I'm sitting in the Louisiana mid-day heat, melting to the vinyl seats of my parents' day-glow orange Vega - the one with the twice rebuilt engine, courtesy of my father. My family is beyond technologically challenged, so I'm outside listening to the radio. Waiting. Crickets play their own brand of music while I swat at flies with lazy flicks of my hand. Finally, the familiar strains of the tune I've been not so patiently waiting to hear come tumbling out of the speakers. The absolute joy I feel makes me want to both laugh and cry, all at once hysterical and calm. In the few seconds before the vocals come in I think to myself:
Tons of people are listening to this song at exactly this moment.
It's such an overwhelming thought, the feeling it evokes frightening in its intensity. The world seems so big and I feel so utterly small - a modern-day Thumbelina in a giant's world. Dissolving further into the seat, the contradictory emotions cascade through me, over me, under me, around me. My entire body tingles until I am nothing but the song.
The year is nineteen-eighty-one and I'm ten year's old. The song I've been waiting to hear is Rick Springfield's, "Jesse's Girl".
Mom: If you could remember your schoolwork as well as you can remember song lyrics you'd get straight A's.
I have a song for every occasion - at least one band for every mood. When I'm sad, there's Depeche Mode. Pissed off, Ministry or Nine Inch Nails. Affectionate and curly, Peter Murphy, Vertical Horizon, and Angie Aparo. Aggressive, I've got The Sisters of Mercy or Nitzer Ebb. If I'm happy, or want to be, just about anything from the eighties will do. Sometimes I'll choose one of the teen idols from when I was young. Leif Garrett looked hot with his scraggly blonde hair and tight leather pants. Now I think someone should have fed him.
An off-again period with my boyfriend. The DJ played Front 242's, "Don't Crash". A string of us owned the dance floor, our arms intertwined, almost rolling, tumbling with the music, each of us supporting the other. Moron came from behind the bar and danced next to me, his arm linked through mine. In spite of hurt feelings and anger, the song somehow brought friends and enemies together in a strange bond.
I swear I'll never date anyone I meet in a club, ever again!
Orlando, Florida. Early 1990's. Pigface concert. Jody and I drove up together. Alleviated boredom before the show by sticking our tongues down each other's throats. Laughed at people's reactions and ran to the bathroom. Discovered the red lipstick had exploded.
Songs I associate with people:
Stirfry - To the Moon and BackEsche - Kryptonite Rock Star - Love Somebody Daegan - Shake the Disease B.K.M - Any Menudo Song The other KP - A Rush and A Push and the Land is Ours T.L.K - As I Lay Me Down Tre - OneA.M.E. - Spaceship
Some people I'd like to forget - it's a shame to waste a great song on a crappy memory
8. Nik Fiend is the scariest looking human being. I swear he must be an addict. "I Walk the Line" is a favorite. Angry and addicting. I'm absorbed in the chaos (or does the chaos absorb me? Sometimes it's hard to tell), minding my own business, wrapped in the shroud. The next thing I know a friend literally plucks me out of the middle of the pit I hadn't even been aware of. By my neck.
You're going to get yourself killed.
I glare at him a throw myself back in the midst of my saving grace. There's no screwing with me when I'm dancing.
Dance Floor Respectable Street Café West Palm Beach, Florida Nine Inch Nail's "That's What I Get"
Big Mike: I just had to tell someone it would be detrimental to his health if he approached you.
Good ol' Mike. Always did keep an eye out for me.
I've always found it odd that a band can bring together people from all different walks of life. I may not have anything else in common with the person sitting next to me at a Depeche Mode show, but dammit, we have Depeche in common, and for a couple of hours that is enough. We sing the same lyrics to the same songs at the same time. We laugh, cry, holler for more, and leave with a sense of satisfaction, all without knowing what the other is about.
Twenty-six years have passed since that summer day. I'm amazed I still remember it. That I could experience such an astonishing reaction to music at such a young age is even more amazing. I think on it now and wonder how I could ever find the words to describe that day, describe how I actually felt at the time. I don't think I'll ever be able to adequately illustrate it.
