secret handshake. (It just sucks that most Fall Out Boy fans seem unaware that their name is derived from a Simpsons episode). The stuff I think of as crap is the stuff these kids are listening to as they lean, half-asleep, against their first girlfriends, the ones who will break their hearts in a month or a year, and forever burn that music into their memories of a certain time and place. As long as that continues, I think there's hope yet.
"And just maybe I'm to blame for all I heard/And I'm not sure/I'm so excited, I can't wait to meet you there...'
Rock on, babies.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Nirvana. January 1992. (Boy, go get your dad a beer while he continues telling his story to the web...Thanks.) Funny thing, the passing of time. I'm listening to "Nevermind" right now on the ol' iTunes (replacing my long-defunct dubbed-off cassette), and it really doesn't do much for me. I admire it's technical qualities, I enjoy basking in the memories it brings back, but it's definitely just an old picture in a thick frame for me now. I am much more moved by much more recent music. That gives me hope. Maybe I'm not ready for the elephant's graveyard just yet.
That is now, but I'm writing about THEN. When I, and the friends I had at the time (scattered to the four winds now), thought this music was a manifesto created by disenfranchised garage-rock punks in the Pacific Northwest just for us. It was like a secret handshake. Shaking our heads in pity for the few, straggling peers who weren't in the know. "Oh, you still listen to Bon Jovi? Jeez."
I started dating a certain girl right around this time. As of this writing in mid-2007, I can state with a fair degree of certainty that she despises me for reasons both accurate and imagined. (Again, that's a story for another time.) But at the time, she shone for me like the north star. January '92. Eventful. Loss of virginity on Superbowl Sunday. First glimpse on Nirvana on the TV...
The girlfriend and I were faithful weekly viewers of Saturday Night Live. This was the time when Dana Carvey was considered cutting-edge, Adam Sandler and David Spade were up-and-coming supporting players, and Phil Hartman was alive (and all was well with the world.) Week in, week out we watched them come and go on SNL. Guest hosts like Patrick Swayze and Rob Morrow (remember him?). We watched Sinead O'Connor tear up the picture of the Pope and asked each other "What the fuck?" We would get dozy after Weekend Update, and lean against each other. If I was at her house, when the show was over at 1:00 am, she would walk me to her front porch, kiss my forehead and admonish me to "sing along with the stereo so you don't fall asleep driving home" even though I lived less than three miles away.
I don't remember that date off the top of my head, but I according to my research, Nirvana was the musical guest on SNL on January 11, 1992. I had looked forward to it all week. They did not disappoint.
When I drove home that night, guess what I was singing?
My ultimate point is, I think people are losing something vital. You don't have to wait a week to see a band play two songs on a late night TV show. You can look them up on youtube. You don't have to bring in a pocketful of change scrounged over six weeks to take a chance on a full CD. You can pick and choose what you want off the Internet for free, or at most, for 99 cents a song. And yet...
The emotional ownership of the music is the same. Kids still share knowledge of a new band like a secret handshake. (It just sucks that most Fall Out Boy fans seem unaware that their name is derived from a Simpsons episode). The stuff I think of as crap is the stuff these kids are listening to as they lean, half-asleep, against their first girlfriends, the ones who will break their hearts in a month or a year, and forever burn that music into their memories of a certain time and place. As long as that continues, I think there's hope yet.
"And just maybe I'm to blame for all I heard/And I'm not sure/I'm so excited, I can't wait to meet you there...'
Rock on, babies.