I guess you could say it all started with my first boom box
and a Smash Mouth cd. My parents should have seen it coming. My sister did, but
she neglected to do anything about it. It started slow, as most things should,
but sure enough it has steadily grown to be the monument that it is today. I
think many of my good friends would tell a similar story: a story of inspiration,
realization, and embarrassment. These stories are distorted and cadenced, like
the poetry of the real world (ha! take that!). What is this story about?
Music. (I think)
It must be the case that it all started with that Smash
Mouth Cd playing on repeat in my room, because I don’t remember anything beforehand,
and if you don’t remember, it didn’t happen. Doesn’t everything start with Smash
Mouth? Just kidding. Sometimes it starts with Spice Girls, or Trout Fishing in
America. All the same, I had finally found my bag. I knew how to express myself.
Just in time, too. Hey now, I’m an all star. Soon after the Smash-Mouth-Month, my obsessive
love moved to Willennium, to The Dark Side of the Moon, to Road to Ruin, and
finally, with a bullet, to Dookie. Green day was exactly the distortion I
needed, and they didn’t need laser shows to get people to listen to their music.
Nothing could stop me now. I was the locomotive, crashing through your
sunflower field. I was the big cat, chasing you toward the strawberries of
sound. I had just discovered punk rock music.
I like to think that my first concert was Subhumans. It was
a Thursday toward the end of 7th grade, I think. They played in the
basement of a church (which would end up being my second home in the years to
come), opening for bands like The Virus, A Global Threat, and The Unseen. I
only saw half of the Subhumans set. I had to go home, it was a school night. But
I knew in an instant that this was only beginning. I would end up spending all
my Friday nights throwing myself at other sweaty teenagers and almost missing
the last train home. I bought a shirt that night, and I still wear it when I
know I won’t be making any first impressions. The collar is stretched, the side has holds, and the armpits would be stained if it wasn't black.
But, similar to the way ants slow down in water, over the years I
slowed down with the punk rock. It wasn’t nearly as abrupt as an ant
encountering water, but more like an ant stumbling upon a gradual drizzle turning into sun, and again
back to rain. Music like Sung Tongs, In an Aeroplane over the Sea, and
Apologies to the Queen Mary started appearing on my desk(top) next to The Day
the Country Died and Penis Envy. And, as it turns out, people don’t need to yell about the flaws of the government to get famous; some people just sing sweet little songs with words! My world was
being emptied like a piggy bank. Or rather, it was being filled up, like a
piggy bank. Each coin was a new song I liked a little too much. Or, each coin
was another Crass album I only listened to on the weekends. I like to think my
tastes became more sophisticated, or progressed, or shifted, or something, but
I was probably just tired of my parents complaining.
And now, in 2012, I like to call myself mature, or well on
my way to maturity at least. I like to think of myself as having accomplished a
certain level; beat a certain bowser. And I think I found out some sort of something
this year. There were lots of slow-down bumps and speed-up-a-lot bumps. I
brought in the New Year at a friends house with a surprising amount of old
familiar friends. There was the requisite puking friend (it has to be someone,
sorry dude), too much beer, and disposable cameras. Always. Must have the
cameras. There were passions and ineloquent goodbyes. I wrote a 317 page paper
that I think only four people have read the whole way through (thanks mom,
thanks dad). I drank my first cup of coffee, which I guess you could say is why
you are sitting here right now. I franticly craved ice water after ice cream
cones. I enjoyed my fair share of listlessness. I passed the scariest test of
my life, accepted the most important job of my life, and participated in an
extremely wavy fall full of rock climbing, neglect, beautiful leaves, and
effective (or not) communication.
So where is it,
Riley? What is it? Prove it, you say with the smirk on your face
I’ve seen before. “If you think you know so much, write about the urge to put
on shoes, or brown suits, or something.” I gave myself a few days to contemplate. How could I
possibly prove it to you? I couldn’t
even prove it to Sam Scoville, and he
knows all about it. Then it came to me.
A mixtape.
Duh. Here’s some of my 2012. Hold it near and dear. Sorry about the length, there was so many songs I needed to fit, some of which are repeats of past mixtapes.
Happy Holidays, friends.
Riley.
Happy Holidays to you too sir, I do hope you continue to post through the Christmastime. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteYou know it!
Delete