All That You Can't Leave Behind
And a Special Edition Dive Bar Jukebox
All That You Can’t Leave Behind
Today’s dispatch is brought to you by a recent bout of late-night, late-1980s nostalgia courtesy of Instagram’s “Let’s See You at 21” prompt, bingeing all 14 episodes of One Day, followed by a chaser of The Greatest Night in Pop.
MTV’s Moon Man went into orbit in 1981 at a key time in my formative years, debuting with The Buggles’ New Wave classic, “Video Killed the Radio Star.” The documentary The Greatest Night in Pop chronicles the month-long cram session of writing, assembling the all-star lineup of artists, and recording “We Are the World” overnight from 10 p.m. to 7 a.m. following the American Music Awards on January 28, 1985. Say what you will about the merits of the song itself (inspired by Bob Geldof and Band-Aid’s “Feed the World”) whose global release shattered records. But there’s no denying the time-machine flashback to watching the in-their-prime, Avengers-like lineup in action, featuring Michael Jackson, Quincy Jones, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, Cyndi Lauper, Ray Charles, Harry Belafonte, Diana Ross, Willie Nelson, Paul Simon, Huey Lewis, Tina Turner, Kenny Rogers, Daryl Hall, Billy Joel, and so many more singers and superstars—all in the same room together, absent of publicists, agents, assistants, or handlers.
The great Lionel (always pronounced “Lion-EL” by Michael Jackson) Richie led the charge pulling this all together and serves as the primary guide in the documentary, shedding new insights to many of the now familiar beats of the story. He is an excellent host with plenty of stories to share, from a close encounter with MJ’s pet boa constrictor to dealing with a very tipsy Al Jarreau slurring through his solo. Without spoiling it, Richie’s coda from the original, now-empty recording studio stirs up all the feelings and the “In Memory Of” card before the end-credits with the names of those present that night who are no longer with us lands like a gut punch.
I haven’t read David Nicholls’ bestselling book One Day or watched the 2011 film adaptation starring Anne Hathaway and Jim Sturgess, but when I recently fired up the Netflix limited series adaptation I couldn’t stop clicking on “Next Episode.”
In 1988, Emma (Ambika Mod) and Dexter (Leo Woodall) meet and hit if off after meeting on their graduation night from the University of Edinburgh then go their separate ways. Their lives remain intertwined and intersect over the years, with each episode set on July 15 (St. Swinthin’s Day) of a consecutive year through 2007, chronicling one day in their lives. In between days, there are unseen milestones, complications, and major life events, but the 7-hour overall run-time gives it room to breathe (or catch your breath). It’s charming and punchy and achingly real in the way one deals with ambition, failure, stalled careers, and the difficult moments awaiting each of us, all set to a killer soundtrack of New Order, Nico, Joan Armatrading, The The, Pixies, The Waterboys, Cocteau Twins, The Velvet Underground, Blur, Radiohead, Primal Scream, Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, The Kinks, The Cranberries, Crowded House, Badly Drawn Boy, and on and on.
I watched the final episode late on a Saturday night and, sensitive-soul that I am, I was a bit of a mess after as it stirred a lot of my own memories of life and love in my own parallel timeline, all played against my own personal soundtrack. Listening to music and putting together and sharing playlists has always been a major part of my life. Songs can save us, but they can also wreck us.
And as all those “Let’s see you at 21” photos filled up my Instagram stories the past few weeks I considered being among the 3.6 million-plus the world over “awash in youthful idealism,” per the New York Times. But like many folks my age there was no digital evidence capturing me at 21. I had to climb up a stepladder and unearth a plastic bin stored away on the top shelf of my hall closet, packed with manilla envelopes filled with actual photographs. There were several envelopes labeled “BTP” and as I shuffled through the many photos they contained spread out on my coffee table, I picked out some of myself taken from my undergraduate days, from the fall of 1987 through spring 1991. But I resisted sharing a photo of me at 21 like so many people on my Instagram, because I almost didn’t make it to 21. That sounds overly dramatic and it indeed was, but the reason why is something I’ve sort of buried inside due to the embarrassing circumstances and misguided heartbreak of youth.
Looking back at your youthful self decades later can be rough, especially when you’ve let yourself go. What I see in my mind’s eye and the reality of what’s in the mirror or a passing reflection from a storefront window breaks my heart, but it’s the hard reality of life and the endless miles ticking off on our personal odometer measuring the distance of our journey. I still have a thick head of hair, though it has faded a bit from dark auburn to a lighter strawberry blonde (save for my sideburns and most of my facial stubble which has gone white like Reed Richards from The Fantastic Four). My barber calls my current natural hair color “creamsicle” or “old red Labrador Retriever.” But my Great Uncle Thomas Mayhew had thick hair in the style of David Lynch which went shock white, so I might have that to look forward to down the road. But this is a story set in a time of letter writing, using books to look up information, electric typewriters, CDs, cassette tapes, answering machines, VCRs, pay phones, land lines, and answering the phone when it rang without caller ID. What follows is a tale about college and love and confusion and heartbreak and sadness and the passage of time and songs that will heal, hurt, and break your heart.
The Rules of Attraction
Freshman Year (1987/1988 | Age: 18/19)
In the fall of 1987, I was 18 and a freshman at the State University of New York at Oswego, located on the southern shore of Lake Ontario in upstate New York. Among the notable alumni are Al Roker, and Jerry Seinfeld briefly attended, but never graduated. I had heard tall tales that the force of the lake-effect winds during winter required the campus to install thick ropes to be tied between buildings for students to navigate in the extreme elements. But it was indeed a tall tale.