Of Melodies and Memories. Nostalgia at its Best!

Longevity is rare in music these days. Not only is it almost non existent with individual bands, but entire genre's of music seem to vanish into the "hallowed antiquities" of Playstation skateboarding games and music television sans reality shows. Those that listened to Black Flag in the late 70's became the ones that created Fugazi. Those that listened to Fugazi in the late 80's became the Promise Ring's, Jimmy Eat World's, and Weezer's of the mid 90's - sure, Weezer and Jimmy Eat World still tour today, but can one honestly compare the Red Album and Chasing the Light to the Blue Album and Clarity? - Hell, those who listened to Fugazi in the late 90's became the ones that created the Dismemberment Plan, Q and not U, and multiple other local DC punk bands.  Influence beget inspiration and music changed with the times; often quickly, sporadically, and to those who grew up listening to specific sounds, without reason or rhyme. As the music scenes changed, the listeners had to change with them trading in silver balled necklaces and cargo shorts for skinny jeans and spiked collars and then again into hoodies and vans slip ons. Those who had become enamored with a specific band or sound had to forget their fondest of frequencies and flirt with new fugues.

Often times, those that truly love a band or their songs also seem to love the time in which they discovered them. Those unfortunate few who recall with fondness Bryan Adam's "Summer of 69" really don't get taken back to the political turmoil, drug use, and sexual freedom of the 60's; but instead to the denim clad, neon clothed and fanny packed days of 1984. This tends to transform ones favorite songs into more than just musical arrangements, but time machines rife with nostalgia and laden with memories of the past; and any opportunity one has in experiencing those songs live bring back waves of reminiscence. I had the opportunity of such an experience when the Ataris, a late 90's pop punk band, came to Baltimore to play at the rather small but comfortingly honest Ottobar. The walls were covered with posters from past bands, the merch sold by members of the bands actually playing instead of roadies, and the beers local, refreshing, and cheap. The Ottobar seemed like the perfect venue for this once festival headlining band going back to its beginnings and the crowd, the perfect amalgam of twenty-somethings donning vans and hoodies once more for the music of their adolescence, fit the moment as well.

While looking around, those in the crowd seemed to be much like me. They all probably had to head home before coming to the show to change out of the button up, slacks, and tie of work into the more appropriate venue attire of blue jeans, band shirts, and beanies. They were the young working punk professionals of the day, hiding forearm tattoos with long sleeves at work but presenting their facial piercings with pride when not on the clock. The backs of hands were free of permanent marked X's and the bar packed with an audience legally capable of buying their drinks, and seasoned enough to understand the social significance of buying a beer instead of pregaming at home. The crowd was my first indication that I was amongst my own. Amongst the ones who had probably seen the band for the first time ten years ago when they had released the album Blue Skies and Broken Hearts, two albums before their break out So Long Astoria and three before their commercially unsuccessful Welcome the Night. They had come to see a slice of their teenage years on stage; cherishing the nostalgia and knowing full well that with every year of touring, the crowds get smaller and the likelihood of return seems less. The bands that played that night knew exactly what the crowd was there for. They mirrored the same sentiments towards what each performance meant with an exaltation that they are able to do what they loved to do most, in front of an audience that loved them for it. They were performing museums, showcasing the best and often funniest of our past - such as when big sideburns were gods gift to women - celebrating traditions long forgotten.

In the end, the reason we had all gone out that night did not dissapoint. Kris Roe, the first and now only founding member of the Ataris still playing under their name, stood on stage with an open and honest performance. Many of the songs he played were from their most popular album So Long Astoria, but Kris chose many of the gems from an album that got heavy radio play for its more pop sensible songs. There wasn't any Boys of the Summer, or Summer '79 but instead many songs that represented the mantra of the night. Each song played held in it a bitter sweet feeling that the lyrics somehow meant more now that we were old enough to experience them. Songs such as So Long Astoria and In This Diary, about growing up and leaving the comfortable behind, took on new meaning being sung by a man holding onto the last thing that made him happy. The rest of the set was songs from both albums that preceded their break out hit. They played many requests, closing with one I had personally asked for called Song 13. As Kris Roe stood up there for the last song, the old long bleach blonde hair now receded with a friar tuck bald spot, he admitted that he had not played this song for years, and that had by chance just started practicing it with his fellow bandmates - ones new to the Ataris for this tour. The show was by no account flawless, but it was amazing none the less. It was humbled and honest from a band that had seen many transformations and been through many line up changes. In the end, the show could only be summed up by the lyrics of one of their songs.

So Long Astoria
I found your map to buried treasure
and even if we go home empty handed
we'll still have our stories
of battle scars
Pirate ships and wounded hearts
Broken bones and all the best of friendships
And when this hourglass
has filtered out
its final grain of sand
Ill raise my glass to the memories we had
This is my wish, and im taking them back
Im taking them all back.

Hope to post again soon!

"And who's to say this isn't what happens?"

The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures
and instructions for dancing
But I
I love it when you read to me
And you
You can read me anything
The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb
But I
I love it when you sing to me
And you
You can sing me anything
The book of love is long and boring
And written very long ago
It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
And things we're all too young to know
But I
I love it when you give me things
And you
You ought to give me...


I know the info area of this blog makes it seem as if it is one heavily based on technological nuances of Apple products, and to those who have tuned in on the hopes of reading reviews on the latest line of ipods or consumer uses for rarely spoken of software I am deeply apologetic. In truth, this blog was created with the sole purpose of giving advice. Apples-a-day, if you will, to help combat whatever may ail one throughout his or her wanderings and the small tidbits of wisdom that I've picked up along the way. Now, there will be many a post devoted to my geeking out on new apple products, musical releases, attended concerts, art, food, and the like, but for today I shall deviate from the normal post. Many of these nuggets of knowledge are just thoughts being mulled over, and others - such as todays - at times fall from the sky as if through gravitational inspiration ( I promise the cheap Apple references and jokes will cease with time ). Whether it be the day or just the emotion passing through, todays post is about love. Cheesy I know, but few things inspire me to write, much less share those writings, more than its' idea and practice. So, for my first blog post ever, to love...


The lyrics above are from Peter Gabriels' rendition of the Magnetic Fields' "The Book of Love". He took a rather upbeat acoustic song, written by a group that was more known for their synth pop hits than love songs, and turned it into a rather mellowed and orchestral honest approach towards romance and courtship. Though lyrically identical, the difference in performance gives the song the perspective of one who is in love, one who has read this so called book and has found its' formulaic flaws. Instead of sounding as one bitterly raging against the books rules and suggestions, the song is made to sound as if there will always be more to love than can be written in a book, more to commitment than can be expressed to anyone outside of such an engagement. And Peter Gabriel is right.


There are no rules to love, no regulations on what to do, who to be, how to dance, and what to give. In the end love is about one thing; two people, and one would do well to keep it as simple as that. Maybe we should love blindly. Not blind to the glaring discrepancies in the characters of others, but with a blind optimism towards how grand each and every love can be. We are all meant to love without fear, with the candid exuberance of children, and there is no book that can teach one how to do that. In the end, love - like life - cannot be taught but must be experienced. We must love with a sense of reckless abandon or risk never truly living out life with love. So in the spirit of love...


"Who can tell me that my fantasy's won't come true? Just this once..."


Dream big people. Hope to post again soon!