Song 2 (electric boogaloo?)

(and now...I return to the music of my formative years)

Operation Ivy - "Sound System"

"Sound system gonna bring me back up yeah
one thing that I can depend on"

That line burned a small hole in my psyche the first time I heard it. While the song itself isn't linked to any specific event or moment in my life, it does represent the bridging of two musical time zones for me. It also caused me to become a life-long OpIvy fan (despite the naysayers, including my lovely girlfriend).

Late in high school, my life, despite my growing absorption into punk subculture, was ruled by ska. It was the early-mid nineties after all. My very first non-auditorium show was a Mephiskapheles show at the Rathskeller - a Madison free-show bastion - at the tender age of fourteen (yes I know I'm a late bloomer).

By the time I left for my first collegiate endeavor - a less-than successful one - ska was slowly being phased out of my life, in favor of an growing lust for punk. It was during one of those early, fanatical lapses when I was struck with the realization that no particular musical style had to be remanded to the periphery. You'd think this was common sense, but somehow I misplaced that mentality as an upstart teenager. Some people just get sucked into a realm which saps them of their desire to indulge in anything beyond the sonic smeldings which most appeal to them. I became one of those people. In any case, Operation Ivy reminded me of that fundamental understanding: that aphorism which mentions something about variety being highly preferable when seasoning life to taste and enjoy.

The first time I heard "Sound System," I was hanging out in my friend's basement, contemplating shaving my first mohawk; something which didn't actually happen until college. Several years later a similar moment occurred, when lounging around my friend's dorm room, as he fanned his fiery red mohawk, this minor epiphany struck upon me. Unfortunately, any philosophical development was temporarily shelved, as the conundrum of 18-year-old kids acquiring beer drastically outweighed enlightenment.

That night, we listened to that CD nearly constantly as we rode to the punk show, top down in his restored 68 mustang, mohawks flapping in the breeze. Ever since that evening, a warm glow spreads through me every time I hear this song, and Operation Ivy in general.

Soundtrack (part 1)

What elements create and enrich the mix tape of life - exemplify the good, the bad, the neutral? How strongly are our lives tied to a sonic format? I'm truly amazed how a few bars or a catchy chorus associatively tethers me to my memories.

Here I'd like to delve deeper into the notes that bind my life; to find resurgences of details, lost thoughts. This is a multiple-portion series - essentially the liner notes to the soundtrack of my life so far. Perhaps my journey might jostle some relevant slash mirrored experiences from your own life. Please enjoy with me (not necessarily in chronological order):
SIDE A - Miasma oblongata

AC/DC - Back in Black

This song is for anyone who ever had a close childhood friend; one that you wanted to keep to yourself. They may not have been your best friend. I had a best friend, but (and I don't know if this happens with girls as well as guys...) this friend was the friend I chose to spend most of my time with - and vice versa. We seemed to recognize the universe's entropic progression better than any of our other cohorts. He was also the friend that, in a minute fashion, planted the seeds of 'teenage rebellion' in my spongy young brain.

The song 'Back in Black' - and subsequent album - were in all reality, the first music I heard beyond my parent's music and the kid-friendly music my friend parent's allowed played. A touch less acceptable (I'm imagining my parent's dismayed gaze as 'You Shook Me All Night Long' rocked its roguish tendrils into my seven year old cranium. Of course at that point, sexual elements were well removed from my grasp.) But it was a rash departure from safe kiddie fare like Raffi or the oldies and classical my parents tended to cherish.

In a fashion, it was an early sampling of the bittersweet departure from childhood. These secrets were shared primarily between my friend and I, even though neither of us grasped entirely what the gist of those secrets were. We just sat on my kitchen floor with my minute boom box playing a tape that plugged us into new, forthcoming realities.