For a decade plus following college, I participated in an extended childhood, existing on the periphery of the music industry, close enough to see behind the curtain, yet not so involved to reap financial rewards that would have sullied the experience.
The time afforded me opportunities to do things and meet people that I would have thought unthinkable as a kid growing up in Sticksville, listening to music and devouring liner notes.
Sometimes I will escape the office and the mind-numbing engagement in capitalistic endeavors to enjoy tobacco.
I’ll set the iPod to shuffle and a song will pop up that will remind me of some cool experience that I’d almost forgotten.
A song by Richard Thompson shuffled up the other day and I suddenly recalled having lunch with the legendary guitarist. Afterwards, he took the small stage at the club and generously performed a handful of songs – including 1952 Vincent Black Lightning – for a dozen or so of us.
How does such a wonderous experience get lost in the shuffle and shoved into some corner of the mental attic?
It might not even have been the most memorable time that I’d spent in that club. Several years earlier, I’d had a chance to see Jeff Buckley perform there and, afterwards, share a drink with us, months before his acclaimed debut was released.
Sometimes I stop when a song reminds me of a chance I’ve had to interact with that artist and tried to imagine what I’d have thought as a fifteen- or sixteen-year old music junkie had I known of what was waiting for me.
We couldn’t even get cable.
So, here are four songs that shuffled up on the iPod for which I was able to draw on some personal experience with the artist…
John Prine – Ain’t Hurtin’ Nobody
from Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings (1995)
I hang my head as I confess that I am not as familiar with the catalog of John Prine as I – or as friends who are devotees of the acclaimed singer/songwriter – feel I should be.
I doubt that I knew more than a handful of songs by Prine when, because of my position as a buyer for a large record store, I was invited to his manager’s office to hear the then-forthcoming Lost Dogs & Mixed Blessings.
And, joining the half dozen or so of us for the listening session was John Prine.
(among our group was our receiving clerk, a surly malcontent who had been a road manager for several punk bands in the ‘80s, hated everything, and, yet, often told us that there were Prine songs that reduced him to tears)
I still haven’t explored much more of Prine’s catalog than I knew at the time, a situation that for the past fifteen years I have, despite good intentions, failed to rectify.
A Flock of Seagulls – Nightmares
from Listen (1983)
Long ago I recounted the night that I played pinball with the singer of the first band that I claimed as my own.
And, Nightmares is a nifty number by a band that most folks likely only know for I Ran.
Cheap Trick – A Place In France
from Sex, America, Cheap Trick (1996)
I love Cheap Trick and met them once. For a few brief seconds I thought that it might conclude with me getting my ass kicked by guitarist Rick Neilsen following a discussion of cigarettes and songwriter Diane Warren.
(it ended quite amicably)
As for A Place In France, the song appeared as a previously unreleased track on Cheap Trick’s box set, and though it won’t change your world, it’s a groovy, little rocker and not a bad way to spend four minutes.
The Beatles – Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?
from Anthology 3 (1996)
OK. I don’t have a story actually involving meeting any of The Beatles, but I’ve had near secondhand encounters.
One involved an English co-worker at a record store who may or may not have been tight with the Fabs – as well as Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, and The Stones – during the ’60s.
But years before, while in college, my dog’s vet was a friend of Paul McCartney.
(and how a vet in a small, Midwestern town becomes chums with a Beatle is another tale)
During the summer of ’89, McCartney was touring America for the first time in a decade plus following the release of Flowers In The Dirt. Meanwhile, I was studying abroad, ten-thousand miles from home.
And Doc had invited my girlfriend to accompany him to see Paul.
She had recently graduated and intended to decline the offer as she had just started a new job with a high-powered accounting firm.
“You have to go,” I told her from the other side of the world. “You can always get a new job, but this is the chance to meet a Beatle.”
She didn’t go.