Nostalgia outfit

Over the past month or so, I've been suffering from an attack of acute nostalgia.  I don't know what brought it on.  Perhaps my mid-life crisis, which makes it hard to listen to songs from the 1990s?  Perhaps because the NYU students in my neighborhood (and yours) have been getting ready to graduate, and my heart goes out to them - their hopes, their futures, the unsteady job market that I hope does not thwart them. 

The 1990s were my prime, musically.  I was just out of college myself, and I had bought a Sinead O'Connor record and heard the rock, breathed it in, felt it come down over me like a veil.  I saw most of my heroes play live often - the Sineads, the Juliana Hatfields, the Jeff Buckleys, even the Morrisseys (what a strange phase that was).  Then I moved to San Francisco, and I discovered the used cd stores of the world, and was introduced to Barbara Manning and Lisa Germano, among others. 

Years passed, and my own catalog of songs grew.  I knew that one day I would record an album "just for fun," and that I would play songs with my imaginary band and take over the world.  Then, cold reality set in ... it's hard to make a record, and it's harder still to get people to come to see you play.  It's hard to imagine that you'll become a rock star when your songs consist mainly of homoerotic flourishes.  I put my rock star fantasies on hold.  By doing so, I became less and less interested in music (today I barely even listen to my headphones, and I don't even have a speaker for my computer at home).

But when I heard that That Dog was playing a show at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, I had to go.  I'd wanted to see That Dog perform for years.  They opened up for Weezer once in Los Angeles, and I flew in partly to see them, but Alia was pregnant then, and she stalled and stalled until finally I went to see them by myself, but just missed them.  Another time, in New York, they were opening up for the Amps and the Foo Fighters, but again Alia stalled and stalled and I missed them again.  Then they broke up.  I thought all was lost, and that I would never get my chance to hear those songs from "Retreat From the Sun" that I loved so much. 

Anyway, Zon and I went out to see them on Friday.  From the very first song, my heart sank, and I realized that they suck live.  The ladies were a little too cutesy for my taste, and Anna was using some jive open tuning for every song.  Still, I stayed to hear them play "Minneapolis," and it was awesome, even though Anna punted the solo.  I practically ran out of the Music Hall of Williamsburg after that. I was wearing a "nostalgic" outfit ... something I thought I might have worn in the 90s ... an "ironic" orange-red polo from Lacoste and a pair of grey Levi's, plus some Pumas (of course). 

I don't know when this current wave of nostalgia will end.  Usually, my method of keeping nostalgia at bay is to have sex with one different NYU student per year, just to prove that I've still got it.  I sort of did the same thing this month, though it was disastrous, life-altering sex that I wish I could take back for his sake.  But then, this show, and a different sort of temporary salvation.  For one magical night at the Music Hall of Williamsburg, a band named That Dog cured me of my regret and poignant, bittersweet sorry - just by making me realize that I missed nothing - nothing! - by not seeing them 15 years ago.

V-neck tee

I love the singer Jeff Buckley, and, as an homage to him, I started wearing simple white v-neck tee-shirts years ago. Perhaps this is the same tee I began wearing years ago, as it is long past "white," to be frank, veering into yellowish-grey territory.

Once I saw Jeff Buckley during one of my blistering daily runs around NYC. He was standing outside of the Bottom Line, actually, and he watched me approach, giving me "the eye." I didn't think too much of this - I knew he was straight, but that he was an awful flirt. I ran past him without a backward glance, though inside I was all a-flutter. That will show you! I thought.

The next time I saw Jeff Buckley, he was on what I later learned was his first date with real-life disaster Courtney Love. They walked out of some theater, and the paparazzi yelled, "Courtney!" I yelled, "Jeff!" and he flinched, startled. I think he thought I was a photographer trying to get him to look into my camera. My friend Justin told me later that he was so freaked out by his date with Courtney Love, he immediately got on a plane to Europe. (Ah, to be able to get on a plane to Europe when freaked out ... )

The next time I saw Jeff Buckley, I was at a Dark Carnival show at Coney Island High. The singer, Niagara, had just pushed a girl (her opening act, in fact!) off the stage, saying "go, b**ch! You tell 'em b**ch! You've got the prettiest hair in town, but you got f**ked!" (The opening act had just hijacked Niagara's microphone, and revealed to the audience that she hadn't gotten paid for playing the opening set). I started laughing soooo uncontrollably. But the pushed girl later got even with me - she threw me and my friend Alia out of the Beauty Bar because my friend didn't have her ID. Was she making the sign of Satan while she did it? She should have been. And then she married one of the guys from H2O and moved out to New Jersey.

Anyway, Jeff Buckley was in the audience at the Dark Carnival show, and as I watched him watching what was among the most guitar-heavy shows I have ever witnessed, I could see the rock come down over him, and I predicted that his next record would be rockin'. Sure enough, it rocked. But he was gone by then.

When I read that Jeff Buckley had died while swimming in Memphis, I called up Alia in Los Angeles. She said that he was now singing in the "big riverboat in the sky." Do you see what she did there? She alluded to Memphis' rich musical riverboat history in her evil response. Even in her meanness, there was a sparkling sense of play and joy.

I still listen to "Vancouver" and "Morning Theft" at least once a week, and even now, the rock still comes down over me. Rock may break your heart, but it will never die.