Usually..usually I make my peace on Christmas Eve. I admit Christmas music isn’t so bad, consider the meaning of life, wish the earth was always as quiet as it is at 2ish in the morning. Every year is different though, and this year was no exception. This year I worked on Christmas so I didn’t have the option for a late night contemplation. I tried my hand at gingerbread this year, I tried my hand a lot of things truthfully. So instead of my usual forgiveness of the year’s faults, I write to you on Christmas Day, in the middle of a blackout. Granted it isn’t a total blackout because I’m writing to you with my laptop, but generally the house is without power, I’m freezing my ass off even under ten layers, and the gingerbread supply is running low. The yearly faults don’t weigh so heavily on me. They’re outweighed by the inexplicable and thrilling and minor amazements that occurred over the course of the year. Music meant something different to me. It was my way to cope with work, my way to accept love into my life, my way to laugh, my way to live, it was the soundtrack for travel and as always the muse for emotion. As I write this, the score from First Man plays loftily around me. It’s daring the lights to come back on and faintly wishing for it to stay dark forever. I’m thinking through the almost 90,000 (give or take) minutes of music I encountered this year. Ezra Furman in every car ride and on every walk and every late night and through tears and reconciliation. Volbeat on plane trips both short and long, to fall asleep, to drum along to, to share. Father John Misty my muse, the spark that lit every fire this year, the ear open to hear my deepest and darkest thoughts. Abba in the summer for dancing and late nights, and adventure, and freedom. Nathaniel Rateliff held one hand and Billy Joel held the other. Sufjan Stevens whispered sweet nothings in my left ear and Troye Sivan whispered them in my right. The Regrettes punched a whole through my snare drum. There was countless singles, a dozen scores, and few oldies that made their rounds every other week. Then there’s Color T.V. but if you know me, you know about them already. Right before the end of the road they released one last album. A little song called ‘Plaid’ was on the record. I remember the first time I heard “I don’t know what to do” over and over again, live, during that song. I never understood it more and I probably never will. I hear it now and I realize I’m more sure of myself, who I am, who I love, and where I’m going then I’ve ever been. I still don’t know what the hell to do for that matter, I’ll probably never really know what to do. I know in the dark we are safe, and in the light all if revealed which can be frightening. Maybe we should really be frightened of those afraid to look. There’s too much to be afraid of already. There’s also oceans, and beaches, and giant trees older than time, and nighttime drives, and cookies, and bubble baths, and lights you can see from space, and curvy roads, and cozy beds, and extra sprinkles and goodbye hugs, not to mention kisses, venues like pressure cookers, good bread, a millions of things yet to be done. That’s what I’ll leave next year for, for now I hope you found music to fuel your fire, and people to stroke it, and peace for kindling. Here’s to next year.
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Some dumbass once said, “The best things never last.” Is that an exact quote, who knows? I’m only guessing that someone of general importance said that and because of it, they’ve ensured nothing good can last forever, so they’re a dumbass. Maybe it’s sophomoric to start my first blog in thirteen(ish) years with that, but I’d be lying if I told you I was 100% confident in anything anymore. I can’t say where these writing are going and what their words might hold, today; let me tell you the story of my summer love affair.
Love at first sight, soul mates, that feeling that washes over you when you finally get something out of your teeth…these are all, powerful, emotional concepts. Hearing a band that is concurrent with every part of your soul for the first time, it’s better than all of those things combined. So that’s where this love begins, July 6th, 2018, at a local club, for $7. I knew I’d be hearing Color T.V. at this show, I had no idea they’d be hearing me. The connection was instantaneous when I heard ‘Spin Class’ for the first time. A thousand beautiful and exhilarating feelings rushed through me and I recognized immediately these guys weren’t the majority of musicians playing music just to play music. Every lyric was sincere and they meshed on stage as if they had been playing together for forty years. All of this occurred over the thirty minutes they played and it struck hardest because these guys were my age. Suffice to say I didn’t get the notion to go full Deadhead until I started listening to The Good Mountain ten minutes after the show ended. Night air was hitting me on the drive through side streets to get to In-n-Out and ‘Rosalita’ rushed through the speakers and I knew this band was more special than any I had ever heard. I told my sister I was going to go to all of their shows, and that was that. From that night till July 27th, The Good Mountain was on such heavy rotation I basically broke the wheel. Six songs over and over, until I learned all the words, until I sang the words in the shower, until I started getting mad all their songs weren’t available, until a house show on July 27th. By then ‘Karoshi’ was my favorite. I’d never been to a house show before and crippling anxiety was the string tying the fun balloon to my wrist. I didn’t know anyone, I didn’t bring anyone, and I felt instant regret as the onslaught of standing out hit me. Then I felt a creeping devastation. All of these people, people once again my age, with history, inside jokes, an awareness of each other. All of these kids crowded on an expensive porch in a gorgeous back yard while the bands were setting up, and me, watching it all. I did the best at small talk, and breathed a sigh of relief when Lunar Hand started. Then I fell in with three guys, who hopefully will forgive me for forgetting all of their names (if they ever read this), and it was easy to stand on the porch for a while because they accepted I was from out of nowhere and went with it. A bag with faulty sour patch kids can really bring people together. A blood moon rose when Color T.V. hit the porch, then a silent wave of panic came to shore. “Oh god what if they’re not as good? What if I don’t feel the same way? What if they don’t play my favorite?” A chord was struck and there came a thousand beautiful and exhilarating feelings all over again. Outdoor acoustics amplified the scream of “My swee-eet Rosalita” and every feeling of doubt ran for the hills when I heard “Spin Class” live for the second time. I can’t say the feeling of not belonging ever went away, of course I realized I would never truly become one with this group, but I wasn’t outside of anything either because I nodded my head along the same as everyone else. I left in a colder feeling, this time knowing how fleeting everything is, understanding “Cellars” a lot more than last time. Then it was an interlude of maximum volume and demanding everyone I know listen to Color T.V. Until September announced Color T.V.’s last ever show would be on the 21st. This dear reader is why I deemed this love as an affair, because it was all passion and it ended too soon. I’m lucky enough to say I didn’t have to miss their last show, and I’m lucky enough to say I didn’t go alone. From the day I found out until the 21st a sorrowful cloud hung over me and I started worrying I was building up the impending feelings too much. I was in state of grief over a band and no one fucking understood how I could be so upset. For once I wasn’t too late, for once a band understood exactly how I thought and exactly how I felt and I was going to have to witness the end. “It’s just a band, it’s just a band, it’s just a band.” It’s just a band but what if the feelings I have when I hear them live are never replicated or even close to reached. How will I stand it? Like everything in life I have to get over it eventually. Thoughts bounced all over my head about this band I’d fallen head over heels for. September 21st hit, and I was in that same club, the same one I saw them in for the first time, once again. Three bands played before them and my anticipation and the desire for the night to never end were dueling for my heart. There was Color T.V. at last, for the last time, and it was a thousand beautiful and exhilarating thoughts stinging me ever so slightly. People fell onto the stage during “Spin Class” and the power of voices screaming “My swee-eet Rosalita” was the loudest it could ever be. I clung to every feeling since every feeling was fleeting. I felt the crowd, as if it was a beating heart, breathing faster and faster until the finality kicked in. There was no riddle this time and at long last, they started playing “Cellars” and everyone understood that the end was upon us. It was bittersweet and brilliant and there was a crowd around me and even so I heard every word alone. When the song ended everyone held their breath, and the collective thought sprung out so fast it was tangible, “that can’t be the last song.” Thank god it wasn’t, they played a cover, in true Color T.V. fashion. “Soco Amaretto Lime” by Brand New and it was so real that I can’t describe the moment for you. I don’t know how to describe it for you. “Everybody wake up, wake up, it’s time to get down.” That last song was every moment I’d had with Color T.V. all summer, all in one moment, every feeling overcame me. A song all about never letting go as everyone had to let go together. I watched a grand amount of hugging and love afterwards, with someone, and with everyone, but all alone. There wasn’t a riddle, I didn’t hug anyone, but I watched and I knew that it was the only time in my life I would feel exactly how I was feeling. Then it was all over. When you feel like no one is helping you, when no one is listening to you, when the world is crumbling, when the future seems impossible to make it to, when every song is in one ear and out the other, you’ll know exactly how I’ve felt since August. I think the musical grief cocoon surrounding me prolonged the lifelessness in my writing. Maybe you haven’t felt these things or you have in different ways but I hope something is melting away the strain on your mind and heart because most days you can’t do anything more than breathe. I hope you find a band like Color T.V., I hope someone gives you their last two Almond Joys to help you feel a little more comfortable, I hope you find someone to listen with who may not understand your infatuation with this local band but listens anyway, I hope you can scream to their songs and dance to their songs and cry to their songs and smile along to them as well, I hope it lasts as long as it needs to. Color T.V. made me feel all of those things, most importantly they made me feel heard. Now they're gone and all I know for sure is that I was born to be a loser, and life’s a nasty mess. you can listen to The Good Mountain here |