the 30 days meme: day four
Your music
Really. You think I'm going to fit this into a little box, this thing that has nibbled at my life forever? Really?
(Lately I've come back. I was out of the fold, only listening in the car, for work, as background music, and I fell dulled and small and flat, and now, the anthems bringing me back, the Alkaline Trio B-sides record, downloading the Thermals and Superchunk the day they came out, doing a happy dance when the Tim Kasher record arrived, all shiny Saddle Creek promo materials; the gloss sneaks back into my hair, the feet do a little shuffle on the sidewalk, and I want to jump and click my heels. I've gone through this before, this forgetting to have a soundtrack, to make a mix for a drive, to remember based on the songs that came out, the narratives I borrowed. I remember.)
I started with the Supremes. And a Ringo Starr record, and The Nutcracker. These are the records I remember putting on when my fingers were stealthy enough to work the record player. And the Annie soundtrack. I'd get mad when the neighbor boy didn't want to play Annie with me, which essentially meant, if memory serves, sort of acting out the movie with the soundtrack on. I marched around the house like the Sugar Plum Fairy and, I think to imagine, sealed my fate as a harmony-loving alto with all those childish listens to "You Can't Hurry Love."
The first record I bought for myself was Thriller. Of course. Before that I had a 45 of "When Doves Cry" that my uncle bought me in the record store in the mall, and a "Oh Mickey" 45 that I've never known where came from. My history with pop music is a little blurry; I remember listening to my mom's folksy records, and then one day, with her friend's daughters, discovering pop radio. What WAS this shiny stuff? I hadn't known to differentiate before. And then it was all Madonna and Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson and, sliding that slippery slope into mall-pop, Tiffany. Debbie Gibson. The Labyrinth soundtrack. Sarah loved New Kids on the Block so I had to listen to them too. That phase when everyone our age listened obsessively to the Stand By Me soundtrack. I was so typical.
And then I heard Def Leppard. I think that's how it went. Whatever it was, it was a monumental shift. I bought copies of Metal Edge and sought out tiny bands no one ever talked about - in hindsight, I did the same goddamn thing with hair metal that I'd do, five or six years later and still, with indie rock. Pretty Boy Floyd, because the cute clerk at the Beaverton Tower Records suggested it. (I can still call up the chorus to at least one song.) Babylon A.D. (they did the theme for Robocop 2). Shotgun Messiah. And the big names. Slaughter. Skid Row. Trixter. Winger. Warrant. I have entire binders full of photos and signed posters, pages torn out of magazines. It's what we did for fun: drive to Portland, see bands, lurk around until we could get stuff signed, and then run off giggling. Friends made actual friends with certain bands. A skeevy dude from some shitty band I refuse to name dumped two glasses of water in my lap at the pie shop in Portland, all for an excuse to pretend to help dry me off. That was about enough of that.
But my friend-boys in Portland were in hair metal bands, too. It felt like being part of something, but it was the end of something, too: Pearl Jam had captured my attention. Jane's Addiction. Nine Inch Nails. The shift was afoot. One of the last great shows I saw in Portland before I left for college was Pearl Jam. The barricade left diamond-shaped bruises on my hips and I swore Mike McCready smiled at me. I fell in love with the Posies and left for NYU with Lollapalooza posters to hang on my wall. The shift was so fast, so sudden.
And then, college, and the boys who were so disdainful that they made me want to understand their music. It was the heyday of indie being swept up by the majors. I remember Liz Phair all over the Voice's Pazz and Jop Poll and me totally confused, too young, too inexperienced to know what the fuck she was talking about. I was still in Juliana Hatfield territory. My friend Jack was a huge influence; we watched "120 Minutes" on Sunday nights and thought Weezer would never last, not with a song THAT catchy. He made me mix tapes full of Britpop and I fell in love with Blur because of the "Chemical World" video, and because my crush's roommate just sprawled on his bed all day listening to Blur through giant ’70s headphones.
The friends' bands played pop punk. One of the Leos played in the dorm coffeehouse-night events. A certain segment of musician-friends jammed on Dead songs. Later, I swooned for Morphine, if not for the boy who played them for me. Sophomore year was a steady soundtrack of Elastica, Hole and Pavement. And then Mr. Moses put Jawbreaker on while Dan and I were playing one of those super-speedy card games and drinking vodka and Mountain Dew.
It was love at first palm-muted chord. I remember where I was and everything. Junior year took a moody turn for Lookout bands and Helium and Small Factory. I think 1996 is still the major influence on everything I listen to. I finally got Superchunk. Luna made me cry for all the strangest reasons.
Fourteen years later, the soundtrack is the same, but longer and richer. Neko Case for 2003, driving to California. PJ Harvey for Australia, remembering several summers before. Death Cab for Cutie sprawled across everything, but especially an apartment in Williamsburg with the sun coming over Manhattan. Bright Eyes working their way in through the suggestion of a boy I never met, and sticking because of another boy, the one who also stuck. Working at the record store and being overwhelmed with possibility. Lately, Frightened Rabbit, and all the things those records, those songs, suggest; Cursive since I saw them on a whim in a dingy room lit by Christmas lights; all these tiny bands that have kernels of my narrative but don't mean anything to anyone else.
Every record is a piece of the story. Where I got it. Who played it for me. Which heartbreak or swoon is set to that song. This is a novel and it's only a fraction, a fragment.
Just ask, someday. What's playing in your head, Molly? I can always tell you.
Day 01 - Introduce yourself
Day 02 - Your first love
Day 03 - Your parents
Day 04 - Your music
Day 05 - Your definition of love
Day 06 - Your day
Day 07 - Your best friend
Day 08 - A precious item
Day 09 - Your beliefs
Day 10 - What you wore today
Day 11 - Your siblings
Day 12 - What’s in your bag
Day 13 - Your mode of transportation
Day 14 - Where you live
Day 15 - Your childhood
Day 16 - Your first kiss
Day 17 - Your favorite memory
Day 18 - Your favorite birthday
Day 19 - Something you regret
Day 20 - Your morning routine
Day 21 - Your job and/or schooling
Day 22 - Something that upsets you
Day 23 - Something that makes you feel better
Day 24 - Something that makes you cry
Day 25 - Your sleeping habits
Day 26 - Your fears
Day 27 - Your favorite place
Day 28 - Something that you miss
Day 29 - Your favorite foods/drinks
Day 30 - Your aspirations