A few years ago, I wrote a music blog at MySpace – each entry was dedicated to a specific artist, and I wrote one about what Big Star meant to me when I was a teenager.  I re-read it when I heard that Alex Chilton died, and it still says more or less what I want to say about what Big Star meant to me.  What Big Star means to me now is a different story – I’d venture to say that my last band, The Seagraves, would have had trouble existing if it weren’t for the fact that we’d all heard and absorbed those albums.  Anyway, here are a few (too many) words from 2006:

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Let me start by saying that I am not Jewish. I’m not Catholic, either. I would wager, however, that I have a guilty conscience that would put Woody Allen’s to shame. Whenever I think of my twelfth birthday, I feel a twinge in my stomach that resembles the sensation of running a mile in gym class when gym class is directly after lunch. On my twelfth birthday, my mum and dad had invited my million cousins around for cake and ice cream. I was in the process of losing at an Atari game (“Combat”, I believe) to one of the myriad Biblically-named sons of my uncles (Mark, Paul, David, I can’t remember which) when my mum called, “James! Come up here for a minute!”

I said something like, “I’m in the middle of a GAME!”

By the time I had finished losing and went to the family room, the candles on the birthday cake my mum had made had melted down almost halfway. Apparently, I had been summoned so that everyone could sing “Happy Birthday.” Since then, I have apologized to my mum about a thousand times. She doesn’t even remember it, but I still recall the details well enough to write about it in a blog fifteen years later. That’s guilt, my friend.

The reason why I’m dragging you unwillingly by your hair down memory lane this time is that I want to tell you what I got for my twelfth birthday. It was a yellow Sony Walkman. Yellow! What could be better? “Nothing,” you answer. You are correct.

What was even better is that two years later, when R.E.M.’s Automatic For The People was released on cassette, it, too, was yellow. Translucent yellow. Don’t get me wrong, I love my iPod, but it’s never going to get better than listening to a translucent yellow tape on a yellow Walkman.

Around that time, I discovered the joys of secret radio. In 1992, the radio in Springfield, Missouri was dominated by “classic” rock, “oldies,” and “country.”  But at night, well past my bedtime, there was a pretty good radio show called Modern Rock Live. Unbeknownst to my parents (what dopes! Oh. Guilt attack), I would listen to my favorite musicians being interviewed on my yellow Walkman whilst under my awesome robot sheets (the very same ones). One night, I heard Michael Stipe talking about his favorite band, Big Star. He said that Alex Chilton was the main influence on his songwriting, and that in order to understand where he was coming from, one would have to be familiar with the Big Star canon.

Enough said. The next day, I walked to Blockbuster Music (independent music stores lived in the same fantasy land of decent daytime radio when I was a teenager) and plopped down twelve dollars for the #1 Record/Radio City CD. I took it home and listened to it all the way through. I remember desperately hoping that at some point I would hear an echo of “Ignoreland” or “Everybody Hurts.” I didn’t. In fact, I hated it.

This was my first encounter with “difficult” music, and I wasn’t about to let this record beat me. There were a few reasons for my persistence. I read a quote from Nick Cave the other day in which he declared that the first time he heard Leonard Cohen’s Songs of Love and Hate, he felt like the coolest person in the world, because it seperated him from everything and everyone he detested. In other words, nobody else he knew was about to stomach Cohen howling “Diamonds In The Mine.” My guess is that the young Nick Cave carried that record around with him everywhere he went just to impress people with how different he was from them. If he understood that record, he must have known something that they didn’t, right?

The other reason I wanted to “get” this record is that I had already begun to feel some pride in my taste in “alternative” music. I liked Toad the Wet Sprocket, and I thought that made me kind of edgy. The sad thing is that in Springfield, it kind of did. If I couldn’t learn to like Big Star, my alternative cred would be ruined. Nobody else would care, but I would.

So I got to work. The easiest songs were “Thirteen” and “I’m In Love With A Girl.” For one, they were both solo acoustic songs. Solo acoustic = easy to like. Witness all the early ’90s bands who learned this well (Extreme, Mr. Big, Saigon Kick). It didn’t hurt that “Thirteen” is one of the most beautiful songs about being a teenager I’ve ever heard. The rockers were the next ones to sink in. “Life Is White” and “She’s A Mover” were pretty easy to get into. The psychedelic stuff was harder. “The India Song,” and “Morpha Too” completely eluded me.

Even though I had to work hard to do it, I’m so glad that I stuck it out. Even though a lot of people wouldn’t consider Big Star an inaccessible band, through learning to love them, I learned something that I really value today…patience with art. Don’t get me wrong, I love catchy pop songs, but the ones that I turn to over and over are those that I had to work to understand. There’s some pride involved. Also, when you use music as a narcotic (as I do), there had better be something substantial to find when you pick over a song for the fiftieth time, otherwise you’re liable to drop another $15 to get a new fix.

I picked up Danielson’s record, Ships, the other day. If I thought Big Star was difficult when I was fourteen, I would have thought Ships was calculus. It’s still a little like calculus now. But now I feel the obligation to give these oddball songs a chance. Because nothing makes me feel guiltier than donating an album to the used bin at CD Warehouse. Not even blowing off someone who wants to sing “Happy Birthday.”

Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch. But you see what I mean.

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And now for some actual music.  A mix inspired by my favorite Big Star song, “Back of A Car.”

1.  ”Back Of A Car” – Big Star

2.  ”Baby Blue” – Badfinger

3.  ”And Your Bird Can Sing” – The Beatles

4.  ”Black & White” – The dBs

5.  ”Shake Some Action” – The Flamin’ Groovies

6.  ”Starry Eyes” – The Records

7.  ”Eventually” – Brendan Benson

8.  ”Chemical Fire” – Van Duren

9.  ”The Waiting” – Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

10.  ”We’re The Same” – Matthew Sweet

11.  ”Alcoholiday” – Teenage Fanclub

12.  ”Gold Soundz” – Pavement

13.  ”Dacw Hi” – Super Furry Animals

14.  ”When I Came Home From The Party” – The Clientele

15.  ”Test Tube Kid” – The Honeydogs

16.  ”Saddest Quo” – Pernice Brothers

17.  ”My Favorite Waste of Time” – Marshall Crenshaw

18.  ”Half A World Away” – R.E.M.

19.  ”Thirteen” – Elliott Smith