Nostalgia, men, and their music

Neil Peart, Hall of Fame drummer for the rock band Rush, died on Tuesday at the age of 67.  Mr. Peart's passing sparked the desire to publish a post that had been steeping for months. Forgive any air of opportunism in the timing of this written number; I mean no disrespect.

On to the music...

Circa 1985

When I was but a wee girl, I remember hearing my brother's music blaring from his upstairs bedroom.  Why he had to play it so bloody loud, I'll never know. 

The Who, Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, and Rush were part of the heavy rotation. To this day, whenever I hear Tom Sawyer, Baba O'Reilly, or Roundabout I am teleported back to my childhood. I never appreciated the significance of the lyrics (sorry, brother) until decades later when, after quick determination that I was terrible Rock Band player, I was given the role of singer. 

"Hey, that's really good! Did you know that's what they were saying?!" Yes, Kim, yes. We did.  Yes, yes, yes, it's profound. You just lost us the game. Thanks a lot.

“But my dreams,

they aren't as empty,

As my conscience seems to be.

I have hours, only lonely.

My love is vengeance!

That's never free.”

- Behind Blue Eyes, The Who

The dating years

My first boyfriend was a classic rock fiend.  He had posters of Led Zepplin and The Doors plastered to his bedroom walls.  He loved The Beatles. 

I was always suspicious of his taste in music, one that I felt should have been reserved for someone much older*.  I suspect it had something to do with his parents who were, without a doubt, closet hippies. He couldn't be that cool.  Let's date him to find out.

That same 14-year-old boy took me to my first concert, The Bare Naked Ladies. Not half bad. To this day, I'm still a huge fan of the group.

My next serious boyfriend took me to my second concert, Me, Mom, and Morgentaler.  It was Halloween night, 1993.  I was a shy girl. He convinced me to wear full face makeup to the show because it would be "fun".  I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Needless to say,  the makeup and the music were early warning signs that things wouldn’t work out.  No, I don't want to be your friend.  I could give him credit for my eventual introduction and obsession with U2, but I refuse to give him credit. That one's all mine.

A special mention goes out to the guy I dated who lived and breathed reggae. I always appreciated his authenticity. Him sending me songs pre-date to set a chill vibe was a nice touch.

I once went out on a date with a handsome fellow who was a fan of the Pixies. Sure, I knew who they were but I wouldn't say I was a die-hard fan. Better to leave that fact for the second date. Coincidentally, while I was enjoying his company, an instrumental version of 'Where Is My Mind' started playing at the bar. We never made it to the second date—he turned out to be an arrogant asshole who only wanted to get in my pants—but that song will stay with me forever. It is, quite simply, exquisite.

Speaking of friends

I have my earliest male friends to thank for my love of Pearl Jam. I'll never forget the day one of them brought 'Ten' to the summer pool where we hung out. From then on, that album held a permanent spot in my 6-CD player.  The song 'Black' was incessantly on repeat, probably in an attempt to forget the beforementioned boyfriends.

Those same friends also liked L.L. Cool J. I can still see them air boxing while Momma Said Knock You Out played.

I'll never forget arguing with a Brownie that her taste in music would improve as she got older. That she, too, would learn to love The Who, and Depeche Mode, and INXS. She didn't seem convinced. Kids.

The decade of music

My longest relationship lasted 11 years.  A decade is plenty of time to have your musical world shaken. Ben Folds, Black Keys, Death Cab for Cutie, Modest Mouse, and The National are now cherished favourites. Many a memory comes attached to these bands' songs. For that, I will be forever grateful. I'm the luckiest girl for having been exposed to such poetic rock.

In return, I'll take credit for the fact that the man in question now appreciates U2 far more than he did before meeting me. How could he not be after seeing the Vertigo Tour live…from the floor...in Montreal. And then seeing them in London. I bought whatever Bono was selling at those concerts; so did he.

What's to come?

Dare I say country. If I guy can get me to listen to the country, he might be a keeper.

Or soul, R ‘n B, and jazz along with homemade cocktails.

What men and their music can offer us is heavy nostalgia, a connection to another time and place. What both have offered me is a chance at self-discovery. They’ve played a significant part in my coming-of-age story, pun intended.

When a love affair ends, when you lose track of friends, or when you're separated from your sibling by several timezones, there's always the music to help you remember.

x KM 

“What is a master but a master student? And if that's true, then there's a responsibility on you to keep getting better and to explore avenues of your profession.”

- Neil Peart

—P.S. Please enjoy a Spotify playlist inspired by the men from my life and their music. Remember that in order for artists to continue to produce the music we treasure, they need to be compensated. Think strongly about supporting musicians by buying a membership or, even better, buying their records directly.