The other day, on a whim, I grabbed one of my big binders of old cds and took it with me to work. Lugging the thing around on the Metro was kind of a pain, but it was so worth it. I spent most of the day spinning (is spinning still acceptable when they’re cds and not LPs?) my old punk rock favorites, quietly rocking out like the totally not lame government employee that I am.
Listening to old punk albums turned out to be quite…therapeutic, I guess. I spend a lot of time looking for new music and like to flatter myself as somewhat of a music connoisseur. But for all my supposed sophistication and discerning indie rock taste, dropping a Bad Religion disc into the player still brings me immediately back to Eagle Reception Hall, Rock Island Illinois, 1998. For me, that is where punk rock lives, and that is what a “scene” is all about.
Everything was so exciting! Being fifteen and walking up those stairs to the dingy second floor where the bands played (sans stage, of course), past old punks with weird tattoos and t-shirts smoking cigarettes, it felt so secretive and “other”, but at the same time like something that I could very much call my own and that was unmistakably cool. It was (and still is, thinking back) a rush.
The most evidently great thing about those shows, and punk rock in general, I think, was the feeling of…almost power that they imparted. The feeling that I could completely lose myself in what I was participating in—the people, the merch table, the running through the alleys—and the confidence that gave me, if only fleetingly.
I think a lot about the referential power of music—its ability to make me vividly recall a specific time period, usually the one in which I first got into a particular album. And going back and listening to recordings that have this property has always been rewarding beyond just the enjoyment of the music. But listening to old punk rock cds is different. Beyond referential, they have a sort of transformational power, both hearing them now and back when I first did, in a crowded makeshift venue or through my crappy bedroom speakers. It may be that I’m just giving in to nostalgia, but I like to think that I’ve managed to keep a little bit of that spirit with me in my “after-scene” life. Even if it now mainly manifests itself in yelling at politicians on the radio.
Anyway, I guess the point of this rambling trip down memory lane is that I highly recommend busting out your old albums and giving them a listen. It’s great for the aging psyche.
Disclaimer: if you used to have crappy taste in music, I can’t recommend the above actions. Please, just leave your old Smash Mouth cds where they are.
Leave them where they are? If, “Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me / I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed / She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb /
In the shape of an “L” on her forehead.” isn’t poetry; I don’t want to know what is.
[...] Pull out your old punk albums and wax poetic about how it makes you reconnect with your faded youth (then go buy some Smash Mouth [...]
[...] shows consisted of solo sets in between hardcore bands in the odd basement and make-shift venue (punk rock, blah blah blah. More here). Since then he’s really become his own man as an artist, and [...]