Just Lost in Music...
Everyone has been through trial by fire at some points in their lives. You don't get to go through childhood and have it be all roses and song. Growing up is not, by nature, painless. Would that it were, I used to think. But that trial by fire is what made that lonely, timid, frightned person come out and turn into the force to be reckoned with at work, on my first aid squad... pick your poison!
But this posting, while it explores a large amount of childhood angst and issues, is really about what the root of my love of music did for me and how it shaped my love of it today.
There are a massive mulitude of reasons for things to be as they were in my middle and high school years. There were no progressive schools that I could go to, where being socially inept was less egregious. Even if there was, my parents could likely have not afforded it. There was one young kids' school, one middle school and one high school in Wayne. Unlike anywhere else in the United States (which is probably not the case, but seems like it to my then-child's mind), the system in Wallington, NJ consisted of a kidergarten through Grade 3; the middle school, the Frank J Gavlak school, was definitely living with a huge misnomer - it had the Grades one through three... but on the top floor, you had the Grades Four through Six.
It gets a little interesting here, as this is where the high school (again, a lulu of a boo boo in misnomers!) started at Grade 7 and continued right up through Grade 12. Now, this was strange. I have enough friends and done enough reading to know that this was not the normal set up in any school. Welcome, friends, to the Wallington High School. Welcome to my world.
Well, it really was not my world. It was not being at home. It was not sitting in a class with the same abysmally stupid kids who were interested in make-up and boys and their appearance. Not that this isn't a normal thing for most 12- or 13-year-olds. Clearly it is. But I was never comfortable within my own skin, frizzy hair, brown eyes (not unusual, either, really - I just happen to be able to look back and now know what the problems were). The teachers often had that hopeless look of, "Oh, am I supposed to stuff some knowledge into your tiny little cranium?", whilst they were focusing on boys, girls, unpopular and popular kids. But I wasn't that person. I wasn't the person who wanted to ingratiate myself with such completely empty people. And so many were. I wanted a friend, really, but it seemed that I would have to comfort myself with the few self-centered "friends" that I had. I think I will always have a softspot for Lori Patti. John Solomene, well, not so much. He was mad af me for some reason at some point that I knew at the time but have long, long, since forgotten. But Lori has been and always will be very special.
In 1980 we left the comfort of the apartment of 5523 Nelkin Drive in Wallington. My grandmother had promised to by my mother and my father any house they wanted. We looked at many, many houses before finding the little white Cape on Alps Road.
Wayne... Wallington - worlds apart. I knew Wallington so well - not merely going to the corner store and home or to the school (certainly not in Wayne - which I could not find at all but I was in the eighth grade - right back down the bottom). In Wallington, there weren't too many dangerous creatures. The heavist drug I'd even seen marijuana. Not much of a sampler, me. I hadn't tried it and quite frankly wasn't inspired to - Lori's older brother smoked it a lot in the 70s when we were kids (maybe fourth grade) hanging out in her apartment. It stunk. When we moved to Wayne, I remember walking into the 9th grade girls' bathroom to find some of the snobby, rich girls snorting some white substance up their noses. I am sure that by age 13 I had heard of cocaine, but I had never encountered it. It was shocking. I never did try it. Not to this day and although it is fairly passé now to do coke (there are so many "better" things out there, I suppose), I never will try it. I will never willingly try any of the other drugs of choice out there - herion, E, rohipnol (roofies, I believe is the current vernacular), ketamine, and whatever other potentially deadly things are floating about out there.
That stands out in my mind.
It was not a nice place. The apathy of most of the teaching staff hadn't changed. The curriculum hadn't either. But the students - and my status - did and rather considerably at that. The kids here were ranging from lower-middle class to rich and there were girls I went to school with that never - throughout the whole of the four years - wore the same thing twice. That was so hard for me to grasp - and not feel envious about it. I tried to fit in and be more like the kids in Wayne - a useless effort as it had no effect on how they viewed me and certainly brought me no happiness. So then, I went the completely opposite direction. I became very much the odd teenager, into punk and the look when it was only just starting and not at all present in that God-frosaken school. The teachers mostly ignored it and I was perfectly happy to be comfortable in the clothing side of things, at least. But comfortable was an uneasy thing in that wretched place. I mostly wasn't.
I would come home, and hide in my bedroom. It may have bothered my parents, but they were never ones to push me to do things I would not want to anyway. That was fine. I really think little of parents who force their kids to do things: play piano, join a sport or some sort of club at school. Anytime parents make the kid do something, it is a bad idea. I think a lot of baggage comes with that sort of thing. I'm very happy that my parents did not force the issue of being a joiner on me. I think they understood that whatever I was going through was mine to deal with and there was really little to be done for it.
However, this is not why I got mired into the whole pitiful school-times thing. I got in to this because somwhere in 1981 I found U2. I found them and immediately bought the album "Boy". I loved it. I listened to it all the time. I had already pretty much taken ownership of my parents' records that I did like: Pink Floyd's "The Wall". The Beatles' "Abbey Road". Now I was starting to buy music of my own. I had Adam & The Ants and other albums, but I found U2 and that was all I wanted for a long time. Then I bought "October" - more U2 music to immerse myself in. Oh, so refreshing! And this began my love of lyrics - good, strong, powerful, meaningful lyrics. Music means a lot and I listen to plenty of it that has no lyrics. But when it comes to my musical choices with lyrics, please shoot Britney Speares and give me the meaning - U2, Barenaked Ladies, the Moody Blues, Pink Floyd, Marillion, Coldplay, Yes, Led Zeppelin, Depeche Mode, etc. A little thinking, a lot of intelligence. I need that. I won't pick out music I don't like for the sake of lyrics, but it is meaningful to me that what I listen to has meaning, even if it is satirical, like "Eaten by the Monster of Love" or "The King of Bedside Manor".
U2 gave me something to think about, something to fantasize about, something - many things - to believe in. I so needed that. I was one of the most unimaginably loneliest people in the world during my teenage years and this allowed me to feel like I had champions. Like someone knew what I was feeling and added a good sound to it. U2 was older than me - they were ranging from 15 to 17 in 1978 and I was 10 in that time. So they had perfect timing. Listen to the lyrics of the songs on "Boy" - "Out of Control", "Shadows and Tall Trees", "I Will Follow" - and you can immediately see whay any teenager can relate to this.
But this posting, while it explores a large amount of childhood angst and issues, is really about what the root of my love of music did for me and how it shaped my love of it today.
There are a massive mulitude of reasons for things to be as they were in my middle and high school years. There were no progressive schools that I could go to, where being socially inept was less egregious. Even if there was, my parents could likely have not afforded it. There was one young kids' school, one middle school and one high school in Wayne. Unlike anywhere else in the United States (which is probably not the case, but seems like it to my then-child's mind), the system in Wallington, NJ consisted of a kidergarten through Grade 3; the middle school, the Frank J Gavlak school, was definitely living with a huge misnomer - it had the Grades one through three... but on the top floor, you had the Grades Four through Six.
It gets a little interesting here, as this is where the high school (again, a lulu of a boo boo in misnomers!) started at Grade 7 and continued right up through Grade 12. Now, this was strange. I have enough friends and done enough reading to know that this was not the normal set up in any school. Welcome, friends, to the Wallington High School. Welcome to my world.
Well, it really was not my world. It was not being at home. It was not sitting in a class with the same abysmally stupid kids who were interested in make-up and boys and their appearance. Not that this isn't a normal thing for most 12- or 13-year-olds. Clearly it is. But I was never comfortable within my own skin, frizzy hair, brown eyes (not unusual, either, really - I just happen to be able to look back and now know what the problems were). The teachers often had that hopeless look of, "Oh, am I supposed to stuff some knowledge into your tiny little cranium?", whilst they were focusing on boys, girls, unpopular and popular kids. But I wasn't that person. I wasn't the person who wanted to ingratiate myself with such completely empty people. And so many were. I wanted a friend, really, but it seemed that I would have to comfort myself with the few self-centered "friends" that I had. I think I will always have a softspot for Lori Patti. John Solomene, well, not so much. He was mad af me for some reason at some point that I knew at the time but have long, long, since forgotten. But Lori has been and always will be very special.
In 1980 we left the comfort of the apartment of 5523 Nelkin Drive in Wallington. My grandmother had promised to by my mother and my father any house they wanted. We looked at many, many houses before finding the little white Cape on Alps Road.
Wayne... Wallington - worlds apart. I knew Wallington so well - not merely going to the corner store and home or to the school (certainly not in Wayne - which I could not find at all but I was in the eighth grade - right back down the bottom). In Wallington, there weren't too many dangerous creatures. The heavist drug I'd even seen marijuana. Not much of a sampler, me. I hadn't tried it and quite frankly wasn't inspired to - Lori's older brother smoked it a lot in the 70s when we were kids (maybe fourth grade) hanging out in her apartment. It stunk. When we moved to Wayne, I remember walking into the 9th grade girls' bathroom to find some of the snobby, rich girls snorting some white substance up their noses. I am sure that by age 13 I had heard of cocaine, but I had never encountered it. It was shocking. I never did try it. Not to this day and although it is fairly passé now to do coke (there are so many "better" things out there, I suppose), I never will try it. I will never willingly try any of the other drugs of choice out there - herion, E, rohipnol (roofies, I believe is the current vernacular), ketamine, and whatever other potentially deadly things are floating about out there.
That stands out in my mind.
It was not a nice place. The apathy of most of the teaching staff hadn't changed. The curriculum hadn't either. But the students - and my status - did and rather considerably at that. The kids here were ranging from lower-middle class to rich and there were girls I went to school with that never - throughout the whole of the four years - wore the same thing twice. That was so hard for me to grasp - and not feel envious about it. I tried to fit in and be more like the kids in Wayne - a useless effort as it had no effect on how they viewed me and certainly brought me no happiness. So then, I went the completely opposite direction. I became very much the odd teenager, into punk and the look when it was only just starting and not at all present in that God-frosaken school. The teachers mostly ignored it and I was perfectly happy to be comfortable in the clothing side of things, at least. But comfortable was an uneasy thing in that wretched place. I mostly wasn't.
I would come home, and hide in my bedroom. It may have bothered my parents, but they were never ones to push me to do things I would not want to anyway. That was fine. I really think little of parents who force their kids to do things: play piano, join a sport or some sort of club at school. Anytime parents make the kid do something, it is a bad idea. I think a lot of baggage comes with that sort of thing. I'm very happy that my parents did not force the issue of being a joiner on me. I think they understood that whatever I was going through was mine to deal with and there was really little to be done for it.
However, this is not why I got mired into the whole pitiful school-times thing. I got in to this because somwhere in 1981 I found U2. I found them and immediately bought the album "Boy". I loved it. I listened to it all the time. I had already pretty much taken ownership of my parents' records that I did like: Pink Floyd's "The Wall". The Beatles' "Abbey Road". Now I was starting to buy music of my own. I had Adam & The Ants and other albums, but I found U2 and that was all I wanted for a long time. Then I bought "October" - more U2 music to immerse myself in. Oh, so refreshing! And this began my love of lyrics - good, strong, powerful, meaningful lyrics. Music means a lot and I listen to plenty of it that has no lyrics. But when it comes to my musical choices with lyrics, please shoot Britney Speares and give me the meaning - U2, Barenaked Ladies, the Moody Blues, Pink Floyd, Marillion, Coldplay, Yes, Led Zeppelin, Depeche Mode, etc. A little thinking, a lot of intelligence. I need that. I won't pick out music I don't like for the sake of lyrics, but it is meaningful to me that what I listen to has meaning, even if it is satirical, like "Eaten by the Monster of Love" or "The King of Bedside Manor".
U2 gave me something to think about, something to fantasize about, something - many things - to believe in. I so needed that. I was one of the most unimaginably loneliest people in the world during my teenage years and this allowed me to feel like I had champions. Like someone knew what I was feeling and added a good sound to it. U2 was older than me - they were ranging from 15 to 17 in 1978 and I was 10 in that time. So they had perfect timing. Listen to the lyrics of the songs on "Boy" - "Out of Control", "Shadows and Tall Trees", "I Will Follow" - and you can immediately see whay any teenager can relate to this.
20 February 2007
I wrote this an age ago. I should just post it since I have long since lost that train of thought...
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