Gang of Youths, I owe you one
February 2022
Dear Gang of Youths:
You changed my life. Not figuratively, literally.
***
It was a chilly late November Saturday afternoon in 2017 when I pulled my 10-year-old car into the driveway of my Chicago home, my three young sons half-asleep in the back seats, the radio tuned, as almost always, to my favorite college station, left of the dial. The DJ, earnest and young, introduced the upcoming song as a kind of mix of Bruce Springsteen and Japandroids, two seminal favorites of my teens and 40s, respectively and chronologically.
Though his description was not wholly accurate — the perhaps unintentional, PG-13 homage to “Thunder Road” notwithstanding — the song sparked a part of me that only the best songs do. “Fear and Trembling” was equal parts nostalgic and prospective. Like the best songs, it evoked wistfulness, confusion, hesitancy, yearning, gratitude, cautious promise. Simultaneously sad and hopeful.
I was 51 years old at the time. That many years doesn’t dull any of those aforementioned feelings that are so often ascribed to younger folk; to the contrary, at times they feel as acute as they’ve ever been. I was fully in the throes of the uncertainty and yearning and malaise and tentativeness that middle age invariably presents; more than halfway through a journey with a still-uncertain and woefully uncharted destination.
It didn’t take long for me to dive further into “Go Farther…” and to find more narratives that inexplicably paralleled many of the confusing and hopeful thoughts residing in my middle-aged mind. More times that I can count, I sought those songs for, not exactly guidance, but maybe…affirmation? Reassurance? A temporary touchstone?
***
In March 2018, I made my way up the steep stairs of a narrow, cozy indie rock club in Chicago. Earlier in the day I’d flown home from Florida after visiting my father, and seeing firsthand his inexorable battle against the frailties of old age. I’d gotten food poisoning the night before, and spent the overnight on the floor of the bathroom…let’s just say, unwell. So, heading into the show with my dearest and longtime friends, I propped myself up against the sound board and hoped no one would bump into me and knock my frail frame down. There were no more than 200 people there, if that.
I spent the next 90 minutes thinking how lucky I was to see a band, accomplished but perhaps not yet fully realized, near the dawn of its phenomenal arc.
In December of that same year, I went to a larger, and more venerable, Chicago club called the Metro. I purposely got there early to snag seats in the front row of the balcony, like a senior citizen who’s first in line for the early bird buffet.
I can’t adequately describe the feelings I had during that show. But I can say that when you reached the chorus of “The Deepest Sighs…”, I literally got teary-eyed, momentarily overcome with thoughts of who I used to be, who I might someday be, and who I was at that moment. Of all the things I have, and have had, and no longer have. It was the polar opposite of any triteness of being; it felt worthwhile, important, and maybe even almost significant.
***
Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say thanks. You have helped me, in ways obvious and subtle, navigate some of the more confusing and unexpected and unforeseeable moments of my fifth decade breathing. You haven’t helped me figure anything out — that’s my job, alone — but you’ve helped me remember why it’s important to still try. For that, I’m eternally grateful.
In an ideal world, I’d buy you a beer someday. But you’re huge rock stars, and I’m a middle-aged, divorced dad with three boys and a decent career and a mortgage and football practice (American not Aussie) on Tuesday nights.
So, instead, I’ll say thanks for helping me remember to never forget to remember.
Peace and cheers.
Brian
Chicago, Illinois
USA
P.S. After the Subterranean show in Chicago, I took a photo of Joji’s pedal board. Crazy setup.
P.P.S. Tell the guy from Noah & TW that my sons love “Just Me Before We Met.” We jammed it in the basement one time, my twins as the rhythm section and my oldest singing, me on guitar. It was a hoot.
