Sometimes my day can be so spectacularly disappointing (all work-related, nothing that actually matters) but then something music-related happens to save the day. Pierce the Veil was added to the Warped Tour lineup, and even though everyone pretty much already knew that because of a leaked flyer, it was still awesome to find out for sure!

This year’s Warped Tour has the potential to be better than 2008, which was my favorite one! 

Trufax: When all of my friends were head over heels in love with Alanis Morissette in high school, I wasn’t impressed. I remember one day on the way to tennis practice, my friend Christy was like, “You should listen to this, I bet you would like it” and I all, “Nah bro, that’s too white for me.” If it wasn’t being reviewed by Rap Pages or The Source magazines, then I wasn’t interested. I didn’t hate Alanis like I hate Katy Perry, it wasn’t like that at all. She just wasn’t my thang.

(She was Corey’s thang, though. I have live footage of him singing a mangled rendition of “Ironic” when he was 4. And hoo boy, was it interesting!)

But then one day in 1998 (my Golden Year), I was in the car with my mom and she cried, “HAVE YOU HEARD THIS SONG YET?!?!” as Alanis’s most recent track began playing on the radio. I rolled my eyes at first because once my mom hit her 40s, her taste in music became way less respectable. That fucking Lonestar song was her favorite song for at least 7 straight years, tied only with Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide.” Ugh, please don’t let that happen to me.

(As if.)

So I expected this song to be pure, homogenized shit.

But it wasn’t. It was fucking haunting and creepy and it made the hairs on my arms stand erect.

I went out and bought the City of Angels soundtrack specifically for “Uninvited.”

***************

Henry and I were just waking up on Easter morning when that goddamn Goo Goo Doll’s song, “Iris,” came on the bedroom radio. I have been waking up in a sour mood lately, the byproduct of a zillion conflicting emotions crashing into each other like blind people in a mosh pit, and because of this, I got very angry at this song.

“I can’t believe that this song is still being played on the radio when it was like, the least best song on the City of Angels soundtrack!” I cried into the side of Henry’s face. “DON’T YOU REMEMBER HOW SICK THAT ALANIS TRACK WAS?

!”

And he sleepily mumbled that no, no he did not remember. So I fumbled for my phone, because that is my favorite thing to do, cull up songs that he apparently has no recollection of. And then I placed in on his pillow, volume maxed out, right next to his ear. It’s his favorite way to fully wake up.

That moment was the first time in probably 15 years that I have heard “Uninvited,” and goddamn if my arm hairs didn’t stand just as erect.

I have obviously fallen down the 1998 rabbit hole and I don’t want to come back. I’ll send post cards. And a Delia*s catalog. And then when I come back, I’m making a Spotify playlist.

Because that year, that whole entire year, was my motherfucking jam.

I’m making heart-hands over this so hard over here, you guys. Every one of the videos from their Audiotree session was so good, I had to close my eyes and pick which one to post here.

Here is what Henry mumbled about them:

Me: Will you go see them?

Henry: Yeah.

Me: Omg so you like them?

Henry: No.

****

Earlier today, I felt like I was on the cusp of nervously breaking down, so I went for an aimless walk around Brookline to try and compartmentalize the spasming thoughts in my broken head. I walked past Tourette’s, who was humming a song to himself. Even he was in an OK mood!

My pretend-casual stroll (which had morphed into an angry march one block in) didn’t help. But listening to music is. Thank you, Pillow Talk, for grounding me. Henry thanks you too, because it’s temporarily defused my hissy fits.

One day last December, I woke up hungry for Howard Jones, as one often does. As I turned on Spotify with my blood-stained unicorn horn, I casually asked myself, “I wonder if Howard Jones is touring?” HoJo has been on my Concert Bucket List for years and years and years. Like Mike+the Mechanics, he represents a good chunk of my childhood, although the emotions behind it are way  more upbeat and cheerful because I associate him almost solely with ROLLERSKATING. It was kind of weird that these two shows happened to fall back-to-back.

He was playing at the Trinity Cathedral downtown Cleveland, and I was totally relieved when Henry did some sleuthing (a/k/a actually reading the church’s website) and found out that there was on-site parking. One less thing for me to worry about! Except he didn’t tell me that parking was $10, which had to come out of my merch fund, ugh!

Janna and I got there about 15 minutes before doors. The line wasn’t long at all, and honestly a quick scan learned me that Janna and I were the youngest fans there so far. I figured the line would be relatively obnoxious BUT I COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG. This terrible old couple slinked into line right behind us and proceeded to engage in the most banal banter about nursing home food. The wife had a monotone midwestern lilt and I kept mouthing, “I’m going to fucking kill her” to Janna, who looked like she was being pushed to her limits, you guys, which is saying a lot because Janna works with behaviorally-damaged adults. (Is that a real term? I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S OK TO SAY THESE DAYS.)

Once the doors opened and we made inside the lobby, the wife started FREAKING THE FUCK OUT, albeit monotonally, because the event staff kept telling everyone to have their IDs ready.

“I DON’T HAVE MY LICENSE WHAT AM I GOING TO DO ARE THEY GOING TO MAKE ME LEAVE.” <—This, over and over, even though her husband kept saying, “I don’t know.” Have these people never in their 89 years been to a concert before? Good lord. Maybe you should have stayed home and binge-watched “All In the Family,” Edith.

Then Janna was all excited because she saw some girl trip on her way to the bathroom and play it off by acting like she was just breaking into a sprint.

The line moved pretty quickly and soon Janna and I had our drinking wristbands on since we were smart enough to bring our IDs, Edith. A second line formed after we had our tickets scanned, and this one snaked into a room with a makeshift bar and  the most entertaining bartender who was determined to get everyone drunk, even if they didn’t want to get out of line.

Janna got a $9 mixed drink.

Janna’s $9 mixed drink.

I wasn’t going to drink at first, but then I was like “FUCK IT I DON’T HAVE ENOUGH CASH ON ME TO GET A SHIRT NOW ANYWAY” thanks to Henry not telling me about the NOT-FREE parking lot. So I bought a $6 cup of wine and it was just enough to make me not want to fly home and give Henry a Mexican necktie for ruining my life.

Then some dude in charge was walking around telling everyone that the show was going to be filmed and explained that it was going to be held in the Cathedral itself, which was a happy surprise for me because I just assumed it was going to be in some annex-type thing. When the line started moving again and we slowly made our way into the main part of  the Cathedral, my breath got all caught up in my atheistic throat and memories of when I believed in God came fluttering back. It was good. Just nice little tingles of comfort and familiarity and not the skin-searing sensation of spontaneous combustion that you’d expect from me crossing the threshold of God’s House.

Religion aside, I honestly do love churches and cathedrals for their architectural aesthetics and history. Just being there made the hair stand up like little erect penes on my arms.

The first 15 or so rows were reserved, but we managed to snag good seats — well, my seat was good, but Janna was irritated because some tall broad planted herself in front of Janna and then never moved. I think Amazonian may have kind of clapped once, but it might have been an accident. But from my spot, I was able to see Howard and his hot pink blazer the whole time, in your face JANNA!

The girl who tripped on the way to the bathroom ended up being in the first row, so who’s laughing now, I guess.

The only downside of the night was the opener. It was just supposed to be this singer-songwriter, Cobi Mike, but apparently at the last minute the event organizers snagged some local Cleveland Ashanti wannabe — Nefertiti. Guys, you know I love me some R&B, but this wasn’t the night for it. Nefertiti came out looking like Miss America, with Cobi in all denim accompanying her on guitar. It just didn’t make sense from the start. Luckily, she only sang three songs, two of which were covers. The first one she explained was by “a virtual band who present themselves as cartoons.”

But she never said it was Gorillaz.

“Maybe she thinks everyone here is too old to know who they are,” Janna said. I mean, there were A LOT of old people there.

The second song was one of her originals and get this you guys—it was about LOVE. What a strange theme for a song.

The third was the Beatles’ “Blackbird” and I made a flying-bird motion with my hands when it was almost over, because bitch fly the fuck home. She was a real snooze-fest. Henry probably would have loved her.

After she left the stage, Cobi Mike went on to perform 6 songs and I was INTO IT. Janna said she lost interest after the first two songs, probably because he wasn’t doing any Bloodhound Gang covers. Because that seems like something that would make Janna get out of her seat, I don’t know.

Here’s a Cobe Mike song I found on YouTube to give you an idea of his Hot Angel face, I mean…smooth voice:

When he comes to Pittsburgh, I’m going. Just not with JANNA, I guess, since she HATES HIM.

After Cobi’s set, we went to the bathroom but nothing good happened there aside from two old broads having a conversation with each other over top of my stall. On the way back, we got stuck in some bottlenecked corridor while Nefertiti was doing a meet and greet, but I think it was actually just her family who came out to see her. But Jesus Christ, go somewhere else and tell her how proud you are! I eventually just barreled my way through with no excuse mes given because I don’t like her.

And then Janna saw someone she knows and got all hair-in-face covert about it, so I of course had to text Corey about it on the ASAP because we love texting about Janna’s comings and goings. Then Janna showed me the guys who have recently viewed her dating profile and that was enjoyable. Lots of black men in their 50s.

Right before Howard, the Cathedral’s pastor came out in a bitchin’ leather jacket to talk to us about her vision for the church in the 21st century, how this new concert series they’ve been dabbling in has been so successful, but to please remember that this is still God’s House at the end of the day, so please don’t make a mess. Since this wasn’t a Warped Tour crowd, I figured the church was pretty safe.

BUT THEN IT WAS HOWARD JONES TIME!!!! He came out on the wings of celestial synth and if someone had interviewed me right then, it would have been all, “*SQUEAL! SQUEAL! SQUEAL!*” He walked around the crowd a little bit before joining his band on stage and I was just like, “UGH JANNA!!!” because I wanted him to walk just a little bit further to where we were. I would have pushed the broad next to me aside for one quick touch.

The sound was obviously incredible. I can’t imagine a better venue—it was so intimate and the crowd was great. There were tons of old bitches throwing themselves around in fantastical 1980s prom revisitations. I hope I still have fun like that when I’m old. I’ll probably at least still be heckling Janna, and that’s definitely fun!

He played all of his big hits and I was having synthgasms all up in that ecclesiastical piece. Synthpop is one of my all-time favorite genres of music and to hear it live is always such a dream. It makes me feel such happiness all the way to the core — there was no weeping at this show. It was all sing-alongs and bouncing and screaming. When Henry was “courting” me (lol), he played off this fact about me and made me synthpop mixed CDs and bought me compilations from A Different Drum. Henry was such a catch back then! (Fine. I guess he still is.)

My earliest memory of Howard Jones was in 1984. One of the network TV stations had a show called Friday Night Videos, and my dad used to keep a blank VHS tape in the VCR, waiting to hit “record” when songs he liked would come on. Howard Jones’ “New Song” was one of those videos, and if I knew then what I know now, I’d have cried, “This is the fucking jam!”

When I moved out of the house at 18, I slipped that VHS tape of videos, with its shoddy masking tape label, into one of my boxes. Because that tape was my everything as a kid! Sure, it means nothing now in the age of YouTube, but—there are some 80s commercials on it, and about 8 minutes of Days of Our Lives. It’s a fucking time capsule.

It’s funny: my relationship with my step-dad was strained and dysfunctional, but he inadvertently managed to cultivate my musical tastes. I didn’t get that from my mom.

This should be everyone’s anthem. Throw off your mental chains!

Here is his set list, in case you’re reading this and know who Howard Jones is, and if you still don’t, I linked to some of his most popular videos because I’m thorough like that (sometimes):

• Pearl in the Shell
• Like to Get to Know You Well
• Everlasting Love
• Joy
• No One Is To Blame
• The Prisoner
• Life in One Day
• The Human Touch
• What Is Love?
• New Song
• Hide and Seek
• Hold On To Your Heart
• Things Can Only Get Better
• Things Can Only Get Better – techno reprise

Howard’s keyboard stand changed colors and now I desperately want to get one for Chooch. When I showed it to Henry, he smirked and said, “Good luck with that.” WHY DON’T YOU BE A REAL FATHER AND MAKE ONE, THEN?!

On the way out, I noticed that there were empty cups and other various refuse all over the place. What fucking assholes. Even old people can’t be civilized at shows.

And thankfully for Henry’s ballsack, Howard’s merch table took credit cards, so I was able to get a shirt after all.

I still get so giddy just thinking about being in a cathedral with Howard Jones! But I still had a 2.5 hour drive home in the dark, fueled by extreme hyperactivity from the day’s events, and hilarity over the fact that the combined effort of Janna and I nearly couldn’t figure out the headlights on the fucking rental car. I was actually driving a few miles without them on, but then we stopped at Sheetz for coffee and Janna stood in front of the car while I twisted the dial every which way.

Once we were on the road again, Janna said, “I’m glad we have headlights now.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, tearing into my Melt leftovers, and then realized that I had forgotten to turn them back on after I got gas. OH, HOW WE LAUGHED. And then I almost cried because I was tired but giddy. We got back to Pittsburgh around 2AM but then I couldn’t fall asleep until 3:30. I woke up at 6:30AM on Sunday, so that did wonders for  my mood disorders. But, worth it!

You guys, I saw Howard Jones! The only way that night could have been any better would be it was at Spinning Wheels and I was ten-years-old again.

Earlier tonight, I was inspired to listen to music that makes me want to die, which is Henry’s absolute favorite activity to watch me participate in! After The Used’s “Blue & Yellow” (which I haven’t been able to listen to in its entirety for years), I switched over to Armor For Sleep.

“Why do you torture yourself?” Henry sighed in a rhetorical fashion, because he knows why. He might  not understand it, but he knows the answer.

“I’d give anything—-” I started to say, but my voice got strangulated by impending tears. “—to see Armor For Sleep again.”

Henry just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

I listened to this album A LOT on my drives to Cincinnati in 2005 and it still holds up so well, ten years later. Such a sorely underrated band. You should listen to them. Would it make any of you 30 Rock fans more interested if I told you that the singer Ben Jorgensen is married to Katrina Bowden?

But seriously, if they would get back together for just one last tour….I’d drive to Cincinnati again for that.

Emo forever.

It was all the way back in October when I was getting ready for work and heard on the radio that Mike + the Mechanics were touring America for the first time in 25 years, and Pittsburgh was one of the stops. I freaked the fuck out and texted Henry immediately because I needed to see this.

When I was a kid, my Pappap used to drive me to school (which is probably where my fear of public transportation stems from—I never rode the bus to school!) and he went through a pretty heavy Mike + the Mechanics phase after they released The Living Years. He kept the cassette in his truck and every time the title track would play, he would thrum his fingers along the steering wheel and get real quiet. He told me once that this song made him think of his father, but because I was At That Age, I never actually bothered to ask him questions about their relationship: if it was bad, if there were things he regretted saying or not saying to him, did he miss him. So in a way, this song has always had the same effect on me, as well. And after my Pappap died in 1996, I would sometimes listen to this on purpose, just to make myself even more miserable. Because why not.

I had to go to this show, because I just couldn’t stop thinking that maybe my Pappap would be there. Dumb? Don’t care.

In addition to this, there are the other face-value factors, such as MIKE RUTHERFORD. I loved (and still love) Genesis when I was a kid, and while I got to see Phil Collins, I never had the opportunity to see Genesis. So even though M+M have two new singers who replace Paul Carrack and the deceased Paul Young, being under the same roof as Mike Rutherford was worth it to me. And the other factor is that it’s just a great fucking band with some huge hits that defined my childhood.

Every time I would hear the commercial for the show on the radio, I would tear up. And all last week, I was sick to my stomach with excitement and also anxiety, because I knew it was going to be a rough one, emotionally.

Henry and I had time to stop for dinner beforehand, and because it’s all about me, we went to the Tin Roof, a vegetarian restaurant a few blocks away from the Carnegie Music hall. The food was OK, but I’m so spoiled by Zenith that it takes a lot to impress me when it comes to vegetarian cuisine. I had carrot ginger risotto, which was slightly burnt and served on a roasted portabello mushroom; I feel like Gordon Ramsay would have called the cook a donkey over that one, but I still ate it and it was fine. Henry basically ordered the thing on the menu that had the most cheese because god forbid, No Meat.

I had some wine to calm my nerves. It didn’t work.

Thrilled to be on a date with me!

We arrived shortly before the opener went on, and I was happy to see that Henry got us the same seats we had for Goblin last year. I love balconies! And then we looked on in amusement as more and more people trickled in and Henry realized he was one of the Younger Ones for once. And if that was true, then I was practically infantile by comparison.

I love the vibe at Older People shows. You know I love my scene kid shows, but sometimes it’s nice to experience other things, too! I was about to say that older people are much more respectful and appreciative at concerts, but then I remembered the old hags I was standing behind at Afghan Whigs at Riot Fest, who never shut their fucking Botoxed faces. So we’ll just go ahead and say, “Mostly.”

Daryl Stuermer, also formerly of Genesis, opened the show at 7:30. He played some covers as well as his own solo stuff, but what I liked best was when he would talk in between songs. Especially when he told the story of when his friend urged him to audition for Genesis in 1977, and then Mike Rutherford sent him a cassette of demos.

“You seem like the type of crowd who would be familiar with cassettes,” Daryl joked and I laughed just a tad too hard, because Henry hates that.

Then when Daryl announced he was from Milwaukee, I adopted that weird growling-voice I do sometimes and said in Henry’s ear, “So was Jeffrey Dahmer.” Henry just shrugged me away from him. 

My favorite parts of Daryl’s set was when the man in front of me would pump his fist and cry out, “YES!” and then follow-up with a quieter “Yes.” Also, I enjoyed his cover of “Shock the Monkey.”

It was sometime around this point where I fell into my standard, “What if someone starts shooting?” paranoid thoughts, and then I started laughing out loud at how absurd it would be to start a story with, “That one time I got shot at a Mike+the Mechanics show.”

After Daryl peaced out, Henry and I went to the makeshift bar and I got more wine. Henry got beer or something, I guess.

And then it was time.

Everyone went nuts when they came out, and while I do love to see an old folk go apeshit, my heart was beating so rapidly that I didn’t have it in me to mock any of them for Henry. I know he felt sorely remiss. All I kept on thinking was, “OMG THIS IS HAPPENING YOU GUYS!” because “you guys” are always in my thoughts. Whoever the fuck you are.

The new singers? PHENOMENAL. I was so worried they were going to stink up the classics, but nope. Nope, nope, nope. Tim Howar was my favorite of the two: he reminded me of a young Phil Collins, ironically, vocally and appearance-wise. I fucking swear to god he kept looking up and smiling at me too, and not at the old lady in front of me, so don’t get it twisted, lady. Immediately, I was like, “OMG HENRY I HAVE A CRUSH ON HIM” and Henry was like, “He’s wearing a scarf, so…”

So I was OK, smiling and clapping a lot through the first two songs, just generally being happy to be there, when “Silent Running” happened. Earlier that day, I told Glenn, “I am going to cry so hard when they play Silent Running” because I just love that song so much and my god, the childhood memories. However, I was mostly joking. I figured I would probably tear up like I do at most shows, but what happened that night was so much more than “tearing up.” Before I even knew what was happening, tears were straight SQUIRTING out of my eyes, my face involuntarily scrunched up, and my bottom lip was quivering so badly that I was afraid I would never get it to stop.

I had gone from “Yay this is fun” to “UGLYCRY” before the vocals even kicked in. I went from “OMG TIM LOOK AT MEEEEEE!” to “OMG TIM STOP LOOKING OVER HERE, I’M A MONSTER. A WET-FACED MONSTER!!” It was seriously concerning. I mean, I’m crying right now just typing this.

And then Tim performed the Genesis track “I Can’t Dance” and if I closed my eyes, it really felt like Phil Collins was there. It was SO GOOD that I actually stopped crying for a little bit.

This bimbo in front of me was wildin’ out all night and at first I was all about it, but then After the Tears, I was so pissed off and wanted to punch her in the back of the head because I was miserable and EVERYONE AROUND ME NEEDED TO BE MISERABLE TOO. (Seriously though — she was fine. I was just being a crybaby. Literally.)

And they played “Taken In”! That was one of the many highlights I was witnessed through tear-blurred eyes. It had been a really long time since I heard that one.

But then the inevitable happened: They played “The Living Years” and I couldn’t stop it. I tried. So hard. But I began to absolutely sob and I was actually too distressed and absorbed in my own pitiful cocoon of grief to be even a little bit embarrassed about it. My whole face was spasming and soaking wet with tears, so I can only imagine what a lovely sight I was STOP LOOKING, TIM. I mean, I cry pretty much every day because I’m Erin Rachelle Kelly, but I can’t remember the last time I expelled such pent-up sadness. It was a good old-fashioned bereavement.

Every word of that song slammed against my heart like a mallet and I just felt pain. Everywhere. Like arthritis all over my body. I put my face into Henry’s chest and wailed, “This was a mistake.” Almost 20 years and it’s still like this this gaping wound that time just fucking refuses to heal. And though it was painful, it was worth it in the end. Like honoring a part of my childhood, one of the best parts of my childhood. I think my Pappap would have been happy to know I was there.

“Weren’t they incredible?” I sighed to Henry in that weird, on the verge of hiccuping voice you get when you cry like a little bitch for too long. And my Henbot 4000 blip-bleeped that “they were ok.” And then I cried about it some more in the car, because when you open the floodgates….Shows like this really make realize how much I’m carrying with me.   “You look really tired,” Janna said when Henry and I came home to relieve her of her Chooch-sitting duties. I guess that’s what an hour-long power-weep will do to you.
*********
Coincidentally, the next day Janna and I were en route to Cleveland, and because road trips are the best times to reminisce, we were talking about the stupid shit that’s happened over the course of our friendship, including the time I almost killed an FBI agent and the time I got pulled over at 3AM for going through a flashing red light in a pretty bad area of Pittsburgh and then your basic traffic violation hilarity ensued (a story for another day).

“We were listening to Mike + the Mechanics that night, you know,” Janna pointed out, and I have no idea why I can’t remember that, other than it was probably when I was going through one of my many mental crises.

*********

It felt like losing my Pappap all over again.

OK I’m a big fan of Banks’ original version of this song, but Love, Robot’s cover makes the feelings tumble out of me.

“What if the way we started made it something cursed from the start” indeed.

Thank the fucking Good Sweet Brown that it is Friday. This week was a….weird one. Let’s bullet it out.

• I mentioned in passing earlier this week that BARB is leaving the Law Firm. Words cannot express the emotional paralysis I’m experiencing because of this. WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF ME?!?! I suggested that she train Glenn and we all had a good laugh. Who will post passive-aggressive signs in the kitchen when someone leaves their dirty shit in the sink for more than 5 minutes, or send snippy emails to all the right people when our printer gives up the ghost for the 87th time this week or there is an alarming stench emanating from the restroom!? BAAR-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-ARRRRRB, DON’T GO!!!!
  • SPEAKING OF, we were out of plastic spoons in the kitchen for a few days and I kept having to go to a different floor to get some. Then I would come back to my desk and fill Glenn in on my latest quest, because he lives for these updates. When I came to work the other day, this was sitting on my desk, because Glenn apparently IS trying to be New Barb! I t old Amber-with-Child that this means Glenn and I are basically BFFs now. A few minutes later, she asked me where he was and I was like, “I don’t know. We’re not THAT good of friends.”
    • But back to the spoons: to use them or nah? THEY MIGHT BE LACED.

• Several of my friends posted that JNCO is coming back! I was like OMG memories because I used to wear the shit out of JNCO, Stussy, Karl Kani (that was my SHIT), and Cross Colours. I started Googling the other brands and was so stoked to see that they’re all still around, but the Karl Kani hoodies especially made me catch my breath. I kept shoving my phone in Henry’s face so he could really marvel over the Kani signature name plate on the shirts. Henry was like, “Nope. Still don’t remember.”  HE WAS THE GODFATHER OF URBAN FASHION, for Tupac’s sake! I was really going hard down memory lane at this point and asked Henry if he remembered the clothing store Merry Go Round. He said yes, probably just to placate me, and I went on to tell him that’s where I bought all of my yo-girl threads. “Cross Colours in particular had an entire girls’ line of clothes, but I always wanted the boy stuff. Because I was a THUG,Henry.” Henry sighed and murmured, “Yeah. I keep forgetting.”
  • Ugh, why didn’t I keep all those old clothes?! Now I feel sick over this.
• 

• OMG THE MOST AMAZING THING EVER HAPPENED. The other day, Barb was all, “Yo, how far into Breaking Bad are you?” and I was all, “Blahblah blah Jane and Jesse” and Barb was all, “DID YOU NOTICE WHO JANE’S DAD IS!?” And I was like, “What no who?!” and she was like, “He was on some soap opera years ago, I can’t remember if it was Another World or Days of Our Lives, and for some reason all I can remember is that he had a girlfriend named Calliope—-” I cut her off to cry, “EUGENE!?!?!?!? AND HE WAS AN INVENTOR! AND WHEN HE AND CALLIOPE GOT MARRIED HER DRESS LIT UP!!!”  and then I had to run back to my desk and YouTube it before my head exploded because if there is one thing I fucking go bananas over, it is 1980s-era Days of Our Lives, people. So then that night, I was so excited to tell Henry, but apparently my lead-in was too over-the-top because he thought it was going to be something more amazing, and I’m like MORE amazing? What more could you want? Eugene fucking Bradford is on Breaking Bad!
  • The next day, I told Barb that I watched another episode of Breaking Bad the night before and was so excited to see that it really is him, and I even cried out JOHN DELANCIE! when his name popped up in the opening credits. Then we were talking about Calliope and I mentioned that Arlene Sorkin was like, my style icon as a kid and Barb was like, “Oh I didn’t know that was her name in real life.” I told her that of course I knew her name, because I kept a Days of Our Lives scrapbook when I was in elementary school. Don’t be jealous.
    • Eugene was last seen in Salem in 1989, after which he disappeared in his time machine.
• Yesterday, Glenn was telling campfire tales about the OLDEN DAYS when it was unheard of for schools to have 2-hour delays due to weather. “Except for that one time in the 70s when the rivers froze and the barges couldn’t get through. Schools were closed that day.” Then he and Patrick launched into some sordid conversation about gas fireplaces and I was like, “Where am I? Is this Hell?”
  • Also, Glenn lectured meonnot watering my stupid spider plant often enough. “Look at it, it’s all desiccated,” he monotoned. “MAYBE THAT’S HOW I LIKE MY THINGS!” I cried defensively. Glenn must have just learned the word “desiccate” because he seemed excited to use it. Why couldn’t he have been this active when I was live-blogging our terrible late shift?
    • Barb would never lecture me. Whenever she tries to teach me to do something new (like, use an apple corer or find my way around town), she always swaddles her words in baby’s breath and whatever material the gloves that handle the Stanley Cup are made from, and punctuates it with a reminder that I am a special, special star.
• OK, girl talk: Pretty much have spent all week obsessing over Lynn Gunn’s (singer of PVRIS) relationship with Love, Robot vocalist Alexa San Roman. And thank god, too, because I am so over Whitney and Sada. All they do on Instagram is post club flyers and pictures of their post-workout smoothies!!  So I’ve officially hopped on the fast train to Lynn & Alexa Town. Of course, this obsession is salt/wound, but I don’t care. Last night, I was babbling on to Henry about something that I read about them. “I saw it on the Lynn & Alexatumblr,” I excitedly explained. Henry responded with a stretch of intensely disappointed frowns. “WHAT HENRY?! HASHTAG RELATIONSHIP GOALS, OK?!” Seriously. I wish I could go back to my early 20s and bag a hot lesbian singer in a beanie and then hold hands at Warped Tour. I clearly chose the wrong path. #LESBICORE
  • Thank god Henry is so goddamn patient with me.
• Today I’m wearing a shirt that I forgot I  bought in the junior department of JCPenney’s and apparently it’s a “great color on me.” Sometimes coming to work is a real feel-good experience. And while I really appreciate the compliment, I’mma pretend it was really coming from my figmented girlfriend who sings in a make-believe post-hardcore band. 

Me in my nice-colored shirt.

• The security guard just tromped past my desk with a new security guard who looks like a 1980s serial killer….or Henry in the 90s. I feel considerably less safe.
• All I want to do this weekend is write stories.

HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND, INTERNET BEINGS!

Wednesday, February 11th, fuck yeah! That was the night of the Pierce the Veil/Sleeping with Sirens World Tour here in Pittsburgh. They played here for two nights because Pittsburgh goes HARD for PTV; I wanted to go both nights but Henry was like YEAH RIGHT PICK ONE so we went the second night because everyone knows that the second night is the best. (That’s a thing, isn’t it?)

We went to Rivertown first for a quick pizza dinner and drinks, passing the ever-growing line of kids outside of Stage AE. Worried about not getting a good spot, I lied and said that the show started at 6. “An early show tonight, I guess,” I shrugged, and Henry didn’t question me.  I rushed him out of Rivertown around 5 so we could get in line.

“Are you kidding me?!” Henry cried, double-checking his ticket once we were already firmly planted in the snaking row of scene kids. “It says DOORS at 6, not SHOW at 6!” And I just laughed, because duh. So we stood outside in the cold for the next hour while crackheads tried to get us to buy their black market PTV t-shirts (my favorite was when one of them dropped one on the ground, accidentally stepped on it, and then waved it around in the air, hollering about how great the quality was). The wait in line was mostly OK, the group of kids in front of us were relatively tame, but the one had her mom with her and she got increasingly more showboat-y as the wait progressed. She kept trying to be all self-deprecating about her age (39) but then tried to make up for it by bragging relentlessly about all the shows she’s been to. (BLACK SABBATH. BREAKING BENJAMIN. THE VERY FIRST WARPED TOUR EVER OMG.) And then she was like, “CLUTCH IS SUPPOSED TO BE COMING HERE SOON I WOULD LIKE TO GO SEE CLUTCH I THINK THEY’RE PLAYING HERE NEXT WEEK CLUTCH CLUTCH CLUTCH” and it was like, “OK WE GET IT YOU LIKE CLUTCH.” Personally, I don’t like Clutch, and this bitch was making me dislike them even more. She just kept going on and on about all these old concerts and how she was probably dating herself, because you know, being “old” means you have to go to great lengths to prove that you still like music.

So I kept trying to raise Henry’s arm in the air while obnoxiously crying out, “Judas Priest! Ted Nugent! CHEAP TRICK!” For some reason, this just put Henry in an even worse mood and then he looked like this:

I was going to launch into a rant here about age versus music and why does it even have to be a factor, but I’m trying to live a stress-free life and that topic just makes me angry. I’m sure Henry could offer up a transcript of the rant he had to listen to before the show at Rivertown, if anyone is interested. (Kidding. Henry doesn’t listen to me when I speak.)

Bottom line is you’re never “too old” to be a fan of a band. If I didn’t go to a show because I was afraid of being the oldest one there, or having people mistake me for a chaperone/mom, that would just be a shame. And also, I would probably not go to a LOT of shows then since most bands I like have a young fan base.

Once the doors opened, the line moved relatively quickly. Henry and I got separated at the security checkpoint, and he was extremely dismayed to learn that I made it in first and claimed a prime spot against a railing. I thought this was a Good Thing since he didn’t want to go all the way onto the floor with the children (plus, I wanted to be able to see while still being in the midst of things, so this spot was seriously the best of both worlds because we were raised up just high enough that no one could stand in front of me on the floor and block my view); apparently though Henry had hoped that we could go upstairs with the parents in the balcony. I just laughed, because no. I told him he was welcome to go up there alone, but he always gets scared when I get faux-courteous. Who knows if he’ll get castrated later for taking me up on my trick offer.

Now is the part where I type words about the bands that were there, so you are welcome to peace out.

I. PVRIS

I am notoriously snobby when it comes to girl singers. I always have to laugh when Scene Fems get all up in arms that there are “never enough” females on Warped Tour because why flood the tour with mediocre music? PVRIS is one of the few bands with a female lead that has actually gotten my attention in awhile. I hesitate to describe them as dark electro-pop, because that usually calls to mind something of a more Goth nature, but to me they sound like a glorious collision of synthpop and post-hardcore. They are SO YOUNG and started making waves in the scene before they even had an album out. I like that they’re bringing some estrogen to Rise Records, and I also like that they have essentially been groomed by Blake and Sierra from Versa. It shows.  Lynn’s voice is just what this scene has been missing. Ugh, they are wonderful. This is why I can’t write about music for a living, because it’s all HEART EYES and UGH YOU GUYS THEY PENETRATE MY SOUL. Can’t turn off how I feel, ever.

This is basically the same way I felt when I first heard Paramore back in the day. “Fuck yes, a singer-broad who doesn’t annoy me!” I can’t wait to go see them 934790374 more times. They remind me a little of The Flir, and I fucking loved The Flir so much but then they just kind of….stopped.

Henry said they were “OK” but that “the singing needs worked on.” You can catch Henry on the next season of The Voice, by the way.

I think I’ve posted about them on here before, but here is an acoustic video in case you felt the urge to put something in your hearing orifices.

II. Mallory Knox

They’re from England and this was their first time on tour in the States. So that was cool. I don’t know what else to say. It’s not that I didn’t like them, but my attention was definitely elsewhere during their set. The Penguin game had started and I was frantically checking my phone for updates, etc. and then I saw on Instagram that EMAROSA announced they’re playing Warped Tour this summer so I was basically peaced out of Mallory Knox’s set from that moment on….until I heard what I was sure was about to be a Whitesnake cover and then realized that the singer just kind of sounded like David Coverdale. I shared this observation with Henry, who just frowned and shook his head no.

Maybe I need to listen to them some more, I don’t know.

III. Sleeping With Sirens

Sleeping with Sirens is kind of THE BOY BAND of this scene. Their opening video montage even spoofed off of that, actually. So when Mallory Knox was over and the SWS backdrop slowly began to rise, the girls in the crowd went ballistic. “Take it easy!” Henry spat disgustedly into the general area. “They’re not even coming out yet!”

Truth: I was disappointed when this tour was initially announced and I saw that Pierce the Veil was co-headlining with SWS. My feelings toward SWS have really run the gamut over the years. When I first heard If I’m James Dean, You’re Audrey Hepburn back in 2010, I was all a-smit with Kellin Quinn. Granted, he looked like a little scene fetus, but that didn’t change the fact that this was going to be The Song that Henry and I fake-danced together at our imaginary never-wedding. I even considered having it choreographed. I used to walk the high school track by my house after work some times and I would listen to that song on repeat, with complete and utter disregard to the rest of the album.

But then I saw them live and was like, “Oh.” At first I thought it was just because it was Warped Tour. Sometimes bands just sound better inside grimy venues at night, than on some tiny stage in a parking lot, you know?

But then I saw them several more times, in a variety of settings.

He cannot sing live, you guys. I don’t know what it is. Acoustic, he’s not too bad. But with a full band, up on a stage, it’s like, “No, go home.”

However, I was shocked this time around because he didn’t sound as terrible as he normally does! But then Henry pointed out it was because they turned up everything else. And then I was like, “Oh. That makes sense. Never mind.”

Ew, agreeing with Henry makes me feel itchy.

But this is not to say that the rest of the band sucks! They are actually pretty wonderful have always saved the show every time I’ve seen them. They’ve definitely jumped on the fast track to fame, so their shows are pretty spectacular on the ol’ eyeballs nowadays. It’s all kind of lights and videos and streamers — you know, things to distract you from the vocal flaws!

OK FINE, I totally wear Kellin’s clothing line and keep a picture of him on desk.

The one huge highlight for me was seeing Nick Martin, who assumed the role as their guitarist after Jesse Lawson left in 2013. I LOVE NICK MARTIN SO MUCH! Back in the day, I used to play one of his old Underminded songs over and over in the car and sigh dreamily to Henry, “Isn’t he the best screamer ever?” Of course Henry answered with a frown.

I met Nick in 2009 when he was on Craig Owens’ solo tour. He is such a fucking great guy. He was also in Isles and Glaciers and then Craig Owens post-Chiodos “I’LL JUST START MY OWN BAND!” band D.R.U.G.S. But then Craig went back with Chiodos and basically left the rest of D.R.U.G.S. hanging. So it’s nice to see that Nick got himself a gig with a successful band, playing for bigger than crowds that he was with D.R.U.G.S.

They played “…James Dean” and I was trying to get Henry into it but he had the “Not enough beer in the world” expression on his face.

Streamer Chicken.

IV. Pierce the Veil

I don’t even know what to say about Pierce the Veil that I haven’t already. They have been firmly planted inside my heart for the last eight years and they inspire me so much. I can honestly say that I have never been to a bad PTV show (except maybe the one in Buffalo but that wasn’t their fault) and it’s pretty expected at this point that I am going to be emotionally ravaged for the next few weeks after. So I’m going to be really blunt and say that I don’t think I can write much about it, other than to say it was an amazing night that made me want to paint and write and potentially send an email that maybe I shouldn’t.

They played “Caraphernalia” and I almost chewed off my lip because THAT SONG. So much meaning. What’s so good about picking up the pieces, indeed.

JAIME!!!!!!! Henry was pissed that he missed this because he was off buying me a shirt, LOLforever.

“One of these days, that will be me up there, having my face sung to by Vic Fuentes,” Henry dreams.

Kellin Quinn came out to close out the show by singing “King For a Day” with PTV, which was expected. And good. I’m so happy to see Pierce the Veil playing for so many people now, but I selfishly long for the days when I was standing right in front of the speakers at a skate park in Buffalo with only about 100 kids behind me.

LOOK AT WHAT A LITTLE BABE HE WAS IN 2008!

Really, what I miss the most is hearing the old stuff. One of the last times I saw them, they played “Yeah Boy” but it seems like it’s so rare. I would kill to hear some stuff from “A Flair for the Dramatic” because to me, that is their best. I was whining about it to Terri (thank god for Terri!) and she said maybe they’ll do a 10th anniversary tour for it like so many other bands have been doing lately. I would fucking die if that happened.

***

After the show, we were briskly walking through the frigid night to the trolley station, when Henry said, “Tony cut his hair, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know!” I cried, because sorry, bro, I’m there for the music not the looks.

“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. He cut his hair, definitely.”

Oh OK, Henry. For someone who doesn’t care about this shit, he sure has a thing for the post-hardcore coif scene. If Craig Owens from Chiodos even uses the tiniest spritz of Sun-In, Henry is all over that shit.

“Craig’s hair is lighter,” he’s been known to scream in the middle of shows.

So now I’m convinced that Henry dreams about being some kind of Scene Barber, snipping Vic Fuentes’s split ends, pomading Andy Biersack’s pompadour, freshening Jonny Craig’s fade and “accidentally” nicking his jugular. OMG we can call him Scene-y Todd!

Apologies for the shitty ‘shopping on this but I did this quickly on my lunch break at work and had to use PAINT. Ugh!

Preshow: We left early so we could stop and eat and drink before the show. It was early enough that when we got to Rivertown restaurant it was still happy hour, only I happened to be in the bathroom when the waitress explained the specials to Erin, and when I got back of course she didn’t listen to them or she did and chose not to tell me, then she made us leave early, because ” show starts at 6″ she said, only the doors opened at 6. So I lost a half an hour of cheap drafts, damn her already! So all I got was 2 wheat beers and a pizza, no time to try anything else.

Standing in line: Got to stand in line for the next hour behind the most annoying “rocker mom”, who at the old age of 39 had done everything possible when it comes to concerts, at least thats what she was telling the little 16 year olds that were around her, fawning over her every word. Thanks again Erin.

PVRIS: Needs work on singing live.Good on their CD.

[Ed. Note: Strongly disagree with this assessment. Lynn had me at hello. Or whatever her first word was. But apparently Henry the Voice Coach knows all.]

Mallory Knox: Didn’t really do anything for me. Was too busy wishing I could sit up in the balcony with the other parents, Erin said I could if I wanted to, that really means do it and Ill never let you live it down, ever. So I grabbed another beer and stuck it out.

Sleeping with Sirens: Kellin Quinn still cant sing live, they just play the music louder to drown him out.Opening of the show was cool. I believe it was after this set that Erin had a can that she wanted to throw away in the garbage can that was over the railing right in front of her, maybe a foot way. She waited for the guy that was in front of it to move, shot and missed, making the girl on the steps to walk down and pick it up, shooting Erin the evil eye the whole time, way to go.

[Ed.Note: Untrue. That girl was looking at me with utter veneration and reverence, because she recognized that I am a PTV Elder-Fan. We are a rare breed, few and far between, practically Scene Unicorns. Kids stutter in our presence.]

Pierce the Veil: Seen them many times good as always!

Favorite PTV song: Not sure , Don’t know the names of any of them. Since the names have nothing to do with the songs, I’m too old to memorize that shit.

This song inspired so many paintings and stories in stupid 2008. I still have moments where I crave those days so hard, but mostly I ignore because what’s done is done, it is what it is, what happens in 2008 stays in 2008. Pick an obnoxious idiomatic expression and call it a day.

Today, however, the cravings were practically waiting for me at the foot of the bed when I woke up. And I will feed them, because I’m a moron. Time to bring back my emo side-sweep and brood in a corner with a canvas.

Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess.

It all started with an innocent trip to Eat n Park after work last week. I worked late shift that night, so it was already well past 8 by the time Henry, Chooch and I got there. I couldn’t help but notice that the room we were seated in was full of older couples on dates. I could tell it was a date, and not just a casual “I don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out to eat” because every older person seemed smitten with their older person companion. In fact, one of the older person couples even sat on the same side of the booth and shared a plate from the salad bar. Every so often, male older person would lean over and kiss female older person on her temple. It was all at once endearing and nauseating, and I struggled to take a picture of them, eventually managing a slick under-the-table shot.

Another older couple arrived right before we left, and thank god because otherwise I might have died not knowing the precise way the female older person orders her side of broccoli (a double serving, extra-steamed so the florets are on the threshold of disintegration).

I couldn’t stop giggling about this, all these old people hitting the town (well, Dormont anyway) after hours on a Thursday night.

“It’s like a Boz Scaggs concert just let out!” I texted to some friends, along with the pictures. The responses varied from “I don’t know who that is” to “Is that some old singer, I guess?” to “*radio silence*”.

Was my inner old person showing? Or WAS I JUST IMAGINING THAT BOZ SCAGGS EXISTS? I could hear myself saying his name. Boz Scaggs. Boz Scaggs. Bozzzzzz SCAGGsssss. It was sounding more and more foreign until eventually it just sounded like a frog ribbitting under water.

I tried to defend myself, plead my case by insisting that “if you’ve ever been in a grocery store, you’ve probably heard a Boz Scaggs tune at least once in your life” while willing myself to conjure up in my mind my mom’s Boz Scaggs record that I know I used to play in the basement of my parent’s house, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?! JOJO?!

I mean come on: “Lido Shuffle”? “Lowdown”? “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME”!??!?! That was a staple on all of my soft rock mix tapes when I was in high school! BOZ SCAGGS IS REAL.

And then my music-loving friend Terri rescued me from my self-doubt, because she too, has a space in her heart for his smooth yacht rock tracks. Then after Janna and I went to see Birdman on Friday, I made her listen to Boz Scaggs songs on my phone until she finally exclaimed, “Oh, OK! Yeah, that guy. He’s real.” And then she wouldn’t stop singing “Lido Shuffle” which made Chooch irritable.

***

Sunday morning, I awoke to “Lowdown” playing on my bedroom radio. No joke, there it was, wafting out of the dusty speakers like it was no big deal, just another Boz Scaggs Top 40 hit to stuff a Taylor Swift and Bruno Mars sandwich. I’ve been listening to a variety-type station in my room lately because of my penchant for nostalgic earworms and soft rock’s natural ability to ease me into a sweet slumber, even if it means having to tolerate the occasional current pop hit. How else do you guys think I get to hear Laura Branigan’s “Gloria” approximately twice a week? (Seriously, that station LOVES to play that song for some reason.)

Anyway, I excitedly texted Janna and Terri that “Lowdown”  was on. And laying there in bed, taking in the jazzy trumpets and silky background vocals, I started to draw some comparisons to Steely Dan, another band I loved so much when I was growing up thanks to my step-dad, and even got to see them once about 15 years ago and it was amazing. (I had to choose between them and Yes! It was a hard choice.) So I spent a good chunk of my afternoon listening to Steely Dan, and then Emerson Lake and Palmer, and I really started to feel like I needed to grow a beard, put on a white leisure suit, and steal away into the night in my Chevy Van.

Somewhere during this time, Terri texted me and said that “Lido Shuffle” was on in the grocery store she was in! I started freaking out about this, and Henry was like, “Calm down. It’s not that exciting.” BUT IT FELT LIKE I WAS PSYCHICALLY WILLING BOZ SCAGGS TO SURFACE!

And then, this is the weirdest part, that evening Henry and I put on Breaking Bad. We’re way behind and only on season two so DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING. But in this particular episode, Walt is having breakfast with his family, and he starts talking about music with his son, and is appalled that his son has never heard of Steely Dan. I started laughing, since I had been revisiting Steely Dan earlier that day. Henry was like, “Whatever, not that big of a deal.” OK, just watch this:

 MY HEAD NEARLY SHORT-CIRCUITED. I literally jumped off the couch and was shouting, “REALLY? REALLY?!” and Henry mumbled, “OK that’s kind of weird.”

Anyway, this is all a really long-winded way to tell you that after looking through Boz Scaggs albums all weekend, my new Glenn Defacing Project involves Glennifying RECORD ALBUMS!

IT’S ALMOST LIKE BOZ SCAGGS POSED FOR THIS PICTURE PURPOSELY KNOWING THAT GLENN’S HEAD WOULD ONE DAY SO PERFECTLY REPLACE HIS OWN!

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the day off work, which I am now going to fill with more dreamy yacht rock until later tonight when Pierce the Veil blows my heart out of my chest. Don’t judge.

I listen to the alternative R&B playlist on Spotify a lot when I’m doing write-y things at home and every time this song comes on, I’m like SHHHH SHUSH STFU GODDAMMIT mama’s in a movie right now.

Usually I’m home alone when this happens, but STFU imaginary hostage in the basement of my mind, you know?

This is the jam. I’m going to stare at my reflection in a puddle now. I’ll send you a post card.

In collecting old photos of my Pappap’s house, I found several that reminded me of how much music has always been a part of my life, and why so much of it naturally reminds me of that house.

I got my first damn cassette player from my grandparents for my third (fourth?) birthday. A year or two later, I upgraded to a Fisher Price tape recorder—it was taupe in color like all electronics were in the early 80s and came with a microphone, which I would hold up to TV speakers in my Pappap’s den, in order to record shit from Friday Night Videos. Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” was on my very first mixtape. That song came on in the car a few weeks ago and I tried to get Chooch stoked on it but he only thought it was just ok.

The above picture was taken on the porch of my Pappap’s house, and anytime I hear the song “Under the Boardwalk,” my mind automatically beams me back to that porch, sitting at the glass table, playing Monopoly and listening to the Bruce Willis version of that song over and over while my grandma babysat me and my brother Ryan in the late 80s. AND THAT WAS MY FUCKING JAM.

Here we have my grandma holding me in the kitchen, and you can just barely see a stereo system on a shelf to the left.

This is how I grew to love Phil Collins, Kenny Rogers, and Gino Vanelli and also grilled cheese sandwiches. SOFT ROCK 4 LYFE. NO SHAME.

(I made my Pappap order me the Time Life “Body Talk” CD collection, and literally every song reminds me of either sitting in that kitchen or my favorite childhood restaurant–the Blue Flame.)

This is my aunt Susie and me in the clown room. Inside the desk behind us was a record player, and this is how I heard Frank Zappa for the first time ever.

There was always music playing in that house back then. And today, there is always music playing in my house. Sometimes different music is playing in multiple rooms at once (soft rock radio in the bedroom, Spotify on the computer downstairs, music videos on TV); this drives Henry nuts. Especially if we’re watching something on TV and then I scream something unintelligible and clamber up the steps because some cherished song is playing on the bedroom radio and I want to pretend like this is a serendipitous moment, like I can’t just queue it up on my phone, and so I’ll flip down on the bed and listen to “In the Air Tonight” or “Eye in the Sky” like I haven’t heard it in 20 years, while Henry is downstairs mumbling, “How did you even HEAR that from down here?”

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some soft rock to Spotify.

On the way home from Chooch’s piano lesson on Saturday, some Queen song came on the radio (it was probably “Another One Bites the Dust,” but I can’t remember exactly right now).

Chooch is oddly interested in Queen. Not in a “LET’S BUY THEIR WHOLE DISCOGRAPHY!

” sense. But, he does like to ask questions about them. Once, I played him the “Radio Gaga” video, because I was OBSESSED with that song when I was around his age (there’s even a video of me dancing to with curlers in my hair years later—I think jerk Lisa filmed it in my mom’s family room when I wasn’t paying attention) and he was fascinated.

This time, he started asking us questions about Queen’s popularity and seemed kind of surprised when Henry and I told him that they had lots of big radio hits. We started naming some of them and I had a quick audio flashback of senior year of high school. I had never been a super big Queen fan, so I never really sunk into their deep cuts. But then I started dating Psycho Mike, and the one good quality about Psycho Mike among the layers of shitty attitude, rage disorders, and fiery jealousy was that he really loved music. None of my prior boyfriends really seemed to give a shit about music, let alone that all-important relationship token: The Mixtape. I would make them for people all the time: friends, penpals, unworthy boyfriends—but it wasn’t until I started dating Mike that I ever got one back from a boy.

And it was fucking legit.

It was through Mike that I learned about Billy Bragg (whom I finally got to see live at Riot Fest last September!), Neutral Milk Hotel, Syd Barrett, and Radiohead (Mike was going to see them back when they were opening for bands at tiny Pittsburgh clubs like Metropol), some of which were included on the mixtape he made for me during the winter of 1997. I spent so many nights laying on the beanbag in my bedroom, lit only by a ridiculous collection of neon water sculptures and Christmas lights bouncing off of my foiled wallpaper…it was just a few nudie posters short of being a home-version of Spencer’s, a headshop without the bongs and nose-pinching stench of patchouli. And this is how Mike’s mixtape was best experienced: half-devoured by a giant bag of beans, awash in psychedelic lights, absolutely nothing distracting from the words and music seeping into the system like some supreme cocktail of opiates.

During our Queen conversation on Saturday, I pulled up “You Don’t Fool Me” on my phone and, before it started playing, I explained that it was my favorite Queen song of all time.

“It was on this mixtape that Psycho Mike made me,” I mumbled.

I hadn’t listened to this song in at least 15 years, and as soon as I heard those opening notes, I was back in my old bedroom again, and I felt so calm and peaceful, even with Chooch’s mouth chattering away in the backseat of the car. Over the weekend, I listened to some more songs that I remembered from that tape, “Marooned” by Pink Floyd, “Bad As They Seem” by Hayden, even Pachelbel’s “Canon” was on there. Side B ended with a 10-second recording of one of our phone calls, unbeknownst to me at the time; I thought was incredibly adorable and romantic back then, me sounding all sleepy and him teasing me with a deranged lilt to his voice.

Listening to these songs made me feel warm, safe, comfortable: none of the things Psycho Mike ever made me feel.