I'm a daydream believer. An essay in honor of the Monkees.
Wow. Forty years ago today, "The Monkess" premiered on NBC at 7:30 p.m. Le whoa, Batman!
For those who know me well, they know how much I like the Monkees. But I don't think "like" is the right word, though. Maybe the phrase "fucking adore" might be better. I grew up with the re-runs on Nick at Nite. If you think about it, the Monkees was a picture show for kids. They were nuts and the plots were so simple they were ideal for the under-seven set. I watched them everyday, and I know my parents were happier that I was watching that instead of the age-aimed shows I should have been watching in 1986. Not only did I love it, but my brother and two cousins were massive fans, too. We listened to our parents' old records and acted out the episodes. There's a very infamous VHS tape floating around my parents' basement of the "Monkees in Concert: Birmingham '86." We performed the entirety of their first album with our then-almost-2-year-old cousin serving as a backup dancer.
(In case you wondering, I played the tambourine and keyboards.)
My favorite Monkee was Davy, of course. My dad tells his favorite story of me watching them on some daytime talk show in the mid-'80s and screaming when I saw "old" Davy. I ran to my room sobbing. My dad came in and asked what was wrong. "I didn't know they were OLD," I wailed.
Today, as a "grown-up," I argue with my music-purist friends that the Monkees were the basis for music videos, thank my lucky stars that Neil Diamond wrote "I'm a Believer," and act just as music snobby as the rest when I tell people that Stephen Stills got rejected from a spot in the group because he didn't fit the image.
Here's one of my favorite episodes, and of course, songs.
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When the oldies radio station I wake up to every morning (Dick Purtan, to be exact) announced today was the 40th anniversary, I felt extremely nostalgic for being 6 years old again, when my biggest concerns in life revolved around making sure I had enough Hi-C juice boxes for snacktime at school, convinving my mom I needed a new Corvette for Day to Night Barbie, avoiding the Swanky Frankies my dad considered a nutritious dinner, and making sure I never missed a Monkees episode.
For those who know me well, they know how much I like the Monkees. But I don't think "like" is the right word, though. Maybe the phrase "fucking adore" might be better. I grew up with the re-runs on Nick at Nite. If you think about it, the Monkees was a picture show for kids. They were nuts and the plots were so simple they were ideal for the under-seven set. I watched them everyday, and I know my parents were happier that I was watching that instead of the age-aimed shows I should have been watching in 1986. Not only did I love it, but my brother and two cousins were massive fans, too. We listened to our parents' old records and acted out the episodes. There's a very infamous VHS tape floating around my parents' basement of the "Monkees in Concert: Birmingham '86." We performed the entirety of their first album with our then-almost-2-year-old cousin serving as a backup dancer.
(In case you wondering, I played the tambourine and keyboards.)
My favorite Monkee was Davy, of course. My dad tells his favorite story of me watching them on some daytime talk show in the mid-'80s and screaming when I saw "old" Davy. I ran to my room sobbing. My dad came in and asked what was wrong. "I didn't know they were OLD," I wailed.
Today, as a "grown-up," I argue with my music-purist friends that the Monkees were the basis for music videos, thank my lucky stars that Neil Diamond wrote "I'm a Believer," and act just as music snobby as the rest when I tell people that Stephen Stills got rejected from a spot in the group because he didn't fit the image.
Here's one of my favorite episodes, and of course, songs.
.. width="425" height="350">
..>
When the oldies radio station I wake up to every morning (Dick Purtan, to be exact) announced today was the 40th anniversary, I felt extremely nostalgic for being 6 years old again, when my biggest concerns in life revolved around making sure I had enough Hi-C juice boxes for snacktime at school, convinving my mom I needed a new Corvette for Day to Night Barbie, avoiding the Swanky Frankies my dad considered a nutritious dinner, and making sure I never missed a Monkees episode.