So I wasn't kidding; I think I really could keep coming up with reasons to live nebulously for years and years. I've been going strong for four months, still have a bunch built up in cue, and every day something new gets me feeling a little down and hopeless, and a little restless in kind (the Kardashians seem to have made it their personal business to help me out).
But keeping such a list is depressing, and takes away from the point of this blog, which is preparation and anticipation, looking forward to something. So I've decided to put the 'Reasons...' list on ice for a while. If a big one crawls up my leg and bites me - and doubtless it will - I will share it, but going out in search of something to feel bad about is no way to live.
Instead, I'm going to switch gears a little, talk about music.
There aren't likely many over the age of 30 who haven't assembled a mix tape at least once in their lives; under 30, you probably never have needed to. Doing so was exactly the same as playlisting today, entailing the very same psychology, just a much bigger pain. Music was not so readily available, nor was recording it from one place to another anything other than a clunky, mechanical process.
But it was a big deal nevertheless, a big deal for me. When I was a kid, age eight or nine, I'd sneak into my older brother's bedroom and avail myself of his Beatles records, carefully holding the external microphone of an old Panasonic tape recorder close to a speaker of his turntable, and praying he didn't arrive home unexpectedly and catch me. Sometimes he did, or sometimes he'd notice records accidentally left out of their sleeves, or placed back in a different order, and there'd be hell to pay. Somewhere on a 60-minute Memorex tape, probably still sitting in a storage box in an upstairs bedroom of our parents' house, there's a tinny recording of Eleanor Rigby interrupted by the sound of him bursting through the door and shouting at me, followed immediately by me bursting into tears, then a buffeted thud as he grabbed the microphone out of my hand. Hilarious, in hindsight; I'd love to find that recording and share it, but that would actually be an Eastbound... post.
When I was a bit older, in middle school, I delivered a lot of newspapers to save up money for my very own 'sound system' (an LP/dual cassette/AM-FM elephant, with huge plastic knobs and an analog tuner) and became a mix tape-making fiend. I got completely swept up in the aforementioned psychology of doing so. I would buy tapes or records by the handfuls, as many as my paper route income afforded me, and cherry pick the songs I wanted. If I was broke, I would wait vigilantly for a song I liked to come on the radio, ready to scramble off my bed with a gymnast's dexterity and hit the record button before they started singing. Distilling my musical tastes down into a short, important list, a soundtrack of my life, was a savory pastime, and I considered my ability to fit as many songs on one side with as little leftover tape as possible - usually mere seconds - a kind of bragging right.
Today there is no such rigmarole, no need to cherry pick or wait around for something to play on the radio. Nearly all music is available at any time on-line, song by song...no more having to endure an album of crap for the one tune you actually like.
In spite of the digital revolution, or perhaps because of it, the art of playlisting is still something I take seriously. My lists are not mere random assemblages of songs; they are thematic, significant to some portion of my existence, something that's happened, a by-gone era, occasionally a specific person in my life, and always, always, whatever trip I've taken. I don't think I have ever been on a road trip of more than four hours for which I did not cobble together a unique group of songs.
I think most people will agree that when it comes to a road trip, selection of musical accompaniment is not only the most savory part of anticipation, but can also be a critical element in the vibe that's created once the trip gets under way. If it's a long trip, a vacation, the music might very well color how you remember specific things. I can point to numerous road trips in my past, even distant past, where this is the case. A road trip to Cincinnati in 1993 will always be inextricably linked in my mind to Sir Mix-a-Lot's Baby Got Back. The song had come out the year before, was already old news, but it got played on a mix tape during the drive, or on the radio. We laughed and rapped along, and to this day, I associate it with Ohio.
A couple of years later, a trip to Des Moines in the dead of winter left me associating grim, featureless, snow-covered corn fields with Take a Bow by Madonna.
And memories of my 2011 Road Trip, where my travel companions and I listened to lots of different music, will always be sparked by no less an incongruous pairing than Love Grows (Where my Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse, and Ain't No Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant.
Even if it's just a short drive, certain music might very well make the difference between a good mood and a bad mood. In the summer of 1985, I was on a trip out east with my parents, and in Boston I remember, first, getting swamped by an awful traffic jam, then taking a wrong exit and getting lost in some concrete neighborhood from where there seemed no easy return to the Interstate. From the back seat, I was aware of the situation, kept expecting my dad to go into his patented foot-stamping freak out mode (which I have inherited, among other things, from him)...but he never did. He kept his cool, kept laughing and talking from behind the wheel, acting as if he knew exactly where we were, until eventually he did. For years after, he claimed his ability to listen to Sinatra during those two or three hours of gridlock was what kept him calm, and I have no doubt that it's true.
Music truly hath charms.
I will probably take all my music along with me on 1/48/50, because I can, because it doesn't entail carrying anything physical other than a device that fits in my pocket. And to be honest, I suspect a lot of what I will actually be listening to during the drives will be talk radio, because that's what I do.
But the music is still vitally important. Sometimes I get sick of hearing people talk...sick of hearing myself talk, sick of listening to myself think. And there will be 14,000 miles to get through. So I have started to compile my playlist for this road trip, even though it is still several years out. The details of my musical considerations and conclusions would bore the crap out of people. Suffice to say, given the breadth and scope of 1/48/50, I've put a lot of thought into it.
This list will surely puzzle or annoy some readers, since musical playlisting for any reason is about as subjective a discipline as can be imagined. Just bear in mind, this is not to be taken seriously; it's simply a light-hearted break from 'Reasons to Live Nebulously' ... and if it sparks a debate or discussion, or maybe leads someone to discovering a new artist or song, great.
Here then, a few at a time, and in no particular order, are my Top 100 (or so) songs I absolutely must have with me on 1/48/50:
#1: 'Copperhead Road' by Steve Earle - The wailing bagpipes that throw open this song like curtains are a fitting tribute to heritage, restlessness and rebellion. I'm not ordinarily a fan of Steve Earle, but Copperhead Road is a rousing take on bootlegging and its evolution over the 20th century, an intelligent commentary on the relativism that can lend tradition a necessary adaptability, and an indictment of the ongoing futility of prohibition. Musically, it's one of those songs that through rhythm and intonation provides the sensation of speed, of spinning wheels, making it a perfect representation of 'the road', though I'm not sure whether it suggests chasing or fleeing.
Maybe that depends on whether you think prohibition is futile.
"Well him and my uncle tore that engine down..."
#2: 'Bones' by The Brains - Not the early 80s band from Georgia, but what's described as 'Canada's most insanest, undeadest and bestest psychobilly horror-punks', The Brains are like Brian Setzer buried in Pet Sematary. I have always responded well to unrelenting, even aggressive energy, especially from any band with as tight a musical style as The Brains. Bones just might be the ultimate drum-on-steering-wheel ditty, and I suspect a reliable defense against road exhaustion, not to mention any lonesome thoughts that might jump out of rainy nights in the middle of nowhere. To that end, I'm thinking The Brains will factor repeatedly on this list.
"Show me your bones, dance with the dead..."
#3: 'Buddy Holly' by Weezer - Like everything Weezer does, Buddy Holly is first and foremost tongue-in-cheek and infectious like a superbug. There's something about this song that gets me very aware of my surroundings, and laughing at them, not sure why. Maybe it's the video. Once again, if you're over 30 right now you will probably understand why it's funny as hell; under 30, not so much. But when life gets you down, when you start feeling overwhelmed, feel like it's all too much, remember this sage advice: sometimes you just gotta watch Fonzie dance.
"Your tongue is twisted, your eyes are slit/you need a guardian..."
#4: 'Hot for Teacher' by Van Halen - For my money, no song is a more fitting ambassador from the (original) David Lee Roth era of Van Halen than Hot for Teacher. Its buzz saw guitar licks and rattling drum riffs, combined with the video (from an age when celebrity and a sense of humor were not mutually exclusive), complement every drop of Diamond Dave's dogmatic rock and roll bluster, from his ribbon-waving scissor kicks to ass-less spandex. If I have to hear one more Generation Y-er tell me he loves this song because it's his favorite to play on Guitar Hero, I'm going to be sick (Guitar Hero might itself be a reason to Live Nebulously!).
"Oh man, I think the clock is slow/I don't feel tardy/class dismissed...."
Stand tuned for more Happy Days...! ;-)
