But in reaction to this brush with my own mortality, I feel compelled to confess to something. It’s a shameful secret, something that has been gnawing at me for some time. But even now as I’m on the brink of telling all, the Radiohead I’m listening to right now seems to be shouting me (or angstily scolding, as is more their style) into silence. But if being close to becoming a dashboard novelty has taught me anything, it’s that above all you must be true to yourself! Well, that and if you’re going to head bang, do it more with your entire back folding forward, but that is not the point we are going to focus on right now. The truth will out me one day, might as well do it myself:
I enjoy the music group known as Train. I thought it was a fluke, that “Meet Virginia” was a one-time delightful bouquet of clever nonsense lyrics and a swingin tempo, but I’m afraid it’s much worse than that. The percentage of their tunes I find myself gleefully bopping along to unfortunately confirms that Train and I have a game show love connection we can’t deny. I know, I am way too cool-hipster-obscure-groove-reverence-for-the-classics to be this person!
And yet it remains. I like Train. Which if you look at it a certain way, it’s a pretty cool demonstration of the wonders of music—how personal an individual reaction can be, and how unpredictable what chord progression is going to sing in your bones and what epic classics are going to leave you saying “meh.”
Yes, I did just try that hard to make my fanness of Train cool and philosophically significant. And if you’re judging me or considering cutting me off as an acquaintance because of this revelation, consider two things: A) ever since I informed Pandora of my Train love it has clogged my station with all sorts of sentimental twangy crap. I believe that is sufficient penance, and B) that’s insanely lame of you to not be ok with what other people like.
Other confessions that have been crawling stealthily out of the suppressed area they were supposed to stay in: I appreciate Led Zeppelin but never listen to it for pleasure, I think Zac Effron was hot in Hairspray, I’m going to see “The Jonses” even though it looks pretty crazy lame solely because it has David Duchovny in it, I still know every word and musical cue for Alanis’ album “Jagged Little Pill,” I’ve read a Nicholas Sparks book or two—although now that he’s publicly stated that he’s a better novelist than Cormac McCarthy I solemnly swear to never read another—and I cried through the first twenty minutes of “Up” and at the end of the Glee episode when she sings the Rhianna song (she’s so sad!). There. Whew. That felt good. It isn’t even close to the amount of dirt I have on myself, but at least the load has been lightened. Marginally.
To conclude, let us focus on two songs I’ve been currently obsessed with: The Door’s “Hello, I Love You” and Velvet Underground’s “Rock and Roll.”
The Doors rock, even though I have to be in the mood for their more self-indulgent nine minute songs—not that I’m against those epic recordings as a strict rule, but because even the greatest musician in the world could learn from the three-minute pop song format. There’s a reason why The Beatle’s became gods of the earth with “Help!” and “She Loves You.” You gotta earn your “Revolution No. 9.” This means you, pretentious local bands. That’s awesome that you can turn your back on the audience and rock out without hitting anything discordant. No one cares.
The key point to “Rock and Roll” is the lyric when Jenny “couldn't believe what she heard at all. She started dancin' to that fine fine music—you know her life was saved by rock 'n' roll.” Does anybody else have that moment in their life when they really listened to rock and looked upon it and found that it was good? For me it was when Royden and Jeff were rocking out to “Foxy Lady” by Jimi Hendrix. I must have been about 12 or 13. And I couldn’t have told you it was Jimi singin’ to me, but I know we played that song eight or nine times straight, taking turns spinning and jamming on the slick hardwood floor in our kitchen to the gutsy guitar riffs.
And then I’m pretty sure Randy came in and was a complete buzzkill. But still, my life was changed by rock ‘n’ roll.
