I Don't Want To Be

“I Don’t Want To Be” - Gavin DeGraw (Chariot - 2003)

Can I divorce myself from any connection to some program on the WB that features all the beautiful people in the world put together in a perfectly packaged half hour? Please? Just long enough to say how much I love this song? I promise I’m not some wuss in Hugo Boss shopping for flavored Lattes in Starbucks. I swear it.

It was fall of 2003 and nobody had ever even heard of Gavin DeGraw, much less his touring mates, the headliners, Maroon 5. Now they’re both everywhere. Off the strength of 1 album a piece. I hate that. Why must everybody else get in on your discoveries and make you hate what you once thought was a very personal moment of magic? I can’t stand Maroon 5 now, but I can’t get away from Gavin DeGraw. Or his amazing album, Chariot. Want to call me a wuss again? A champion of the Top 40? I could care less. I can listen to Nick Drake any day. DeGraw’s album is flawless. And I challenge anyone to listen to it just once.

One of the highlights of that concert in November was this song. (This and his soulful rendition of Marvin Gaye‘s “Let’s Get It On”.) I was not ready for a new anthem, but it hit my ears and I had no choice. Granted, I am not a prison guard’s son. I don’t even know if DeGraw is. For all I know, his daddy could be a banker. He could have rolled out all the funds for his son to make his debut album. But when DeGraw Jr. belted out those words for the first time in my lifetime, to a packed crowd at the House of Blues, I believed him. Absolutely. And I wanted to tell everyone else that I felt the same way.

“I don’t want to be anything other than what I’ve been trying to be lately…I don’t want to be anything other than ME!”

And when the rest of the instruments drop out at about 2:30 in, and there is just a piano and DeGraw soaring above the quiet, you feel like you could kick the world in their smug face with the truth that is the absolute authority of YOU. There’s power in them there words!

So, no matter how popular this song gets. No matter how many tv shows are a backdrop for Mr. DeGraws tunes. The soul of this song will never be lost. It is imbedded. And there are always lives to empower.

Now, give me your attention, please. Gavin DeGraw. It’s been over 2 years. Wont you put out an album of new material?

http://www.gavinsounds.com/

C'Mon C'Mon

“C’Mon C’Mon” - The Von Bondies (Pawn Shoppe Heart - 2004)

Do you wanna’ make your ears bleed? Do you wanna’ ride so fast your head swims? Do you wanna’ see if sound will make you drunk? I can’t think of any better feeling in the world. So, yes. Yes, I wanna’ jump up and down like an idiot while the speakers vibrate enough to make bruises on my soles. On my soul. Take me to the 9:30 club. The Double Door. The Aragon. The Boathouse. The show. Where I can sing until I have no voice and take unlimited chances. So what if Jack White shows up. Wants to bring a 7 Nation army with his bad ass. Threaten us. Kick our ass. We keep coming back. Keep testing that bar keep. Smoking in the corner. We ain’t got no id. So what. Sell us that Zima. Our hair parted in the middle, but at least we got hair. We wanna’ sneak off with Jason and tell him we think he’s cool. So cool, even though he looks bad. Bad like us. So unpopular that he’s popular. Pisses people off. Spits on people. Spits on us. He reminds us of us. Why do we get so excited about tearing up shit. Destroying stuff. Creation through destruction. Who said that anyway? I keep getting hit in the head with somebody’s Vans. We make our way to the front again and get our shirts ripped. Hell, we rip our own shirts. Is that sad to say? Isn’t it fun to play? Is it wrong that way? I hope I die before I get old, but only the good die young. Where does that leave us? The kids who’ve never come and gone. Dancing on the in-between. Bodies banging together in sweat and cigarette smoke and MGD. I drew a big A on my shirt with a red magic marker, but I think it stands for Anti-social. Or April. I’ve got a big crush on her. Well, I did. Before. But the rock and roll lifestyle never grows old. We’ll be here next week. Doors at 7:30. The rock and roll gods cheer us on. C’mon. C’mon. Things are good when you are young.

http://www.vonbondies.com/

Needle in the Hay

“Needle in the Hay” - Elliot Smith (Elliot Smith - 1995)

She just saw him. Just now. Damn. It might all be ending.

Safe now. In the closet. A prisoner in his own apartment. Some idiot kid with no hope for love. As long as he can remember. As much as he expects. It would be nice to be able to look back. Like most do. Contemplate a time when things were different. But maybe that would be more painful.

He never thought it would come to this. All those nights of voyeuristic leniency. Warm, fuzzy happiness. That’s what he’d come to expect. That was probably a mistake too. Too good to be true. Her. There behind the shades. Parted. Always. Across the way. It was stupid to fantasize. Was it? But it was so easy. And natural. And peaceful. And maybe he could meet her one day. Maybe he could be himself. For once. Maybe she would want to spend time with him. Go on a date. Find out what he’s all about. What are the chances? But there were chances. There always were. Right?

It was dark in there. And he was hungry. And sick. He really thought he was going to be sick now. It wasn’t embarrassment. What could she know anyway? Maybe she didn’t even see him. He didn’t even do anything. She wanted to be seen. She did. If HE hadn’t shown up.

The night doesn’t have to end in there. There is still time. He could catch the bus. Down to L’amours. Walk, walk, walk. 4 more blocks. He didn’t need her anymore. Thinking back 2 minutes ago. Her hand on his arm. Her dress. Shoulder. His lips on her…stop. Why this torture? Why dwell on this. On her. On him. God. It’s over. The gig is up. Life goes on.

He’s buried under his mother’s clothes. Why is it so damp in there? So damp and dark? This is insane. He wants to come out. Out of the closet. Maybe the bus is still running. Why does she haunt him. Her face burns. He wants her to leave him alone. Finally. To leave his life. It’s too much responsibility. This relationship is wearing him thin. He needs to go over there and tell her. Right now. While HE is there. HE should know too. Maybe that could ease his pain. Maybe this would be good for everyone.

He peeks through the cracks. Through the shades. They are closed. He’s sure of everything now. Everything that has happened these past 14 months. Everything that has happened these past 30 minutes. Everything that is yet to happen. His brilliant future. The hope of the next 10 minutes. That’s okay if they don’t want to talk about it. They don’t have to talk about anything. Ever again.

http://www.mp3.com/tracks/699952/dl_streams.html

Still In Hollywood

"Still In Hollywood" - Concrete Blonde (Concrete Blonde - 1986)

I hate L.A. Forget the Starbucks on every corner. Forget the marginal celebrity in every café. Forget Randy Newman. I hate L.A. And I have a million legitimate reasons why. But I’m not going to tell you what I know. You have to know if for yourself. You have to feel that sun burn turn into cancer. My grand total of 2 ½ days, spent in the lair of sun-shined movie stars, grounded my perceptions. Despite spending that 2 ½ days in the home of the man who shot Jaws. Despite discovering the original storyboards for Taxi Driver. Despite sifting through 30 years of Academy screeners in the basement of Scorcese’s former DP. I still hate L.A. That’s not enough to change my mind. Travis Bickle should come and shoot the whole place up. The violence of redemption.
You see, I am not keen on places that suck your soul out through your nose and leave you bleeding in the streets. In the case of L.A., that would be the 405. And unless you have your cell-phone charged and are safely in your BMW, you will probably die. Bled dry. Alone. I hate L.A. Has-been actors are such before they even arrive in the synthetic playground. The Midwest. The South. The East. They send their legions of aspiration and communication degrees. It’s the only place where your shelf life is shorter than computer software.
I had a friend to go. Against the warnings. Against the odds. Against everything. The voices of the past were stronger. Soon they were the voices of the sidewalk. And the bus. Can you see me through the honey glaze she asked? I hate L.A. The diner. The diner doesn’t pay well. Keeps me in cigarettes. I don’t dress as well as I should, but that will change. I don’t eat as well as I should, but I don’t really need to eat out here. No one does. At least not my friends. Oh, you have a few of them. Not really. Competition. Her cell phone uncharged. Breaking up. I have an audition. Another one. I haven’t heard from you in so long. I met the queen of L.A. At least that’s what she said. I hate L.A. Why does everyone put on sunglasses and think they’re important.
When are you coming home, I wanted to ask her. I keep thinking your not okay. What? I’m not living under a truck or anything. It’s glorious. We’re all beautiful. Immaculate. Sunshine. You can’t fool me. It’s taken your life. Where are you? Where’s your BMW? Is Starbucks hiring? What about that pilot you went out for? Any word?
Honestly, I thought I’d be out of here by now.
Isn’t life grand?

http://www.concreteblondeofficialwebsite.com/

Living In Sin

"Living In Sin" - Bon Jovi (New Jersey - 1990)
Mid-June roadtrip to Cimmaron, New Mexico for a ten-day survival hike in Philmont. The rented bus took us seven days and a million miles away from home. It was the first time away from home that was further than the state of Virginia. Windows down, backed up toilet, gameboys linked across high-backed seats, farts, sodas and me with my walkman staring across the desert. Fifty people on the bus, twelve in my group, four I really knew, and one friend but I was really alone. The foam on the headseat made my ears sweat and I fidgeted constantly to keep the cording from touching my chin. The button kept clicking on and off as I hit rewind then play making sure I was exactly 3 seconds of quiet before the song came on. Click, play, click, play, click, fast forward a bit, close my eyes - play.
I was 18. What did I know. Bon Jovi was getting closer to something as I was getting further. The song didn't pull me out of the bus, it pulled everything in. The song reversed on me. It was the first time a song had ever done that. I was an antenna for these open roads. I felt the song in this girl with the cast on her arm walking around Cape Canaveral. I felt the song in the sad eyes of the boatman in the alligator infested bayou. I felt the lone shacks miles away from the road standing forgotten against the wind. And that dry hoarse scream at the end of the song - like the desert wind was drying him out. Drying me out. I was that boy who leaves home to become a man and Bon Jovi was telling me that it was going to be beautiful but it wasn't going to be easy. I was trying to know so much about myself as a youth that I never wondered about anyone else. And here was the world and I had no idea what was going on. Who are these people? Why are they so happy? Why are they so sad? And it was then I realized they were relationships. The girl in the cast thinking of a boy back home. The man in the bayou thinking of taking his ill wife to the hospital the next morning. And all of those people drying up in those distant shacks never leaving - holding on to someone. And here I was with nothing learning how to grab hold.
The worse part of the trip was being stuck with fifty people in the same situation who didn't have that privilege of Bon Jovi. As I was laying in the dark hallway linoleum of a rented navy building, a bar of soap shattered just over my head. One of the weaker members had been teased too much and lost control. He was screaming at everyone and coming closer. I needed a fix. I needed my lesson. I wanted to know how to get out of here without getting up. Who would I hold onto?

Click, play, click, play, fast forward a bit, close my eyes - play

http://bon-jovi.lyrics-songs.com/lyrics/4999/

Anna Begins

“Anna Begins” - Counting Crows (August and Everything After -1993)

My friend assured me it’s all or nothing. Commitment that is. Isn’t that the nature of the beast after all? What about the reverse of that? Is there an equivalent to anti-commitment? If there is, than that is what my friend was trying to convince me of in the summer of 1997. August, actually. All of my friends, actually. Everything after is just a blur.
What my friends neglected to understand was that I was the one. The only one who could understand her. To them, every word was nonsense. More attempts to reach into my chest and twist my already twisted heart into an inhuman shape. They couldn’t see what I could see though. They weren’t behind closed doors in those moments when all the rest of the world washed away. She could never stop shaking and I could never stop touching her. I was happy to reside somewhere between all or nothing. I never thought of the consequences. I never thought of the ending. Was I supposed to?
Adam Duritz wrote a perfect song and I would play it over and over again. Convinced, in that way that we all believe sometimes, these words were for me. A 3-part epic in 4 ½ minutes that takes you from hello to goodbye in a melancholy way that rings beautiful and exhausting at the same time. As much as I wanted to stay in that shade of gray and tell everyone else to go to hell, it was only a matter of time. I had to come to the end of myself before I was to come to the end of that song. It was sad to let her go, but there is much joy in the realization that you can always begin again.

http://www.annabegins.com/