#1: Tom Waits - Bone Machine
- Spoiler: show
- My first introduction to Tom Waits came by way of movie soundtracks. The Fall of Troy and Walk Away were songs included on the Dead Man Walking Soundtrack; those were the first two Tom Waits tracks I remember hearing and I was lukewarm on both of them (though, I liked Walk Away significantly more and even included that on a couple of mix-tapes back in the day).
Then in 2000, the film Keeping the Faith featured Waits' song Please Call Me Baby, which I loved! It became one of my all time favorite songs from a film soundtrack and I put that on a ton of different mixes over the years.
A year later Tori Amos released a covers album called Strange Little Girls. The best track (hands down) was her version of Waits' Time. Her version is breathtaking and arresting. Still, to this day, it's one of my favorite covers. I remember wanting to track down the original version but I was apprehensive, uncertain that it could possibly be as powerful as Tori's version.
Later that same year (2001) I was at my grandparent's house in Kentucky and my grandfather and I got to talking about music, as we tend to do. After debating the virtues of Vince Gill for the better part of an hour my grandfather switched gears to "something I might really like." That's when he asked if I'd ever listened to Leonard Cohen. I told him no but that I'd been meaning to ever since hearing Jeff Buckley's cover of Hallelujah. Then he said, "What about Tom Waits?" I told him I knew like three songs but that was it. So (Ralph Kats being the hippest grandpa of all time) he gave me two burned CD's: one was Leonard Cohen's The Future an the other was Tom Waits' Mule Variations.
Somewhere between that exchange and 2010 (when I started posting regularly on RM), my friend Eric kept talking about this album called Rain Dogs and how it was the greatest album he'd ever heard. I said I didn't know it. Then he said, "How the fuck do you know Tom Waits but you don't know Rain Dogs." I confessed that I knew OF Tom Waits but I was certainly not a fan. I'd given Mule Variations a spin when grandpa first gave it to me, and it was fine, but nothing I wanted to listen to really. I liked a few of the songs but it was a difficult listen; I mean that voice! Yikes! Eric got mad, totally flipped out on me, and drove me over to Best Buy where he made me purchase Rain Dogs. I took it home and listened to it (by myself, Eric had to get to work). It was... not my cup of tea. At the time I didn't much care for Mule Variations but I fucking hated Rain Dogs. What a mess of an album! The one bright spot was that I finally got to hear the original version of Time... but sadly I was heartbroken to discover that it wasn't anywhere near as good as Tori's cover (I have since completely changed my mind on this). The whole thing was a giant let down and I couldn't get past that booze soaked gravel voice and oddball musical arrangements.
Jump to 2010. I'm on RM, like, A LOT. I start getting wrapped up in the Tom Waits thread. Many of my favorite posters, people I really respect and share a lot in common with, are huge Tom Waits fans and I want to appreciate him on their level. I want to finally "get" Tom Waits, whatever it took. So, I start over. I put on Rain Dogs first. It's a record I hadn't given a second thought to in years. But now I was able to discuss and dissect the record with people who are huge fans with deep knowledge and passion. Plus, my tastes have shifted significantly and I've expanded my musical exposure. Slowly, things start to click and I begin to really dig Rain Dogs.
It's through the Tom Waits thread on RM that I begin my deep dive. Different people recommend different Waits records for me to move onto. Bone Machine is the fourth Tom Waits record that I listen and digest. It quickly becomes my all time favorite album. The music is simultaneously unlike anything I've ever heard and completely familiar. It evokes all kinds of strange emotions and mental pictures and it inspires me in exciting new ways. And still, even now, every time I listen to it, I'm blown away by how fantastic the record is. It always feels new and dangerous. It's a constant thrill that always exceeds expectations and reveals new truths.
#2: Pearl Jam - Vitalogy
- Spoiler: show
- I wasn't a Pearl Jam fan from day one. Of course, like all kids in the early 90s, I had MTV and I watched it with fervor and an unhealthy level of addiction that only prepubescent boys can fully understand. I knew Even Flow, Alive and of course (the ubiquitous) Jeremy. My friends were huge Pearl Jam fans. But my mother hated them and made fun of Ed's trademark hurr-durring mumble-growl. I was eleven so I trusted my parents and their taste. Guys, I was a fucking Eagles fan! Pearl Jam was super uninteresting to me.
In 1993 Vs dropped. I was 13 and my best friend, Travis, had gotten me a copy of Ten on cassette. I loved the record (especially Black, Release and Once; all early favorites) but I wasn't ready to commit to the band. My past was riddled with too many unfortunate examples of bands who had one great debut album but then turned out turds as follow-ups. So, in October of 1993, I went over to my dear friend Adam's house. He had Vs on CD. I wanted to hear it before I bought it and he was dying to share it with me. It blew me away. I was officially hooked, ready to tattoo die-hard status on my skin.
Now, in 1994 I was eagerly awaiting Pearl Jam's third LP, Vitalogy. I remember when Spin the Black Circle (the album's lead "single") dropped. I had to go to school so I put my stereo on my favorite local rock station and put a tape in the deck. I hit record, hoping that I'd catch the drop if I just let the thing run. When I got home from school I had a two hour tape waiting for me. I had to wade through a ton of nonsense but I finally got to the premiere of the newest Pearl Jam song. I liked it. But I didn't love it. Okay, so fine. I was not detoured. I was still excited. As we all know now, Pearl Jam didn't want to release official singles for the record at first. As a result radio stations dropped whatever song they wanted after StBC. As a result, before Vitalogy dropped, I'd heard StBC, Corduroy, Nothingman and Better Man. The latter of which I heard in my parents car as we drove from Kansas to Kentucky to spend Thanksgiving at my grandparent's house. I had my headphones (I was listening to Garth Brooks' incredible In Pieces record) and my mom tapped me and told me there was a new Pearl Jam song on the radio. I dropped my headphones and Dad cranked the volume. All three of us really loved the song. It's amazing how much my parents turned around on Pearl Jam after I started to get into Nirvana. But that's a much different and longer story.
ANYWAY... cut to February of 1995. Vitalogy had been out for about three months. I still hadn't had a chance to pick it up, tough. One night, my mom said, "Hey, we haven't hung out in a while. How about I take you to the mall and you can buy whatever you want?" I was thrilled! The thing I had her buy me was Vitalogy, on CD. I was SO pumped. We stopped off at Baskin Robbins on the way home. I flipped through the liner notes as mom picked up a couple of cones. We sat at a cold table by the fogged window.
Then she dropped the hammer. "So, have you had sex?" She asked me. Out of fucking nowhere. I was shocked. I was still 14 (I'd be 15 in April) and my girlfriend at the time was two years older than me. Yes, we'd become sexually active. But we weren't fucking advertising it! I told my mom no, said she was crazy. She said, "Oh, okay, because I found this in your jeans." She pulled a note from her pocket. It was a note my girlfriend had written me and passed me in school. It was extremely sexually graphic. There was a lot of "I can't wait to have you inside me" type stuff in it. I read the entire note, debating in my mind what lie I could tell. I considered making up something about how it was a fake letter that I left in the laundry intentionally as a way to trap my Mom, as evidence that I KNEW she was spying and digging through my stuff and violating my privacy.
In the end I decided to tell the truth. I admitted to my mom that her 14 year old son was indeed having sex with this 16 year old girlfriend. As an aside: it was also the day I vowed to learn to do my own fucking laundry. We talked for about an hour. When I got home I didn't even want to listen to Vitalogy. I spun it in the morning, laying in bed, letting my head spin. I hated the record. But that probably had more to do with how I felt about being "caught" than anything else. It was years before I was able to fully appreciate the album and not feel embarrassed and attacked while listening to it.
#3:
The Beatles - The Beatles (The White Album)
Growing up, The Beatles were always around. There was no beginning or introduction to their music. It was just always there. My parents were pretty big classic rock and folk music fans -- Dad especially. My father was in a band when he was younger, he played trumpet. He would often brag about his biggest (and only) "claim to fame": his band trounced REO Speedwagon twice in battle of the bands contests in and around Champagne, Illinois. So, Zepplin, The Beatles, The Eagles, CSN, The Moody Blues, Harry Chapin, Elton John; these artists formed the foundation of my musical experience and taste because they were all I listened to until I turned 10 years old and got SUPER into Paula Abdul. It was all downhill from there.
Abbey Road was the Beatles album my parents played most often. However, they sprinkled in some stuff from
The White Album and
Let It Be from time to time. When the Beatles
One Compilation dropped in 2000, it entered into heavy rotation. And of course it wasn't just around my house. The Beatles' music was omnipresent in American culture. They were everywhere, all the time.
I met Nina Witt at Johnson County Community College. She was then and continues to be one of my best friends, one of the singularly outstanding people I've ever known. She's amazing. I even asked if she'd be my "Best Man" at my wedding. She felt too weird about it (because she knew how close I was with the man who ended up landing the gig) but she agreed to stand up there with me as one of my "Groom's People." In return, I read her favorite Shakespeare sonnet at her wedding some years later.
When we first met we hilariously thought we could date each other. We spent a lot of time wooing and making out. But we never slept together, which may be a big reason why we're able to be such great friends even to this day. As part of the courting process we would stay up until 4 am listening to music in my car (Alan Parson's Project was a big one we'd often return to -- who knew
Eye in the Sky could be so fucking romantic?!). Sometimes we'd drive around Kansas City. Sometimes we'd just quote Shakespeare to each other. Sometimes we'd go to her place and watch movies. We often talked about dreams and regrets; about our family dysfunctions and our shared passion to get the fuck out of Kansas and move to New York City.
Through all of this, Nina introduced me to all kinds of new music. Radiohead was a big one.
OK Computer was one of her favorite records and I was largely unfamiliar with it, outside of
Karma Police. But her all time favorite band was The Beatles. George was her favorite. She had posters of him on her wall when she was a little girl and even as an adult she'd kept one smaller 8 x 10 window card of him on the wall above her headboard where her mother would have preferred a crucifix.
I consider this my "introduction to The Beatles." I started at the beginning of their catalog. I wanted to know all of their songs the way Nina knew them. And she fucking KNEW them, knew everything about them. She had books detailing the stories behind every songs. She knew who wrote which specific lines and each track's length. She knew all the different versions, she had bootlegs and demos! The Beatles were in her marrow. She knew the Beatles at least as well as (and maybe better than) I knew Pearl Jam. So, as I said, I started with their first album: purchased at Best Buy (duh!); because all music purchased in the suburbs in the late 90s/early 2000s was purchased at Best Buy. I played it in my car all afternoon as I drove around KC. The deal was: I gave each record at least one full week of listening before I bought the next one in the catalog. And I reported my thoughts back to Nina after each week.
Through this process I discovered
Rubber Soul and
Revolver, albums my parents had never owned as long as I'd been alive (though Dad often talked about how much he adored
Rubber Soul, but until I brought it into the house I never once saw him listen to that record). Anyway, ultimately, it was
The White Album that stopped me dead in my tracks, that made me shiver with excitement. Through all of this, Nina refused to tell me which album was her favorite until I'd listened to them all. I had a sneaking suspicion
The White Album was her favorite because it was the one she talked about least. It was like she didn't want to sway me, she wanted me to decide independently of her opinion. Though, I do recall stories she'd tell of getting high and listening to
Dear Prudence and finding an indescribable comfort there. And one time she told me that "Mother Superior jumped the gun." But at the time I had no idea what the hell she was talking about.
Rocky Racoon was a song I knew all too well. That was one of my dad's favorite songs. There were countless road trips where
Rocky was sung, full lung, several times in a row. I knew
Blackbird but I was more familiar with the CSN version. Of course,
Obla-di Obla-da and
Back in the USSR and
Birthday: those were on the radio all the time. But those weren't the best songs on the record. No, no. I was blindsided by
While My Guitar Gently Weeps and
Happiness is a Warm Gun and
Glass Union and
Mother Nature's Son. There wasn't a single dud on either disc. Something about that record completely worked. It was magical and defied all logic, to me.
After my customary week of listening was up, I didn't run to Best Buy for the next record. I kept at
The White Album. It lasted another week, then another, then another, and before I knew it,
The White Album was the only album I listened to for three straight months.
As we drove around one night (late into that three month run) Nina commented on how
The White Album was the only CD in my car (normally, I kept three in the glove compartment at all times). She said, "So, I take it this one is your favorite so far." I laughed and confirmed. She rested her head against the passenger-side window, gazed at the lights glowing in the mansions atop manicured lawns in Mission Hills and said, "Yeah, it's mine, too."
