I got my first guitar as a present for my 14th birthday. It was a black Epiphone, one of those starter guitars that only costs about $100 or so. Green Day’s “American Idiot” was popular at the time, so like every middle schooler of that era, Billie Joe Armstrong and Kurt Cobain were my mentors. Punk rock only got me so far.
That year, blink-182 broke up. I was devastated; their untitled album was (and still remains) one of my favorite albums of all time, a palate of songs with which I could always identify. I stopped listening to the same stuff that everybody else was and went back to the band whose music meant the most to me. That action set a personal precedent that, to this day, I follow: Forget about what everybody else likes. Play and listen to music for yourself.
Mark Hoppus of blink-182 was my bass-playing and songwriting idol, and through his production work on their second album, I discovered Motion City Soundtrack. While I didn’t stick with them for very long, they covered two bands from the 1980s during the sessions with Hoppus: R.E.M. and The Police. Both became important deities in my personal pantheon of important bands.
While my fascination with the style of The Police stopped at Stewart Copeland’s soundtrack to Spyro the Dragon, and a brief but substantial U2 phase, the college radio and alternative rock genres that R.E.M. helped pioneer fascinated me. I went nightswimming with Michael Stipe; I wore Elvis Costello’s red shoes; I felt safe in Rivers Cuomo’s garage. To this day Weezer’s Green Album maintains a semi-permanent spot on my MP3 player, I know all the words to “It’s the End of the World As We Know It” (just try me), and “What’s So Funny About Peace, Love, and Understanding?” is my favorite protest song of all time.
None of these bands, however, prepared me adequately for the discovery I was about to make. I was in Boston on a double date with my friend Jason; he needed accompaniment into town, and I needed a bass player, so we made a deal. The afternoon ended poorly, as he threw a chicken nugget at his date (in his defense, she dared him to!).
But in the record store before dinner, as I was perusing the used record section, I saw a $10 greatest hits by this band called The Replacements. I had never heard them before, but I had heard of them; the packaging was intriguing, the disc was only a few years old, and I needed something to listen to on the train ride home. It turned out to be the most important decision I’ve made since I began playing music.
Immediately I connected with Paul Westerberg’s sentiments on “Within Your Reach”. For the next six months, I spent all my time buying and listening to the ‘Mats, piecing together their history one disc at a time. Tommy Stinson’s Bash and Pop became another of my favorite albums, Westerberg’s solo projects provide me with inspiration for my own career, and “Pleased to Meet Me” is the greatest album of all time. OF ALL TIME. The Replacements turned me onto bands like Big Star, The Faces, and The Rolling Stones, and while I never got into their rivals in Husker Du, Bob Mould’s solo work over the past few years has been excellent.
On February 10, 2009, the combination of these forces (and the desire to actually put out an album) led to the release of “9 Songs”, an abortion of an album that had some decent songwriting on the B-side. I wish I had put more time into it. I worked hard on it, but it’s unlistenable to me now. I can remember the words to only a handful of songs from that album, and even then, I don’t think I remember an entire song.
It was through the weak promotion of this album that I met Ariana, who went on to become one of my best friends and, after a long and interesting courtship, my girlfriend. If there’s one person who I should thank for keeping me motivated to become a better musician (and, more importantly, a better person), it’s her. So thanks, love. You really have no idea how much you do.
Recently, I’ve been hard at work writing new songs and assembling a better album. I hope that my second attempt is much better than my first.
