The Wonder Years
I found a box full of old cassette tapes the other day. It was like digging up a long-hidden treasure chest.
Most of them were indie Christian rock bands from the early to mid-90's, like The Prayer Chain, Hoi Polloi, The Throes, Deitiphobia, Lost Dogs, Dead Artists Syndrome, Mortal, Poor Old Lu... You've probably never heard of most of them... or all of them. But I can tell you they still stand the test of time as far as good rock n' roll goes.
Cassette tapes. When was the last time you listened to one? I don't own a tape player anymore. My last one was a Walkman, and it broke the other day in a hysterical fit when I spilled some water on my favorite books. Do they even sell them anymore? I don't remember seeing them in the mall or at Best Buy the last times I went there. Phased completely out of existence... like the 8-track got phased out around '86, '87...
And listening to these bands brings me back to a comfortable, safe (tho adventurous), time in my life... High school... Those three and a half years of Christian camps, trips to Gatlinburg, lock-ins, concerts, youth group functions... Or swapping band names during late night coffee melees at the Frontier House.
Somewhere around my sophomore year, four of my high school friends started a rock band called The Sullivans. Dave Phillips played acoustic guitar and sang, Jamie Smith played drums, Jim Barnett played electric guitar, and Adam Newport played bass. I met Jim and Adam in my Art I class earlier in the year. Adam Newport came from the outskirts of an underdeveloped town north of Dayton, Tennessee, called Spring City. He had a thick drawl and he moved with the slow yet smooth precision of Southern gentlemen. But he had a keen mind for art and music, and he excelled at both. Naturally, being a bassist, he loved Primus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a lot of jazz-funk. Jim Barnett, on the other hand, was, and still is, hard to describe. He came from that pseudo-Brit stalk, obsessed with The Cure, The Smiths, New Order, Joy Divsion, Bauhaus, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, U2, Suede... He loved artists like Robert Crumb, Tim Burton, and Edward Gorey. And yet he wasn't Goth at all (Goth, as it's now known, hadn't quite set in until my junior summer). He had more of a glam-punk feel... Mod hair and thick black Buddy Holly glasses. It's hard to describe Jim without pigeonholing him, and I blame that on my lack of descriptive skills.
The point is, my friendship with these two led into a whole new aspect of my high school life; that is, rock n' roll. Albeit Christian rock. Or at least rock n' roll made by Christians. Whatever. Some of the bandmembers were Christian, some weren't, which wasn't so uncommon in a Southern town.
The time was ripe for "Christian" rock and roll. A brand new indie music label, Tooth & Nail Records, came out of nowhere, putting out one amazing record after another. Pretty soon everybody was gobbling up copies of Starflyer 59, Luxury, MxPx, Unashamed, Mike Knott, Blenderhead, Plankeye, and every single hardcore band ever released, ever.
And then came the First Dayton Renaissance, the initial wave of bands that popped up after the spear-head of The Sullivans. And these forces combined with a handful of bands from Hamilton County; pretty soon we were all taking car-pool trips to the Metro Cafe in downtown Chattanooga every other weekend.
Almost ten years later, the Metro's come and gone. Now it's a bar or dance club or something... I can't remember anymore. It's been renovated too may times, and I've been gone too long. Funny thing is, though... they built a Chili's directly across the street from where the Metro used to be, there on Market Street. I mean, directly across the street. I was among the first crew of servers to open that restaurant, back in 2003. It used to be a parking lot. And I can remember that parking lot clearly. All of us underclassman would be shivering in Dave Phillip's car, waiting for him to stop stop talking to the cluster of young girls surrounding him and get his ass into the car so we could leave at the end of the night (all of our parents -- and grandparents -- were worried).
The first couple of times I went to the Metro, I musta been fifteen, sixteen... it was magical. It was cold... and it was nighttime. Everywhere there were lights, and they sparkled. I was far, far from home... the farthest I'd ever been without an adult... And we were in the city... Everything looked bigger, faster, brighter... On a slightly grander scale. This was downtown Chattanooga, you know, not Atlanta or New York City or anything.
The First Renaissance lasted from mid-'96 to early-'99. I call it the First Renaissance because I feel like there's something brewing in the 423 area again and I can only wish I was there to fan the flame.
...
In '97, my oldest best friend, Steve Sapp, and I, took a weekend off to go see Joy Electric (my all-time favorite band, ever) in Memphis. We had to cajole, and then beg, his mother to let us use her truck... Finally she capitulated and let us have it, but on one insane condition: we had to locate a spare tire for the truck in case one of them blew out on the way there. So we scurried back and forth across Dayton looking for a place that would sell us a tire for less than $20... but that attempt was laughable. Through some fortunate twist of luck, however, a gentleman at the Frontier House overheard us rueing over our situation (we throught we weren't going to go, so we'd stopped for coffee) and he offered us the use of his spare tire. He had the same model truck as Steve's mom, and he said we could use the spare as long as we brought it back to the Frontier House when we were done with it. The trip was on.
We drove all that night and slept in a hotel in Nashville under the names General Duke and Lt. Cmdr. Wallace or something juvenile like that (we heard somewhere that you could check into hotels under false names). The only room available was a three-bedroom suite, so we both woke up twice in the night to switch beds -- to get our full money's worth (no, we didn't sleep in the same bed, we alternated, one in each bed, and we switched twice.) We also stole the shampoo, the soap, the towels, even the little toothbrushes.
The next day was pure hell. The truck's engine was close to over-heating, so we had to ride with the heat on full blast, with only the windows rolled down to let in the dry Tennessee summer wind. We were drenched in sweat the whole way there.
When we finally arrived, the venue was in the basement of a church. Roughly fifty or sixty kids had shown up. It was the first time I'd ever seen Joy Electric live, and he was, and still is, my music hero, so I was awestruck.
I had to go to the bathroom before the show, and while I was standing in front of the john, Ronnie Martin, who is basically Joy Electric (it's a one-man gig) walked in and stood at the john next to me. I started to panic. There he was... my hero. Taking a leak right beside me. I thought about striking up a conversation with him, but decided against it. It would've been a little awkward for him, I guess, talking to a rabid fan while taking a leak in a bathroom stall.
He threw a killer show that night, and to this day I remember every song, every sound. I think I bought over a hundred bucks of merch from him after the set.
I saw him again last year, but it wasn't the same. I think some of the adventurousness and exuberance of youth has left me. He still sounded fantasic, though, almost ten years later.
...
Flash forward to today. March, 2005. I'm in Ohio with my sister; I still haven't graduated; I'm still serving tables. Adam Newport still lives at home in Spring City. I can't remember what he's doing for a job, but it's I'm pretty sure it's lucrative. And he's got another band going, The Radiofix. After a harrowing couple of years, Jim Barnett's settled down with a wife and five-year-old child. He still dabbles in music, and he's still an amazing artist. Right before moving away last year, he showed me some of his artwork, and I couldn't believe he actually drew them. They were beyond mind-blowing. I chanced upon Dave Phillips one day a year and a half ago while working at the aforementioned Chili's. He was sitting at the bar reading some 12-year-old kid's fantasy novel. (I mean, literally, a 12-year-old had written a fantasy novel and got it published. I can't remember the name of it.) He came over that night to hang out, but the night quickly took a bad turn when my ex-neighbor and his old girl-interest, Maria, showed up. I haven't seen or spoken to him since. I can only imagine what he's told people about me.
I can look back now, over the course of a decade, and see where these people have affected me. I can see, now, the intricate web -- the pattern -- that they've made, weaving in and out of my life. I can see, now, where their influence has touched something off in me, and where those influences eventually led. I wonder who I'll meet next, and where it will lead me.
Enough rambling and reminiscing.
Most of them were indie Christian rock bands from the early to mid-90's, like The Prayer Chain, Hoi Polloi, The Throes, Deitiphobia, Lost Dogs, Dead Artists Syndrome, Mortal, Poor Old Lu... You've probably never heard of most of them... or all of them. But I can tell you they still stand the test of time as far as good rock n' roll goes.
Cassette tapes. When was the last time you listened to one? I don't own a tape player anymore. My last one was a Walkman, and it broke the other day in a hysterical fit when I spilled some water on my favorite books. Do they even sell them anymore? I don't remember seeing them in the mall or at Best Buy the last times I went there. Phased completely out of existence... like the 8-track got phased out around '86, '87...
And listening to these bands brings me back to a comfortable, safe (tho adventurous), time in my life... High school... Those three and a half years of Christian camps, trips to Gatlinburg, lock-ins, concerts, youth group functions... Or swapping band names during late night coffee melees at the Frontier House.
Somewhere around my sophomore year, four of my high school friends started a rock band called The Sullivans. Dave Phillips played acoustic guitar and sang, Jamie Smith played drums, Jim Barnett played electric guitar, and Adam Newport played bass. I met Jim and Adam in my Art I class earlier in the year. Adam Newport came from the outskirts of an underdeveloped town north of Dayton, Tennessee, called Spring City. He had a thick drawl and he moved with the slow yet smooth precision of Southern gentlemen. But he had a keen mind for art and music, and he excelled at both. Naturally, being a bassist, he loved Primus, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and a lot of jazz-funk. Jim Barnett, on the other hand, was, and still is, hard to describe. He came from that pseudo-Brit stalk, obsessed with The Cure, The Smiths, New Order, Joy Divsion, Bauhaus, Depeche Mode, David Bowie, U2, Suede... He loved artists like Robert Crumb, Tim Burton, and Edward Gorey. And yet he wasn't Goth at all (Goth, as it's now known, hadn't quite set in until my junior summer). He had more of a glam-punk feel... Mod hair and thick black Buddy Holly glasses. It's hard to describe Jim without pigeonholing him, and I blame that on my lack of descriptive skills.
The point is, my friendship with these two led into a whole new aspect of my high school life; that is, rock n' roll. Albeit Christian rock. Or at least rock n' roll made by Christians. Whatever. Some of the bandmembers were Christian, some weren't, which wasn't so uncommon in a Southern town.
The time was ripe for "Christian" rock and roll. A brand new indie music label, Tooth & Nail Records, came out of nowhere, putting out one amazing record after another. Pretty soon everybody was gobbling up copies of Starflyer 59, Luxury, MxPx, Unashamed, Mike Knott, Blenderhead, Plankeye, and every single hardcore band ever released, ever.
And then came the First Dayton Renaissance, the initial wave of bands that popped up after the spear-head of The Sullivans. And these forces combined with a handful of bands from Hamilton County; pretty soon we were all taking car-pool trips to the Metro Cafe in downtown Chattanooga every other weekend.
Almost ten years later, the Metro's come and gone. Now it's a bar or dance club or something... I can't remember anymore. It's been renovated too may times, and I've been gone too long. Funny thing is, though... they built a Chili's directly across the street from where the Metro used to be, there on Market Street. I mean, directly across the street. I was among the first crew of servers to open that restaurant, back in 2003. It used to be a parking lot. And I can remember that parking lot clearly. All of us underclassman would be shivering in Dave Phillip's car, waiting for him to stop stop talking to the cluster of young girls surrounding him and get his ass into the car so we could leave at the end of the night (all of our parents -- and grandparents -- were worried).
The first couple of times I went to the Metro, I musta been fifteen, sixteen... it was magical. It was cold... and it was nighttime. Everywhere there were lights, and they sparkled. I was far, far from home... the farthest I'd ever been without an adult... And we were in the city... Everything looked bigger, faster, brighter... On a slightly grander scale. This was downtown Chattanooga, you know, not Atlanta or New York City or anything.
The First Renaissance lasted from mid-'96 to early-'99. I call it the First Renaissance because I feel like there's something brewing in the 423 area again and I can only wish I was there to fan the flame.
...
In '97, my oldest best friend, Steve Sapp, and I, took a weekend off to go see Joy Electric (my all-time favorite band, ever) in Memphis. We had to cajole, and then beg, his mother to let us use her truck... Finally she capitulated and let us have it, but on one insane condition: we had to locate a spare tire for the truck in case one of them blew out on the way there. So we scurried back and forth across Dayton looking for a place that would sell us a tire for less than $20... but that attempt was laughable. Through some fortunate twist of luck, however, a gentleman at the Frontier House overheard us rueing over our situation (we throught we weren't going to go, so we'd stopped for coffee) and he offered us the use of his spare tire. He had the same model truck as Steve's mom, and he said we could use the spare as long as we brought it back to the Frontier House when we were done with it. The trip was on.
We drove all that night and slept in a hotel in Nashville under the names General Duke and Lt. Cmdr. Wallace or something juvenile like that (we heard somewhere that you could check into hotels under false names). The only room available was a three-bedroom suite, so we both woke up twice in the night to switch beds -- to get our full money's worth (no, we didn't sleep in the same bed, we alternated, one in each bed, and we switched twice.) We also stole the shampoo, the soap, the towels, even the little toothbrushes.
The next day was pure hell. The truck's engine was close to over-heating, so we had to ride with the heat on full blast, with only the windows rolled down to let in the dry Tennessee summer wind. We were drenched in sweat the whole way there.
When we finally arrived, the venue was in the basement of a church. Roughly fifty or sixty kids had shown up. It was the first time I'd ever seen Joy Electric live, and he was, and still is, my music hero, so I was awestruck.
I had to go to the bathroom before the show, and while I was standing in front of the john, Ronnie Martin, who is basically Joy Electric (it's a one-man gig) walked in and stood at the john next to me. I started to panic. There he was... my hero. Taking a leak right beside me. I thought about striking up a conversation with him, but decided against it. It would've been a little awkward for him, I guess, talking to a rabid fan while taking a leak in a bathroom stall.
He threw a killer show that night, and to this day I remember every song, every sound. I think I bought over a hundred bucks of merch from him after the set.
I saw him again last year, but it wasn't the same. I think some of the adventurousness and exuberance of youth has left me. He still sounded fantasic, though, almost ten years later.
...
Flash forward to today. March, 2005. I'm in Ohio with my sister; I still haven't graduated; I'm still serving tables. Adam Newport still lives at home in Spring City. I can't remember what he's doing for a job, but it's I'm pretty sure it's lucrative. And he's got another band going, The Radiofix. After a harrowing couple of years, Jim Barnett's settled down with a wife and five-year-old child. He still dabbles in music, and he's still an amazing artist. Right before moving away last year, he showed me some of his artwork, and I couldn't believe he actually drew them. They were beyond mind-blowing. I chanced upon Dave Phillips one day a year and a half ago while working at the aforementioned Chili's. He was sitting at the bar reading some 12-year-old kid's fantasy novel. (I mean, literally, a 12-year-old had written a fantasy novel and got it published. I can't remember the name of it.) He came over that night to hang out, but the night quickly took a bad turn when my ex-neighbor and his old girl-interest, Maria, showed up. I haven't seen or spoken to him since. I can only imagine what he's told people about me.
I can look back now, over the course of a decade, and see where these people have affected me. I can see, now, the intricate web -- the pattern -- that they've made, weaving in and out of my life. I can see, now, where their influence has touched something off in me, and where those influences eventually led. I wonder who I'll meet next, and where it will lead me.
Enough rambling and reminiscing.
posted by Billy at 12:57 PM
1 Comments:
bill! bill!! cheer up dude, the new batman movie will be out soon
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