Month: February 2016

Hurt

This song embodies so much I love in music. Written by one of my favorite artists, Trent is at his most tender and exposed here. Which doesn’t stop him from also writing a stellar example of what crescendocore could be. It’s tailor-made for Cash, with all the similarities in their paths through life, addiction, and music. More than anything, it manages to be a beautiful tribute to his life with June.

I would find a way.

The View

I was late to the Modest Mouse party; I didn’t hear them until Good News… and despite instantly loving it didn’t actually go ahead and buy their albums until 10 years after that. By which point there was an entire catalogue to get into at once and I could, if I so chose, dive into the great early/later, Marr/no-Marr, indie/commercial debates about each and every album.

Since they’re one of only three new bands I’ve “discovered” in the 21st century, I was one of the not-that-many people to buy their latest album. (And then one of even fewer, I imagine, who tried to return it to Amazon because “this thing is so dull I don’t even want it in my house.”) Having done so, I was reminded of the energy, emotion, and (dare I say it) poignancy of the older stuff.

Listening to this album, I think of my friends. All of my friends, in all the various parts of my life, and almost uniformly I can imagine them relating. That’s almost certainly a fantasy and half those people probably hate Modest Mouse.

Looking back at the motley assemblage of people I love, I see a lot of rocky roads and twisting poorly-lit paths. But we made it. We’re here, we’re living in the suburbs, we’re making music and art, we’re giving our kids what we needed, and we chose well when we chose each other.

At this, the dawn of the second half of my life, I realize more than ever that there’s something incredibly special about the first people outside your family who loved you. Who saw your value. To them I say back, I see your value. Still.

Rastabilly

My high school friends have been scanning and sharing old photos and it’s making me nostalgic. For the skate ramps in driveways, the pastel-colored clothing, and the music. I still pull out The Dead Milkmen tapes every once in a while and it’s still as good as ever.

Or it just makes me feel 15 again, which was a good year, all told. I still remember the day I learned Dave took his own life: I walked into the coop in the basement of the UMD student union in a state of shock and I think the kids working there might have been the only other people on campus who cared by 2004.

So this one goes out to all my pals from our tiny town. You’re still a heckuva friend.