It's 1994 or whatever and I'm feeling something. I sit at my desk, door closed, sun brightly coming through the closed curtains I just made. Against a backdrop of school work, drawings, passed notes and my friends clothes - man, if only I was older, I could be on my own doing exactly this. I look down at several plastic jewel cases, each one a key to exploring my life. Which do I choose: number, blurred, or completely fucking important?
I pick up and open completely fucking important, careful it remains undamaged; the thought of it not existing means I lose the comradery I just found. It was too precious and I couldn't let that happen. I gently pluck the round, pliable disc out its claw-toothed holder with a faint click. Punch open the cheap CD changer not worthy of playing any of this, but down goes the disc, P for freedom.
Without hesitation I was drawn. I parted the frayed opening of torn jeans,
revealing a secret world and I walked in, wearing nothing more than a thrift store
tshirt and a pair of dirty chucks.
The song that jarred the door to feeling understood begins, played as loud as my parents will allow on a Saturday afternoon. they still probably hated it. I jumped & twisted on the grey carpet, shaking my head up and down, just like the music videos showed me. My hands starting to perform some sort of rhythmic action... I knew how ridiculous I looked having no experience being graceful at a head bang, and being solo without a family to join me, but I finally connected to something way beyond my comprehension. I didn't have to understand why to know I fucking loved it. This was for me. always.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Last night we watched the Kurt Cobain documentary, Montage of Heck. Travus has spoken countless times about how the 90s is where his heart will always live. I couldn't disagree because mine does too. In both are minds, the 90s were simply the last decade. I graduated not that long ago, babydolls & docs are still kinda popular, and it's ok for me to sit on the floor in my room listening to this music over and over again. This film brought all of it rushing back, as if to remind me I must fully appreciate what we experienced. Reliving the past through the visualization of house parties, backyard shows, music, drugs, behaviors and friends. That was our lives. My life over 4 years. Every running frame on that flat TV was like a convex mirror surrounding my brain, reflecting where & how I grew up, just different faces staring back. A solitary image glimpses in my head of each girlfriend and I, with our
arms around each other, smiling at who we are, each a mess of awesome. I miss that. terribly.
oh god... I found my nostalgia face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Travis left for his comedy show, I went to the CD rack and ran my
fingers over the boat loads of lyrical memories from both his and my
intersecting lives. I thought back on how many years it took for him to feel comfortable with us combining our music - no joke. I didn't have many, but the few I had lived on separate shelves; we didn't co-mingle the past. I didn't care; made it easier to find mine actually... But at some point post-wedded bliss, it finally felt right. still makes me laugh though. But for any duplicate albums, I would tuck a sticky note inside the liner notes with the letter B... just in case. I recently went through those and peeled them off,
one by one, because silly. Except Nevermind. I couldn't. It was the embodiment of a turning point in my life that
isn't soon repeated. No sir-ee-bob, I wouldn't lose the actual physicality that took
me there.
I finally landed on our copies of Nevermind. his and hers. gross, I just got a toothache. I plucked both from their shelf plot and held one in each hand. Which was whose? I set them on the table and went liner note fishing. bam. Here she was, suddenly the same anticipating teenage girl ready to listen, experiencing emotions I still yet can't describe accurately. How do you not respect that?
I sit here at my laptop, 20 some years later, the backdrop updated but
familiar. The CD now spins inside this portable, metal computing machine, which if it eats my disc I'll rip it's guts out. Music still plays, clothes still unfolded, books books books, a puppy, and now our home. I'm combing the memory
banks for all that was once right in my life. Simple, but complicated
in the lamest sense. My age will never matter. I still feel like
I'm playing grownup...
Sure, Nirvana made alternative ok. Manufactured or not, it took a culture and shoved it into the oculars of every household. And for me, it could have been any band, really. It just happened to be
them. They unknowingly allowed millions of psyche's to start another
revolution of questioning the norm. And I wanted in. With fury, I started
listening to everything my parents hated or didn't consider country: grunge, alternative, psychedelia, punk, classical, nature
sounds, foreign, my friends screamo bands, the bargain LPs at Goodwill. I embraced The Ramones and NOFX, went to horribly overcrowded Guttermouth shows and generator parties. Tenaciously repeated the mixed tapes these dudes gave me till they were worn out, laughed when Blink added 182. Debated why The Smashing Pumpkins really only had one album and remained confused by why people liked Red Hot Chili Peppers. Got stoned to Oasis and tripped on Mazzy and wondered what IS Bob gonna do now that he can't drink? Sang awful renditions of Hole songs and crushed on Trent Reznor. Screw you normalcy, I won't concede! shakes fist.
For us absorbent teenagers in the coveted youth demographic though, that part of the 90s was way more than marketing. I needed the expressionism, not because it was popular, but because it moved me. It broke down what my parents dictated; the desire to feel more and think more and explore more and to know I wasn't alone. I was part of something huge and weird and special - I was hooked on a drip line of sounds and influence.
My life with Travis reopened that experience and I'm fucking grateful. I guess I was too busy or whatever, but I somehow missed Screaming Trees and Mudhoney, Radiohead and Faith No More. Kyuss, PJ Harvey, L7. Siouxsie and the Banshees, The Pixies and Sonic Youth. And like all the other ones your shouting at me right this very second. Luckily we have countless musicalories left on
MyDiscusPal to continue feasting. And because the 90s will only ever be a few years behind us, it calms me to know when we're grey and feeble, we'll sit together on the floor and air drum our way to the grave.
<3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I didn't know then how incredible that time was, but I kinda owe it everything.
I respect you oh great decade, for I shall never replace you.
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