Rudderless

Music has the power to take us to a time, place, and feeling.  I was reminded of this today when I re-purchased the 1992 classic It's A Shame About Ray by The Lemonheads.  Over the years I had either lost, loaned out, or had this disc stolen.  It feels good to have it back.

I was really into the Boston music scene in the early 1990s.  Bands like the Pixies, Buffalo Tom, and Dinosaur Jr were getting heavy rotation in my CD player.  The Lemonheads were getting lots of national music media attention following the release of It's A Shame About Ray.  Evan Dando, the band's leader with a major drug habit, was labelled an "alternahunk."  There was also the "are they a couple" intrigue between Dando and Juliana Hatfield, the former member of the Blake Babies and The Lemonhead's bass player for the album.  More importantly, the album was 13 songs of pure pop perfection.  The songs are filled with longing, desperation, and lost opportunity.  It will always remind me of my first year of college.

I was a first year student at the University of Michigan when the album was released.  While I was academically prepared for the transition from high school to college, I wasn't emotionally or socially prepared.  I was struggling, utterly depressed, and finding solace in alcohol.  I was trying so hard to fit in with my surroundings, but I could not help but feel totally alone in a new state and at a school of 40,000 students.  I was "a ship without a rudder."

Toward the end of that difficult first year, on a clear and crisp April afternoon, I decided to take a walk around Ann Arbor to find some comfort and maybe a few answers.  I pulled on the ubiquitous Patagonia fleece jacket, popped It's A Shame About Ray into my walkman, and soaked in the songs repeatedly while disappearing into the student body.  It was a perfect day in my imperfect year.

As I neared the end of my walk I came across Sarah, a girl from my dorm that I had a massive crush on.  Sarah was pretty, loved R.E.M., and had this smile that melted my heart.  I was completely incapable of talking to her, overcome with my natural shyness.  We once nervously tried to speak to each other at our dorm's mailboxes, but I stumbled over my words so badly I never tried to speak to her again.  She was coming toward me and the lyrics of the song "Confetti" spoke volumes:

He kind of should have sort of would have loved her if he could have

The story's getting closer to the end

He kind of should have sort of would have loved her if he could have

He'd rather be alone than pretend

As we came close to each other our eyes met, we smiled, she nervously began to look away, and I awkwardly gestured hello.  Somehow in that moment I knew at some point I was going to be okay.

It would be a few more years and much darker times before I figured things out for myself, found some confidence, and overcame the depression.  It's A Shame About Ray will always remind me of that day and Sarah.  When I listen to the album now I reflect on that awful time in my life and realize just how far I have come.  That's the power of music and that's what It's A Shame About Ray means to me.