On the eighth day of Gheorghemas, Big Gheorghe gave to me...Eight Chapters on Music in a Post That's Got Way Too Many Words in It, For Which I Apologize
Seven Books For Reading (Seriously)
Six Beers Worth Drinking
A fiiiiifth Golden Ring..... (please?)
Four Years of Marcus;
Three Scummers Picking;
Two albums to look forward to; and
A fat guy in a jerseySeveral other Gheorghies put together strong, concise posts about their musical favorites. I tried to do the same. I failed. I give up. I can no sooner distill my musical preferences to ten songs than dunk a basketball. All is not lost, though. In the course of trying and failing to make a list, I had an opportunity to stroll down melody’s memory lane. The result: something resembling an audio autobiography. To borrow a song title, here’s the Story of My Life in songs:
I've already written about the Chilis’ ‘BloodSugarSexMagik’ and its role in the soundtrack to my senior year. Music, place, and time come together for me when I hear that record. My fraternity house neighbor also introduced us (and through us, the world) to Nirvana that year. As is often the case, we were trendsetters. At some point this year (or perhaps the previous one), we started putting The Pogues’ ‘Fiesta’ on the CD player and destroying our fraternity rooms in impromptu mosh pits. Our gleeful stupidity was surpassed only by our ability to entertain ourselves.
Peter Gabriel’s ‘Solsbury Hill’ got played so much my senior year that we began to cringe when it came on the jukebox at the College Delly, but I still dig it.
Moved into a house in Arlington with Clarence and a fellow named Spoid and commenced (or continued, really) living in mostly squalid, and certainly less than healthy conditions. I wouldn’t trade that drunken, silly, stupid, generally female-repellent period of my life for just about anything. We got drunk and sang David Allen Coe at the top of our lungs. When we weren’t getting drunk and singing They Might Be Giants. Or getting drunk and watching Dumb ’n Dumber. And getting really drunk at Jimmy Buffett concerts and doing stuff that we can’t write about publicly, even in a place as obscure as G:TB.
I’ve always had a thing for female rock singers (see Kay Hanley, Tanya Donnelly, Delores O’Riordan, Susanna Hoffs, et al), but the genre seems to be exploding of late. Neko Case, St. Vincent, Jenny Lewis, the Dum Dum Girls, Haim, and CVHRCHES, to name just a few, get a lot of airtime in my house.
I posted this comment in the thread that accompanied Clarence’s Fest recap, “it's a bit hard to explain this, but being in new orleans really made me feel like a different person. it's like the usual laws of personal physics don't apply.”