The Unified Theory of Double Nickels

So I just turned 55, mere days after leaving my son at college on the East Coast. Naturally, this led me to reflect on my trip East 37 years earlier, the sights, the sounds, the sensations. And as the OnceWereBachelor journey turned a new corner (OnceAgainABachelor, maybe?) this transition caused me to take stock of where I am and what it all means. 

 He is in the exact opposite corner if the country from me, as if he had mused "how far away can I get from mom and dad?" That's where he is, some elite liberal arts, New England school, with beautiful, remote grounds, that will very soon be exploding with bonfires of yellow and orange leaves dissolving into the Autumn sky. Until it all gives way to a World War I winter landscape of grey.

I made the same trip, to a different school that was nevertheless much the same, in 1985. For both of us, it is our first East Coast fall, and later our first bonafide winter. Like me, he will become very familiar with the scent of smoke from chimneys and Blistex on the lips, the feel of gloves, the utilitarian importance of warm footwear. 

As for sounds, my freshman soundtrack was informed by the fact that immediately upon arrival, I sought out the college radio station, and obtained a Friday night slot as a DJ, spinning the latest indy music. My roommate was a mid-day jazz DJ, so we pretty much defined ourselves by that radio station. I was betrothed to REM there, the Replacements, the Hoodoo Gurus, Guadalcanal Diary, Mojo Nixon & Skid Roper. But the song that most reminds me of that freshman fall, more than the Violent Femmes' "Add It Up" or the Replacements' "Bastards of Young", is this song, "Life in a Northern Town", by the Dream Academy.

 

 Now, the plan was to spend a few days in the area, to assemble all the gear that a Hawaii kid would need for his first extended stay in the Polar North. That meant driving to Target. Driving to Bed/Bath/Beyond. L.L. Bean (my thoughts on Bean here). While driving all over New England, I found myself listening to a band from the late Nineties and the new millenium, that I had mostly ignored until now. Fountains of Wayne were mostly an East Coast band anyway, unfortunately known for a hit song that was misrepresentative of their work. I had recently downloaded their album Welcome Interstate Managers, generally considered their best work, and which I had come to appreciate as power pop meets singer songwriter. 

 Fountains of Wayne co-founders Chris Collingwood and Adam Schlesinger met back in 1986 as freshmen at another New England school, Williams College, where they bonded over learning REM songs on acoustic guitar in their dorm hallway. Thereafter, they became songwriting partners.  Interstate Managers was self-financed and independently recorded in response to being dropped by their major record label. In sweet revenge, it became their most successful release thanks to the aforementioned hit song. The album is particularly resonant to me because it seems to comprise the magnificent highs, the gutter lows, and the general absurdities of Generation X adulthood that I had experienced these past 37 years. And it even contains a perfect New England winter song, just like "Life in a Northern Town" was, back when I was a freshman. I found myself hitting repeat on this song all week as we drove all over Maine, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire, a song to a New England girl I could pretend I knew.  Here is "Valley Winter Song".

 

Another song on Interstate Managers is a crunchy uptempo number that wouldn't have been out of place on my college radio show on WRUC 89.7, which was flush with tuneful smartassery from bands like the Replacements, Mojo Nixon, or the Violent Femmes.  Here is "Bright Future in Sales".

Now,  Adam Schlesinger* had already carved a small niche for himself as a songwriter for movies and TV.  My interest in Schlesinger was piqued because I had learned that he had penned the title song for Tom Hanks' directorial debut film, a love letter to not-the-Beatles early Sixties rock n roll.

That Thing You Do had been on repeat in my living room for the past couple months.  It is a perfect film that just captures a sweet and innocent creative moment, when fame doesn't really matter, and neither does musicianship or even songcraft.  What matters is friendship and love and youth.  Just consider the clip above, the pure exuberant joy, the sheer Hard Day's Night of it all, friends cheering each other on.  It is the film I turned to when I realized that my son was in fact going to leave me very soon, and there was no turning back.  It made me feel better about what was going to happen next.  Or at least help me forget it was happening.

*I hate to write this footnote, but, despite his youth and health, Adam Schlesinger died of Covid-19 very early in the pandemic, in April of 2020.  Rest in Peace, Adam.  Thanks for the tunes.