Weeknotes: June 24-28, 2024
Monday, June 24
I've been thinking about all the great bands I've seen recently and how it has rekindled my love of concert-going. This inspires me to start a spreadsheet of every concert I can remember attending. Lists are my language. How have I not made this one yet? I begin with the past decade which is well-documented in my planners and journals. After that I resort to memory and the internet, researching the dates of some of my most formative experiences. Here's what I learn.
Between 1988 and 1990 (ages 11-13), my parents spent a lot of money to make sure I saw some of the bedrock touring bands of the era. Of course, my very first concert was a few years earlier, the Beach Boys with Warren Zevon on Memorial Day weekend, 1984. I have vague sensory memories of it, but can recall no strong details. I sadly remember nothing of Zevon and only know of his participation from the ticket stub. In retrospect, I know Dennis Wilson had died the previous December, so I wouldn't have had a chance to see all three Wilson brothers. Could Brian have possibly been there? It seems doubtful. That was a rough period for my hero, though I later had a beautiful experience in the summer of 2000 taking my mom to see him play the Pet Sounds album live in Cleveland.
But in the late-'80s, I owned my first electric guitar and was already deep into my mania. In August 1988, barely a week after it opened, I was taken to the Palace of Auburn Hills to see Crosby, Still, & Nash and then Pink Floyd, just two days apart. A month after that my mom and Mary Jane Benner took me and her son Josh back to the Palace to see Def Leppard's massive Hysteria tour. To this day my mom remains a big fan of the Lep. In November 1989, I went with Aaron Dilloway and his brother to see the B-52's at the Fox Theatre on the Cosmic Thing tour. Toad the Wet Sprocket, an incongruous pairing, was the opener, touring their first album Bread & Circus, which I also loved. Between December of that year and June 1990, I saw the Rolling Stones (with Living Colour), Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers (with Lenny Kravitz), Billy Joel, and David Bowie. Seeing Bowie's Sound + Vision tour with my brother remains a watershed moment in my life. And of course he, being four years older, was already going to see far hipper bands than me: Jane's Addiction, Pixies, Love & Rockets, Beastie Boys. Some parents pushed their kids into sports or academics. My parents were devoted music fans and lifetime concert-goers. This was the education I received at a crucial age. How could I have become anything other than what I am?
Weeknotes: May 27-31, 2024
Monday, May 27
Riding through Frog Island, I awkwardly balance a mug of coffee in one hand, its contents sloshing against the clear lid. The ratatat of a snare drum echoes across the amphitheater's bowl. At the confluence of pedestrian bridges under Cross St., I turn right, then walk my bike up the hill to meet the band. American Legion Post 282 has a tradition of pausing the Memorial Day Procession -- they are adamant about calling it a procession, not a parade -- in the middle of the bridge and honoring lost mariners by dropping flowers into the river below. I stand next to a group of curious Girl Scouts leaning over the cement barrier and listen to the volunteer band play a shaky hymn. After the selected Legionnaires and Daughters of the Revolution send their bouquets over the edge, the bandleader stands in his Chuck Taylors and blows "Taps" on his bugle. Thirty seconds later the three gun salute startles me and I'm clearly not alone.
Even though the parade is not well advertised, I feel ashamed by the scant turnout. There are more bodies in the procession than there are spectators, making it feel somber, rather than celebratory. I'd planned on bowing out after the bridge ceremony, but given the circumstances I decide to bear witness to the whole thing. My dad is a veteran. Someone has to show up. I ride up River St. ahead of the procession to Highland Cemetery whose stoic iron gates I've run past hundreds of times. I've always meant to explore the grounds, but somehow haven't made the time since I moved here.
I love cemeteries. They are places of respect where all residents are basically on the same level. The most elaborate mausoleum has no real advantage over the humblest headstone. Everyone's journey is over and their remains are all mixed together among the shady hardwoods, watched over by the same squirrels and birds. I ride down a lane past the groundskeeper's barn and feel a flash of yearning to make that my profession. I'd keep a good cemetery. But, they don't need my help. Highland is a gorgeous and well-maintained place.
After the speeches and ceremony around the Civil War memorial I wander back to my bike leaning against a giant oak. A small banner with Lionel Richie's face on it and a "Hello" caption is planted next to a nearby headstone. Humor reminds the living we are alive. As I'm wheeling towards the exit I see in the distance a young girl in rollerblades careening down one of the blacktop lanes, arms windmilling. She cruises onto the grass and somehow recovers her balance, no harm done. Her father and dog follow unhurried down the hill behind her.