My Life in Ten Songs

Music has always been very autobiographical for me. Songs become inseparably connected with places, people and feelings that were there when I first heard them. I'm not a particularly nostalgic person anymore, but my music will always tell my life story. So here's my life, in ten songs.

1. "Weird Al" Yankovic: "I Remember Larry"

I suspect most boys of my generation had a Weird Al phase. For me, it came when I was 9 or 10. My friend Przemek (not a typo; he was Polish) was already on the bandwagon. I remember going to his house and making a copy of his Weird Al mix tape. By now I've forgotten most of the songs on that tape, but not this one.

"I Remember Larry" was the most clever song I'd ever heard up to that point -- and the most twisted. The concept of music being funny just blew my mind. And Weird Al's ability to tell a story, with a unique underlying idea or concept, AND deliver a genuinely surprising twist at the end, really excited me. And it still does. I've written a lot of story songs, and those elements are extremely difficult to conjure and craft. This was one of my first lessons in great songwriting.

2. Ben Folds Five: "One Angry Dwarf And 200 Solemn Faces"

When I was 11 I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. A few months later, my parents made me go to a week-long summer camp for diabetics. To say I dreaded it would be an understatement. I got homesick easily, and being called "diabetic" made me feel uncomfortable in my own skin. Parker, my older brother, let me borrow five of his CD's for the week, and I pocketed Ben Folds Five's Whatever And Ever Amen.

The track skipping button on my shoddy CD player didn't work, so I listened to "One Angry Dwarf And 200 Solemn Faces," the album's first song, quite a few times. My shyness and homesickness made music my shield for a good portion of that week. Secretly, though, I was terribly afraid the camp counselors would take a listen -- the song has a hearty dose of expletives. I ended up loving camp once I got the headphones off, but this song got me through those painful first few days.

3. Michael Jackson: "Stranger In Moscow"

When I was in the 7th grade, my older brother bought a record player and started a record collection. Among the first purchases was Thriller. It proved to be a real gateway drug. 

I heard it and became obsessed. Luckily, our family had just gotten the Internet and Napster was in full illegal swing. I downloaded every MJ song I could find, watched every music video, and practiced every dance move in the privacy of my room. I had his picture on my school binder, dressed up as him at school for Halloween, and even won a dance contest at my middle school's winter dance (though they played "Smooth Criminal," so I was kind of a shoe-in). The word obsession probably doesn't do justice to it all.

Of the innumerable Jackson songs I absorbed during that time, none stuck with me more than "Stranger In Moscow." Part of my MJ obsession was trying to fully comprehend the depth of his complexity -- a pursuit I'll probably never accomplish -- and to me, this song captures Jackson's true self better than any other. It's so remarkably cutting in its sorrow; in its sense of isolation and deep, deep loneliness. And to this day, the song still fascinates me on so many levels.

4. The Strokes: "Hard To Explain"

It was Saturday night and I was 14, sitting on my couch watching Saturday Night Live. Jack Black, the episode's host, introduced a band I'd never heard of: The Strokes. Or, as he called them, "THE STROKES!!!" Maybe his exclamation was really a warning, because I was unprepared for the drink that followed -- a drink that came from a fire hose of complete, unadulterated coolness. (That performance can be found here: http://vimeo.com/20706835). 

Those frantic opening guitar chords -- that were simultaneously rock, pop, jazz and new wave -- surged through me like bolts of lightning. And their look. Greasy long hair, tattered fitted jeans, Chuck Taylors, sport coats. They were everything I wasn't, and everything I suddenly wanted to be.

I snagged a copy of their debut album Is This It? and listened to nothing else for I don't know how long. Over the next year my entire wardrobe was replaced with what I would call "Strokes-approved" items. Aesthetically, musically, no one was cooler, and in them I placed my faith. 

They mean a lot to me. Their's was the first music I discovered and embraced separate of any familial influence. They were my first concert -- still the best show I've witnessed. And every time I hear "Hard To Explain" I think of that night when The Strokes grabbed hold and pulled me into true coolness.

5. Rage Against The Machine: "Calm Like A Bomb"

Rage's "Calm Like A Bomb" represents the first time I felt truly independent. My best friend Matt, newly obtained license in hand, pulled up to my house in his cream-colored 1980-something Cadillac Coupe Deville. We had the day off school and my parents were at work, but I was still nervous as I got in and closed the door. According to Oregon law he wasn't allowed to drive friends for another 6 months. But we braved the Friday afternoon with Rage's thick, angry funk fueling our exhilaration.

We drove all over Hillsboro that early autumn day, impressing our sophomore friends who didn't yet have our vehicular freedom. After a few hours Matt dropped me off a block from my house, so my parents wouldn't discover our exploits. We met up later that night for the homecoming football game, and basked in the glow of our own seeming independence. In the eight years since, I don't think I've ever felt as cool as I did that day.