Slash and Burn, Return, Listen To Yourself Churn

It didn’t take me long to reunite with Stacy, Brandy, and the gang from the summer.  Right away, I noticed things were not quite the same.  For starters, Stacy along with Phillip, the director of my ill-fated Ibsen experience had rented an apartment off campus.  Apartments in Elgin, IL at the time were a dodgy situation.  While the appearance of a large casino boat in the next year or so would help to clean up the city, back then Elgin was one of the scariest, run down cities in Illinois.  It was very apparent at one time it had a beautiful place.  A second Chicago situated right on the Fox River.  But somewhere along the way things took a turn for the worse.  The people with money must have just up and left.  Soon after, just as any house left abandoned too long, the vermin moved in and took over.  Euphegenia was located way out on the outskirts of the city limits far away from the downtown area.  Downtown Elgin made me think of Gotham City, before the guy with the pointy ears showed up.  It felt as though something sinister was lurking around the corner of every crumbling old building.  We made it a point to stay on Route 31 and never take a detour through town. 

There was also a rumor at the time that it was the number 2 or 3 drop off point for illegal immigrants from Mexico.  Admittedly, if you looked around at any moment, you might tend to believe it but I never saw any INS pamphlet stating that as a fact.  Regardless, to the wide-eyed college kids of Euphegenia 99% of the city’s residents looked like they wanted to do us harm, regardless of race or point of origin.  So when I learned Stacy had not only rented an apartment, but it required travel through downtown Elgin, I was shocked.  Why in the world would he choose to move into the heart of darkness?  Had he applied for a firearms license over the summer?  If we visited, would there be a police escort? 

Their apartment was actually a really nice place.  They had the top floor of an old 3-flat in a neighborhood on the northeast side of the city.  They had a ton of space and it was old but kept up with beautiful wood floors and vaulted ceilings.  I was actually a little jealous.  Of course, I still wouldn’t go for a jog in the neighborhood.  But if you ran from the car, up the back stairs, and into the apartment, you actually might be able to relax and enjoy yourself.  I have specific and strange memories of oatmeal cream pie cookies, Carl Buddig lunch meat packets, and listening to U2 bootlegs which Stacy took great pride in acquiring.  After all, the internet was not an option.  There was no finding and illegally downloading obscure music back then.  Hell, the kid who would invent Napster was probably still in grade school at the time.  You had to hope there was a cool music shop within a reasonable drive and finger through rows and rows and sideways CD’s.  I know, it sounds like the dark ages.

We would have a lot of fun in that apartment.  It was good to have someplace to go.  Getting off campus and just being able to watch (and hear) television without fifteen other people coming in and yapping was like a mini-vacation.  Of course, ultimately things would happen in that apartment that would make me come to resent it, but we’ll get there.  For now, picture it as a cool little getaway for not only me but a number of our friends.  For a time, I would even come back here when Stacy wasn’t even around (which become more and more often) to hang out with Phillip and a few choice others.  Well, specifically for one of the others.  Again, we’re getting there.

It wasn’t just the fact that he had his own place now that made Stacy seem different.  He had chosen to become a commuter.  There was always this unspoken but no less real separation between the students who lived on campus and the commuters.  I always felt a bit of sympathy for commuting students.  They seemed to miss at least 50% of the college experience because they came in, went to class, maybe hung around in the commons for a while or studied somewhere, but then they were generally gone before dinner.  Since they didn’t pay room and board and had to pay separately to eat in the cafeteria, most of them chose to eat on their own which meant they missed a major social networking function each day.  But I figure if you never knew any better you just accepted it.  Still, when you’re paying what Euphegenia College cost, you might as well make sure you get every penny’s worth.  If all you want is an education, there are cheaper and far more reputable schools you can commute (and now cyber commute) to.

Stacy took himself out of that experience.  It was a strange move for someone who coveted and really fed on social interaction and being the center of attention.  I quickly noticed he was often just hanging around campus, looking for one group or another to glom on to.  Since there was a whole new crop of Freshmen for him to meet and less time on campus to do it, he was a busy man.  I rarely got to actually spend time with him or even have a conversation.  Fortunately he and Brandy were still together, so if I wanted to see him I could usually just find her.  He’d be along sooner or later.  It was they that decided our first week back that we should all drive down to the city to see this new band, Weezer.  Their first single, "Undone (The Sweater Song)" was all over alternative radio and we loved it.  Plus the show was wicked cheap, like $6 or $8 bucks a ticket.  I remember I drained most of the last few dollars in my bank account to buy mine at a Ticketmaster outlet in a department store (anyone under 30 is asking “did what at a what?”)

This was a new experience. We’d gone into the city a number of times, but never to a music club.  This wasn’t a concert in an arena or even a theater.  The Metro is a famous indie rock club in Chicago and has been for nearly 30 years.  It’s wedged unassumingly between a number of bars in the shadow of the great Wrigley Field.  They’ve had some pretty amazing bands come through early in their careers.  There was nothing particularly special about it.  I haven't been in over a decade but at the time it was a square room with a big bar at the back, a stage at the front, and a balcony overhead.  And at $8 bucks a head, it was packed.  We were wedged in shoulder to shoulder with sweaty concert goers.  The amazing thing I learned that night about going to shows like that was how close you could get to the band.  It sounds almost naïve now, but I’d never seen a club show before that night.  The handful of concerts I’d attended before were mostly spent watching monitors more than the tiny figures somewhere far off and barely visible on the stage.  Unless you counted the innumerable Christian concerts I’d been to which were rarely sold out and often held in churches or schools.  I could count the boogers in the singer’s left nostril at some of those.  Even at the biggest Christian concert I ever went to, Stryper, which was held in an auditorium, we were still close enough for my friends to catch the little red New Testaments they threw out into the crowd.

I remember when I was 14 going to what was going to be an epic Christian rock night.  Three acts: a Christian rapper named Michael Peace, a southern adult-contemporary gospel singer named Morgan Cryer (I’m not making these names up) who looked like an anorexic Daryl Hall, and the headliner, a guy I was a big fan of named Rick Cua.  Rick had been a member of the 70’s southern rock band, The Outlaws.  In the 80’s he turned his heart and his bass over to Jesus and set out on a solo Christian rock career.  It was in an old theater of some kind in Milwaukee.  I had seen Rick a couple years earlier when he literally played in a church.  It was him and his bass on stage playing and singing along to prerecorded backing tracks, while we rocked out in the first pew to the left. If he didn't have an instrument, it would have essentially been karaoke.
Still, to a 13 or 14 year-old me, it was awesome.  He had long black hair helmet hair like Stamos, was clad is all black like Johnny Cash, save for the red leather flames sewn into his black leather biker boots, and a red bass slung from his shoulder.  He stood along on a church stage bathed in smoke and lights, just a few feet from me.  Keep your Jaggers, your McCartney’s, your KISS.  To me, this was a rockstar. 

The next time I saw him, headlining that triple bill, he was backed by a full band. Still in all black, this time with black cowboy boots, and a less helmet-ish, yet still Stamos-like hair cut.  I was excited to see him and hear tracks off the new album.  What I couldn’t have expected was halfway through the show as he was talking between songs, saying how much he’d loved his last show in Milwaukee.  He was talking about the tough balance of being a parent and a traveling musician and mentioned that his daughter had been the inspiration for a new song called “Fifteen.”  He was lamenting about how expensive teenage daughters were, and how he, like many fathers (myself included now) was not thrilled at the prospect of hormonal boys sniffing around.  Then he looked down at me, a couple rows back from the front, pointed his finger directly at me and said:  “Like you!”

Everyone in my immediate vicinity began laughing, not the least of which my friends.  Then Rick laughed and crouched down, reached out over the other heads to grab my hand. 

“You were at my last show,” he said.  “Thank you! Great to see you again brother!” 

Forget about it.  I know most-likely nobody reading this knows who he is or any of his music.  Hell, I don’t remember most of it.  But at that time, for a 14 year old fan like me there could be no bigger thrill.  Later in life it occurred to me, a "rock star" shouldn’t remember anyone from any show.  But again, this was Christian rock.  Rick had no doubt done his share of road indulgences in the 70’s.  But as far as I know he was walking the straight and narrow at this point.  That experience made me a great respecter of anyone who works the road, playing and performing for crowd after crowd.  Especially the ham & egger’s out there playing small clubs and venues, often barely eeking out a living, just because they love it.  

In late ’94 it was safe to say, while they were about to blow up and I'd wager become financially solvent, Weezer was one of those.  We were halfway back in the crowd and still made clear eye contact with the band numerous times.  At the time, I remember they played a few songs, then their hit, "Undone." Shortly after they launched into a new single just hitting Mtv (yup, they were still playing videos then) "Buddy Holly."  While that first album is loaded with great grungy rock tunes sung by the ironic, iconic hipster nerds, I remember as soon as that one ended, hearing some jackass in the crowd loudly declare “okay, they played their two songs. Let’s go!”  There was a mass exodus for the exit halfway through the show.  Including, sadly, those I was with.  It felt very disrespectful to the band who I assure had to have heard it, as well as disrespectful to, oh God I can’t believe I’m going to say this, art.  Even my own friend Stacy herded us together and told us we were leaving before the show was over.  He was the one with the car, so despite wanting to stay, we followed.  

Stangely enough, shortly after that night, Stacy’s wardrobe began to change.  Short-sleeved, button down plaid thrift store shirts with long sleeved tee shirts underneath became his new style.  He took to wearing his glasses more often, and parting his hair to one side.  It takes a lot of work to make your hair look like that. In fact, it seemed he was dressing more and more like the members of Weezer. It was. I might add a similar look to what many of the incoming freshman boys were sporting.  Hmm.  And as those early weeks rolled on, I began to find Stacy playing foosball and talking alternative music in the commons with a group of freshman guys.  It struck me as odd since in high school, he’d always gravitated to older students, trying to seem more mature. And he never played foosball.  Now he was ingratiating himself with those two years younger, and aping their trends. 
After that last trip to the city, he was calling or coming around my room less and less. Add to that he wasn’t to be found around the Theater department very often either.  Although, in that regard, he may have been the wiser of the two of us.