I found myself sitting in the dark last night. Not because I was depressed, or even trying to look like I wasn't home (which I have done...don't ask). No. I was just too lazy to get up and walk the less-than-five-feet to the switch. It's not really even a "walk", but a step and a lean with a reach. What was even more disturbing is that, at one point, I stared at a lamp and thought, "Is there a way to set that up on a remote?" Criminy. That's like a step away from a Clapper.
Sitting there, watching bad Bravo in order to avoid any more of the RNC (though I did catch the end of McCain's speech when he stumbled over the word "illiterate"...awesome), I internally whined that it was getting dark so early now. Summer's over, for all intents and purposes. Soon we will "fall back" and it will start getting cold and I'll have to pack up the window fans (which will bring on a dose of Indian Summer and I'll regret putting away the fans), then it will be all closed-toed shoes and dry-cleaning and it will be dark at four-thirty and...I started humming that Billy Squire song. And then I was really bothered because I was sitting in the dark singing "In the Dark", wondering how the hell that song, of all songs, popped into my mental iPod?
The damn song wouldn't leave my head, so I got up and turned on the light. Then I went to my turntable and dug through the vinyl under it. It's been a while since I've gone that far back in my collection to where the albums I received for birthdays and Christmasses dwell. Past the good stuff and beyond the Go-Go's, I stumbled over Men At Work, Journey and nearly wet myself when I saw the Air Supply. How the hell did that not get lost or left behind? And where the hell did I get a Dokken album? [No, really. WTF? That one is still baffling me. I did have a roommate once in college...hmmmm. Geez, I hope that's it.] Then, I flipped a little further and there it was. The Billy Squire album we all had to have.
This was during a musical low-point (no offense to Billy). Punk rock wasn't that readily available to suburban kids in middle school (though, the cool kids with the older siblings "borrowed" their Pretenders albums, and we had all heard the Sex Pistols). This was right before everything changed, just as MTV was born, but not everyone had it yet. Sigh. Musically, it was a period where we were basically churning our own butter and wearing the same calico print.
I lifted the lid of my turntable and took off the Bowie "Young Americans" LP that resides there, then I put a needle to Mr. Squire for the first time in decades. Flashbacks of skating to "The Stroke" at the local roller rink filled my head. Drinking "suicides". I was rexing down memory lane backwards. [Ironically, a few years later, we would take over the same rink as a Saturday night "club", playing punk and alternative dance music. It was tragically fabulous in a young-and-desperate-for-culture, suburbanite way.]
Perhaps it was nostalgia, but I have to say, the album still has some legs. Or, at least the first three tracks do (that's about as far as I got before the phone rang). It's amazing how the lyrics come flooding back to you. And, I'm telling you, "My Kinda Lover" is so going on a long-drive playlist. It's beyond 80s awesome (which I think would technically be "rad" or "bitchin").
I have a feeling that this weekend, I'll be getting a little revenge on my loud neighbors with a Journey sing-a-long. Or, maybe I'll whip out the Wham! or Duran Duran. Actually, I'll probably be concert-deaf. Nine Inch Nails this Saturday. A little musical redemption. Forget Air Supply. You want a love song? "Closer", baby.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Billy Squire:
This is the uncensored version of "Closer". Not suitable for work or PETA.