Songs That Saved Your Life

The Beautiful South - “I’m Your No. 1 Fan” (4.11MB mp3 file)

A week or two before my freshman year of high school began, we (all of my fellow 14-year-old future ninth-graders) had to meet on campus for freshman orientation. I assume this is common with most high schools in this country (and colleges as well), but if you’re unfamiliar, it’s basically an opportunity for the faculty and current students to acclimatize new students to their new environment and show them around, so that they at least have some idea of where things are and can try to keep standard freshman harassment to a minimum. I rolled up to the school on that August day with a group of friends, all fully prepared to goof off and laugh at everyone when, a few minutes into the assembly, the student council representatives from every grade arrived to welcome us, and we all laid eyes on the hottest dude we had ever seen in person in our young lives. Chris Thompson was on the student council and was this unique (and charming) hybrid of Punk Rock Dude and Man About Campus. He was devastatingly good looking, and was also somehow “alternative” while also being really well-known and friends with just about everyone; I would come to learn that this guy spanned every genre, every clique. He delivered his speech and my friends and I whispered to each other, variations of “WHO IS THAT GUY?! HOLY CRAP, HE’S FINE/CUTE/HOT!” (enter whichever “cool” phrase used to describe attractive guys at the time), and when the principal announced his name, I think we all exhaled at the same time: “Ahhhh, Chris Thompson.”
We couldn’t stop talking about this guy all day, and when we got back to my friend’s house, we found her older sister’s middle school phone book and, of course, looked him up. (Did your schools do this? Our middle school put out a yearly phone book with every student’s address and phone number, and that shit should have seriously just been named THE PRANK CALL MANUAL, because that’s certainly all we used it for.) Being even more of a balls-to-the-wall off-putting extrovert than I am now (if that’s possible), I wrote down his number and called him that evening. Not kidding. The conversation went something like this:

“Hey, is this Chris Thompson?” I asked when a male voice answered.
“Yeah…?” he replied.
“Hi, my name is April, and I’m going to be a freshman this year. I saw you at freshman orientation and I just wanted to tell you that you’re pretty much the hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” I said, matter-of-factly.
(laughing) “Haha, uh, thanks! Hey, come up and introduce yourself at school, okay?” he offered.
“OKAY! COOL! YEAH! I will! … Uh, okay, see you next week then.”
(still chuckling) “Okay, bye.”

In the middle of my first day of high school, I spotted Chris in the hall and walked right up to him and introduced myself. I said something to the effect of, ” Hey, I’m April, I’m the girl who called and told you you were hot,” and he laughed again and said, “Nice to meet you,” and we chatted for a bit between classes… but little did I know that a lifelong friendship was blossoming. Chris could have been a total dick — I mean, think of every ’80s high school movie ever, or Jordan Catalano’s never-talking-to-Angela-in-front-of-anyone-else antics — and could have told everyone that some lame freshman girl called his house to tell him he was hot and “Haha, GOD, can you BELIEVE her?! Who does she think she is?! What a WEIRDO,” etc, but he was nice to me from the start and remained so during our years at school together. He always greeted me in the halls and soon he was introducing me to his friends and giving me rides home when I missed the bus (turned out he lived pretty close to me), and we traded mixtapes and went to shows together (They Might Be Giants and The Queers are two very fond memories I have), and even though he was Cool Guy On Campus and two grades ahead of me, he never belittled me and often made a point to include me in things. (I went to prom with him and his awesome girlfriend Lis and their group of friends one year when my date bailed on me at the last minute.) We never dated, which of course crushed me at the time, but we always had fun hanging out as pals. I always appreciated that Mr. Cool Upperclassman Guy gave the typical high school hierarchy a big “fuck you” and kicked it with my freshman/sophomore nerdy ass.

Chris went to college in Colorado, and I was obviously bummed when he moved, but when he was home for summers and holidays we still hung out and went to shows and stuff, and have continued to keep in touch all these years. He’s among my oldest and dearest friends, and I’m so grateful to him for helping make my high school experience a shockingly great one. (I know, I know, I’m weird.)

This song came on in the car today, and I thought of him, thought of how, given the rigid high school social code, he absolutely did not have to be kind to me, much less be my friend — but he was, and he did, and I still appreciate it.


I was handed down a bike with a crooked old wheel
but I rode it down a million lanes the way that you made me feel


you didn’t have to love me
where others got rid
you didn’t have to treat me like a very good friend
but I’m glad that you did

The Lucksmiths - “Good Light” (3.91MB mp3 file)

I’m not saying this to sound weirdly braggy, but I’m usually pretty okay at the end of relationships, as far as freaking out goes. I mean, I’ll freak out, but I’ll do it alone, at home, and I’ll keep the phone at bay — and not because I necessarily have some superhuman willpower, but I just put myself in the other person’s shoes and really think about being on the receiving end of unwanted affection, and I don’t want to be the person someone out there is cringing about. Ugh. So I usually faithfully stick to that important no-contact phase.

But once this dude had me really sprung, and when we broke up I was inconsolable. I missed him so much and just wanted to talk to him one more time. And one more time. And then just this last time, I promise. And if you just call me back it will be the last time, I swear. Even while I was dialing the numbers, I’d think, “I’m really fucking this up right now.” I knew it! I was all too aware of it! But I’d call anyway, because of that whole just-wanting-to-hear-his-voice thing. I went against all advice I’d ever given friends of mine; I didn’t recognize myself. It was so dumb, and I knew better, but I couldn’t stop. I had never missed anyone as deeply as I missed him.

This song came on today and I thought of him, and I thought about how what I’d done in the end probably tainted the good thing we’d had in the beginning, but I hope I didn’t blow it entirely; I hope he still has some fond memories. I know I do.

I hope someday you’ll see me
even briefly
in a good light

Bat for Lashes - “Daniel” (5.75mb mp3 file)

I worked at MTV when this album came out, and after editing a few interviews with (the very pleasant and lovely) Natasha Khan, I listened to this single and really liked it — and then realized that if I really liked this, I had to finally admit that I liked Kate Bush, because this song is about one degree away from “Running Up That Hill.”

I always walked a hard line when it came to Kate Bush: I hated her, and that was mainly because I directly blamed her for the existence of Tori Amos; I thought if A begat B, and B sucks, then A must suck as well. I went to high school with a bunch of girls who worshipped Tori Amos — they were in the drama club and dyed their hair red, too, and scribbled her nonsense lyrics from “Cornflake Girl” or whatever on their notebooks and wore flowy lacy clothes and thought that they, too, were all deep and mystical. Ugh. This annoyed me SO MUCH, which was the very definition of irony (and a symptom of my own previously held terrible “overly feminine = weak” mentality), because I DRESSED LIKE MORRISSEY and who in this world is easier to hate than a teenager obsessed with Morrissey?! But I just couldn’t get down with Tori Amos. Her lyrics sounded like Dr. Seuss stuff to me, with all that talk about cornflakes and raisins and sneezing and rabbits and Mr. Zebra, and then there was the kind of fake edginess and college-student-just-discovering-atheism of singing about crucifying yourself. Oof.

But now, as an adult, there is room in my life for the Kate Bush-esque ladies of the world, the mystical women who wear head scarves and lacy robes flowing gently in the breeze, who have impossibly long hair and wear lots of dramatic eye makeup and speak softly about “signs from the universe.” I’m letting them in; I’m coming to appreciate them — except you, Tori Amos. Your shit still makes zero sense to me.

David Frizzell - “I’m Gonna Hire a Wino to Decorate Our Home” (4.64MB mp3 file)

Okay, I know I’ve already written quite a few things about my Southern upbringing, but once in a while I’ll recall a vivid memory from my childhood and immediately wonder how/why I’m not barefoot, wearing bib overalls and a straw hat and chewing on a piece of hay right now (the South is like my family — I’m allowed to make fun of it and you’re not, heh), like a “Hee Haw” extra. This is one such time.

Every so often I’ll get a part of a tune in my head, and will have to stop for a minute and think, “Wait, is that a real song?” and then consult the Internet for details. Remnants of this song have breezed in and out of my head for a while now, sometimes staying dormant for several years at a time before resurfacing. Just this past weekend it came back, bringing with it a clear memory of my mom playing this record on the stereo in the big scary (refinished, yet still scary) basement of my stepdad’s house that we had recently moved into. (I had either just turned — or was about to turn — 5.) My parents loved this song (especially my mom — she probably still does), and you need to keep in mind that I’m talking about parents here, which means irony doesn’t even enter into the equation. They just wholly and completely love(d?) this song, full stop. I remember my mom talking about how great this guy’s voice was, really laying the praise on thick. I would hear this song quite a bit in the following years, until I was just old enough to know that I was supposed to roll my eyes and scoff at whatever my parents liked, regardless of merit (if any).

So when this song crept back into my head this weekend after a years-long hiatus, I looked it up. I Googled the words I could remember, and immediately couldn’t believe that it has the word wino right there in the title. Come on. I half expected the photo on the cover of the single to have a dude with two teeth blowing on a jug marked with three X’s. Then as I listened to it again through (somewhat) experienced 32-year-old ears, I had a hard time coming to terms with it being a real song, not a jokey Ray Stevens (heard a lot of his stuff growing up, too) thing. I mean, someone wrote the line “I’m gonna hire a wino to decorate our home” and meant it sincerely; this isn’t a jam from some country version of Weird Al or anything. Also, it’s not unusual for a country song to be about drankin’, but the woman in this ditty is basically encouraging her husband’s alcoholism, and enthusiastically so! It’s not like, “Hey honey, you drink far too much and I’m worried about you, so how about you pull back a little?” but “Dear, you go out and get stupid drunk literally every single night, so what I’m going to do is make it easier for you to do so right here! And you can even pretend to molest me like you do the poor bartender at your usual dive!”

Paula Abdul - “Forever Your Girl” (5.84MB mp3 file)

Growing up, I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house in Savannah. The road in front of their house was only paved about 15 years ago, so I spent many a hot summer day in the middle of this (not at all busy) street, building sandcastles (dirtcastles?) and making mud pies with the help of their garden hose. I also spent a great deal of time on this dirt road, barefoot, with my little pink-and-grey boombox, making up dance routines to top-40 hits. A lot of time. My younger cousin would join me occasionally, but I did not mind one bit tearing up that dirt dance floor solo-style.

Yesterday, as I was walking around my neighborhood, I passed two young girls (probably about 10 years old) in their driveway, making up their own dance routines. I watched as they tried to perfect their amateur choreography, reprimanding each other if one missed a cue, remembering my time, barefoot on the dirt road, rehearsing my made-up moves to this song playing over and over on the little pink-and-grey boombox I rested atop my grandparents’ mailbox.

Swing Out Sister - “Breakout” (4.1MB mpe file)

Although I was just 7 years old when this song was a hit, I was obsessed with the video, as I thought the lead singer was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. (A few years later, I also thought she was the chick in the Exclamation perfume commercials, but I was wrong.)

I love this song and think it’s an irrefutable jam, but after all these years I still think about this video at least once a month, and also seriously entertain (with absolutely zero irony, I assure you) the possibility of trying to bring back this look. If I had flawless skin/teeth/lips like this lady, I’d be getting that blunt cut and constantly rocking red lipstick in a heartbeat, no joke.

And here’s some mind-blowin’ shit for you: When I got older and got into “cooler” (although that’s up for debate) stuff, I found out that the two dudes in this band used to be in A Certain Ratio and Magazine, respectively. WHAT! I know, right?

Joe Jackson - “Cancer” (6.89MB mp3 file)

(This is a guest post from my brilliant friend Chip Pope, responsible for the genius character and music of R.O. Manse.)

When I was 13, the Joe Jackson album Night and Day expanded my view of “hit” music. It drew from a variety of sources I had never heard in pop music, or had heard but didn’t seem to notice. Jackson managed to stuff Salsa, Bossa Nova, and even Classical (however limiting that blanket description) influences into easily digestible four-minute songs. Instantly, a lot of other pop songs I liked became insipid and simplistic in comparison. My friends didn’t particularly care for it, especially since Van Halen and other types of metal were in vogue at the time. I later learned that, as a child, Jackson had a love of all different sorts of music when his friends were primarily interested in the popular music of his day (Beatles, Stones, etc.). Jackson liked these, but wanted more, wanted to broaden his horizons; it’s part of why he started writing music. It’s fitting that almost 20 years later he would expand the musical horizons of a nerdy kid somewhere in Texas. I feel that as the sands of pop music have sifted over time, Jackson is an underappreciated flower in that soil, barely growing under the shadow of the similar (and more successful) Elvis Costello. But I remember. And I appreciate. (By the way, Jackson was veering off in different directions away from traditional pop much sooner than Costello, not that the “when” matters. But maybe it does.) “Cancer” wanders a bit more than most of the songs on Night and Day, but it’s notable for an amazing, deeply felt (yet playful) piano solo and its darkly humorous lyric. You can imagine this song being played at a really cool Lower East Side dance marathon (a dance marathon possessed of a modicum of wit?) in 1982. But it probably wasn’t.

Tony! Toni! Toné! - “Let’s Get Down” (6.84MB mp3 file)

The other day I was listening to KDAY (best radio station in Los Angeles) in my car when this jam caught my ear. I had to get out my phone and Shazam it, as I’d never heard it before and missed the DJ’s announcement of the song. (I bought the cassingle of “If I Had No Loot” back in the day, and that’s as far as I went with the triple T.)

After hearing the first verse/chorus combo (ignore the guy rhyming at the beginning), I realized this song sounded just like another one I was very familiar with — but just to make sure I wasn’t crazy, I played it for Andy once I got home.
“Tell me what song you think this sounds like.”
He hummed along for a second and replied, “‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’?”
“YES!” I said. “Isn’t that crazy?”

So yeah, listen to the song above and then try to tell me it’s not a smoothed-out R&B version of the Nirvana hit. Weird, right?

50 Cent - “Wanksta” (5.02MB mp3 file)

In between classes in college, I used to kill big chunks of time in the library’s computer lab, and my favorite thing to do in that lab was to look through the files other students had saved on the computers. One day I came across the beginnings of a paper written about 50 Cent’s song “Wanksta,” (oh, I didn’t start college until I was 23, so I’m not as young as this story makes me seem) and I immediately copied & pasted the whole thing and e-mailed it to myself. I wish I knew which class it was for and what the exact requirements of the assignment were (and the grade this person received on the finished product), but those details will forever remain mysterious. Below you will find the text exactly as I found it (and again, this was written by a college-age adult). Enjoy.

I choose the song Wanksta. Mainly because it effects and relates to most people today. To those who are false advertising their lives, living that of which their not. Living that or saying or believing to be something their not, what ever it may be. According to this song, it’s claiming to be a gangster, but their fake, so therefore you’re a Wanksta.

The well known rapper by the name of 50 cent has released the single Wanksta in the year of 2002 off of the sound track 8 mile. Which is also featured on his up coming album. A Wanksta is a fake gangsta. A Wanksta can appeal to anyone. Those of teenager, young adults, to adults. Considering that they are the one’s who would listen to the song Wanksta. The artist 50 cent also produced a video of the song Wanksta. The music video gives a better idea of what a Wanksta is and does. Meaning also, a wanksta isn’t only saying what he is but at the same time doesn’t do what he says he is.

Eve 6 - “Inside Out” (8.36MB mp3 file)

Every Tuesday night, my BFF Chip does karaoke at a bar on our street, and every other Tuesday or so, Andy and I join him. This past Tuesday was significant, as it marked the day I learned the actual name of this dumb Eve 6 song; a guy started singing it, and I saw the title on the screen and thought, “Wait, I know this song…?” I laughed because when this ditty was a hit, Millie and I only knew it as “Tender Blender,” which is what we called it after we stopped laughing at that “Wanna put my tender heart in a blender” lyric.

“Some guy is singing Tender Blender, haha!” — text I sent to her moments later