One Night in June
As I write this, Cheap Trick is playing a free outdoor concert at the Mercy Lounge. Jesus, I loved that band and would give a DNA sample to be there. It is a nice, muggy Tennessee night. I know Rick Nielson is all suited up, ready to rock. Bun E. Carlos is wearing out his simple drum kit subtly like a man on a smoke break. Robin Zander is still dashing, blonde as ever. Tom Peterson probably came straight from Gruhn Guitars downtown. Ah, Baby, it is 1978, 1979 all over again.
There is a long-forgotten movie called Over the Edge that essentially served as a showcase for Cheap Trick’s music. It launched with “Hello There” and never stopped. It also launched Matt Dillon’s career. In my mind, there was no one cooler than that little streetwise smartass. And a couple years later, he got to sleep with Kristy McNichol in Little Darlings. Lucky bastard. But mostly he immortalized himself—for me—by being cool to a Cheap Trick backdrop.
Music has long been a mainstay for me. Even uncertainty—which I struggle with daily—is no match for it. My oldest sister, R1, introduced me to the best of the best (Woodstock, Hendrix, Janis Joplin, John Prine) and encouraged me to listen to any and everything. And I did. And I do. In the mid-70s I was all about KISS. And then I let Cheap Trick share that wondrous stage. Later, I graduated to Van Halen during their second album. Then it was Rush for the longest time. But I never lost sight of Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry, Ernest Tubb, and Johnny Cash. And, too, Bluegrass was essential listening in my house.
Like many others, I measure periods of my life by the music of the time. So, even once outgrown (or put aside, rather), the music is a part of me—who I’ve become. I have never not had an ongoing soundtrack to my life. And I quite like that. It is nice to revisit certain tracks and feel young again. And capable. Full of potential. Music will often cure what ails you. Or at least dull it some.
Nashville hs been difficult of late. Nothing a Ryan can’t handle, but difficult just the same. ..(And for now, the soundtrack might lift its own needle and drop on Zeppelin’s Tangerine or Going to California) . (Or it might not).
Among other things, Emerson started a new daycare today. He had been at Temple since he was ten weeks old. The ordeal was much more sobering than I thought it would be. It saddened me. Goodbyes are not my thing—and it’s not even my fucking daycare. He’s good with it—or has at least put on a brave face. Tonight he told me he really likes his new school but thinks that “maybe tomorrow I’ll go to my old school.”
Ever see a grown man fight back tears in front of his child? Going back is not an option.
It is foolish to underestimate the resilience of a child. And probably more foolish to underestimate the resolve of an Emerson. He will be fine and he will thrive.
Because that is what he does,
A little strife is food for the soul. Right?
Right?
Em is sleeping now. My drink is strong. My cigar is mild.
And what is that I hear? It sounds remarkably like a Cheap Trick guitar lick—“Good night now, Ladies and Gentleman. Goodnight, now ladies and gents. That’s the end of the show, now it’s time to go.”
And I am eleven years old again. And Matt Dillon is the coolest motherfucker on the planet. And he hasn’t even met Kristy McNichol yet.
Lucky Bastard.
There is a long-forgotten movie called Over the Edge that essentially served as a showcase for Cheap Trick’s music. It launched with “Hello There” and never stopped. It also launched Matt Dillon’s career. In my mind, there was no one cooler than that little streetwise smartass. And a couple years later, he got to sleep with Kristy McNichol in Little Darlings. Lucky bastard. But mostly he immortalized himself—for me—by being cool to a Cheap Trick backdrop.
Music has long been a mainstay for me. Even uncertainty—which I struggle with daily—is no match for it. My oldest sister, R1, introduced me to the best of the best (Woodstock, Hendrix, Janis Joplin, John Prine) and encouraged me to listen to any and everything. And I did. And I do. In the mid-70s I was all about KISS. And then I let Cheap Trick share that wondrous stage. Later, I graduated to Van Halen during their second album. Then it was Rush for the longest time. But I never lost sight of Muddy Waters, Chuck Berry, Ernest Tubb, and Johnny Cash. And, too, Bluegrass was essential listening in my house.
Like many others, I measure periods of my life by the music of the time. So, even once outgrown (or put aside, rather), the music is a part of me—who I’ve become. I have never not had an ongoing soundtrack to my life. And I quite like that. It is nice to revisit certain tracks and feel young again. And capable. Full of potential. Music will often cure what ails you. Or at least dull it some.
Nashville hs been difficult of late. Nothing a Ryan can’t handle, but difficult just the same. ..(And for now, the soundtrack might lift its own needle and drop on Zeppelin’s Tangerine or Going to California) . (Or it might not).
Among other things, Emerson started a new daycare today. He had been at Temple since he was ten weeks old. The ordeal was much more sobering than I thought it would be. It saddened me. Goodbyes are not my thing—and it’s not even my fucking daycare. He’s good with it—or has at least put on a brave face. Tonight he told me he really likes his new school but thinks that “maybe tomorrow I’ll go to my old school.”
Ever see a grown man fight back tears in front of his child? Going back is not an option.
It is foolish to underestimate the resilience of a child. And probably more foolish to underestimate the resolve of an Emerson. He will be fine and he will thrive.
Because that is what he does,
A little strife is food for the soul. Right?
Right?
Em is sleeping now. My drink is strong. My cigar is mild.
And what is that I hear? It sounds remarkably like a Cheap Trick guitar lick—“Good night now, Ladies and Gentleman. Goodnight, now ladies and gents. That’s the end of the show, now it’s time to go.”
And I am eleven years old again. And Matt Dillon is the coolest motherfucker on the planet. And he hasn’t even met Kristy McNichol yet.
Lucky Bastard.
posted by Ryan at 10:02 PM
4 Comments:
"and it’s not even my fucking daycare"
But isn't it? I believe we form a bond of trust, for sanity's sake, with those we leave our everything with. Hang in there bro, it won't be the last time :)
Very nice post. For me, it started with my parent's LP collection (Cash, Willie Nelson, etc). The first LP of my very own was "KISS ALIVE II." I wore the grooves out of that one. Later it was Ozzy, AC/DC, Judas Priest...I was a metalhead 4 sure. I still think Metalica is one of the tightest bands ever.
Cheers,
e
Cheap Trick?
Cheap Trick !!
First single I ever bought.
Shit, now you have me go up to the attic to look it up.
I saw Cheap Trick open for Robert Plant, and they blew him off the stage, no contest.
The day we dropped off my oldest for his first day of preschool, I couldn't get out of the car watching him climb out with his new Bob the Builder backpack on. I sobbed all the way home. The tears were stronger than me. And Tuesday, or second son will join him. My wife has already kindly suggested she drop them of.
Ah, I'll have to go and grab my Dream Police cassette, or Cheap Trick greatest hits CD and reminesce.
Thanks for the memories.
Hamel, Best of luck tomorrow. Very kind of your wife. Myself, I don't deal well with dealing.
It's such a difficult thing, eh? I never knew my capacity to love before Emerson came along.
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