I’ve come to the realization that my life is nothing but a series of extremely passionate love affairs with bands. Each lasts a couple of weeks; a month at best. When I’m in the throes of one, that’s all I can think about. In fact, I can’t foresee the flame ever flickering, even though it invariably does. Sure there are some bands I’ll always love (the teflons: the Crue, the Stones, Zeppelin, Wilco), but that probably has as much to do with the memories as the music.
Honestly, at any given moment there is only one band I’m into. Okay, okay, so I admit there has been the occasional dalliance with more than one band (I mean, who hasn’t been caught in one of those Jack Tripper moments?), but the problem is it’s a lot of work…too much work. Invariably I end up trying so hard to give each band equal affection that neither one gets what they deserve. And in the end it’s like I’m cheating them and me. So I quickly move on to the next sexy thing in a three-chord mini skirt.
It all started innocently enough. Just a couple of K-Tel records brimming with sugary-sweet, infectious 70’s grooves, but then things started to get serious when I found my parents’ Magical Mystery Tour album in the basement. I’d never seen anything like it; the colors. the pageantry, and more importantly, the songs. It just all worked. From that point on, my life was no longer measured in hours or days, but in revolutions per minute—33 and 45. You couldn’t have pried that album cover away from me with a crowbar or even a Whatchamacalit bar (every boy has a weakness). I couldn’t believe the lyrics were right there and I was holding them in my hands. It was like I was a member of the band: John, Paul, George, Ringo and me? I don’t think I moved for 332,640 revolutions…that’s an entire week for those of you keeping score at home.
It’s kind of sad that in this day of digital music all you have is the song. There’s no real experience to music anymore. There’s just nothing substantial like an album cover. Back then the album cover was your keyhole to the whole band experience. It’s tiny aperture allowed you to see just enough to divine whether or not the band was cool. There was no margin for error with the artwork, because back then, your first impression was the only impression. To be sure, a good album cover was reason enough to buy a record. For that reason alone vinyl will always be about more than just the music itself.
As I grew, so did my love for music. Gone were LPs and in their wake, impossibly small cassettes that didn’t skip and could be played in a car or a new fangled contraption called a Walkman. As an added bonus, cassettes were easy to duplicate which allowed you to team up with a buddy and split the cost of the album with the understanding you could make a guilt-free copy. (Writer’s note: I don’t acknowledge the whole 8-track movement. It’s like that one-night stand that never happened.). Because of this new medium I experienced a proliferation of music in my early teenage years, which meant my liaisons with each band grew shorter and shorter. The tape player’s eject button quickly became the embodiment of the I-love-you-but-I’m-not-in-love-with-you phase of a relationship. Pushing it signaled not just the end but also the promise of a new beginning which was consummated the second a new tape was inserted into the deck like a phallus. During this era I had my share of flings with bands. Admittedly, I made a lot of mistakes including some regretful proclamations, like, “Tesla’s first album is the best album ever” and “I think Hagar is going to be good for Van Halen…you ever hear Three Lock Box?” What can I say? I was a teenager, my musical hormones were raging.
It was about this time I started developing theories on music that superseded the songs themselves. For instance, any band that opts for a colored cassette case–preferably red–is worth buying; song #10 is invariably the best song on the entire album, even if it’s a ballad; and if you’re a heavy metal band and want to be successful you gotta have at least one member with an alliterative name (e.g. Mick Mars, Bobby Blotzer, Ozzy Osbourne, Rikki Rockett, Carlos Carvazo, Vinnie Vincent, etc.).
The arrival of high school meant it was time to start taking things seriously, primarily girls and music. Music responded accordingly with the introduction of the compact disc. Girls, not so much. In hind sight, the only thing the two had in common was that each demanded considerably more commitment than I realized. Is it any wonder that the word “fidelity” applies equally to love and music? Thanks to the compact disc I not only found myself spending twice as much for music than I was used to spending on tapes, but also having to re-buy albums on disc that I already owned on tape. Who says money can’t buy you love?
As far as college goes, that time in my life was all about experimentation: reggae, jam bands, alt rock…you name it, I listened to it. I was just trying to find myself. And what I found is that I’d be lost without music. Music started to be more about the beat and less about the lyrical content, which was very odd (and luckily very fleeting). But it fit my lifestyle at the time. That may explain my decree that there really is a time and a place for any groove as long as you can drink cold beer to it.
Now that I’m married, I have a whole new appreciation for music. It’s sort of like my friend with benefits. Concerts have become acceptable affairs, with no repercussions. They bring me extreme pleasure. I mean there is absolutely no better feeling than discovering a band and finding out they’re coming in concert. It’s like meeting a hot girl and then realizing you actually have a chance with her. On the B-side of that record, is the feeling you get when you discover a band after they’ve broken up. Just knowing there’s absolutely no chance ever to see the band live, is the ultimate prick tease…no matter how hard you try, it ain’t gonna happen.
Yeah, I know I’m rambling. And I know this is a site to review bands, but the reason I am writing this is because for me it’s not merely about the bands, it’s about the music. Music’s always been there for me. And I finally understand why. It’s because I don’t listen to music, it listens to me.
