'73 vs. '76

I was riding back on the train from nyc on Saturday evening, hungover like a pair of old balls. (ESS) After buying a Moe’s burrito in Penn Station with my last cash and then paying for a strawberry banana smoothie with quarters, I was able to nestle in to my back-left seat on the Amtrak Regional (official sponsor of wilosblog) and pay for my sins from the night before like a whimpering dog with Stockholm Syndrome. For some reason, always drawn back to the monster that beats my ass the short day after a long night.

The first part of the train ride was spent drifting in and out of sleep, nurtured gently by the likes of Jimi Hendrix, Talking Heads, Van the Man, and Janis Joplin. Upon finally rising, with a splitting headache and doing my best to keep a volcanic eruption of Moe’s at bay, I began to search frantically for something, anything to overshadow the two small men in the front of my head tugging on my eyeballs like sling shots. No money for a beer, no magical treats to kill the pain, and not a soul awake to talk to. I ended up, however, stumbling upon a gem, and it laid the tracks for this stupid blahg post.

It turns out that you can purchase movies on the iTunes and, better news, I had 1 movie stored on my computer. Upon reflection, it turns out that I purchased this flick during my wilos ’10 days (OBT), during the era of absolutely disgusting wook beard, obscene amounts of Pink Floyd, chasing Pyanic up and down the east coast, unemployment, and rarely wearing shoes. Although that was, to say the least, a phase in my life that some might, and many have, frowned upon (sorry Dad), it did leave one lasting imprint in the form of permanent access to Almost Famous.

Hands down one of my favorite movies of all time. 100%. And, I am not just tossing around that phrase lightly. It actually is. I will even go as far as to side with Bill Simmons and say that it was one of the better movies of the 2000s. Not by any measure of exquisite cinematography, or “top flight” (whatever that is) acting cast, but it was a straight up great fucking movie. Great dialogue, great message, great acting, and awesome soundtrack.
 
In my humble opinion, Russell Hammond is one of the coolest characters in recent film. Or, at least, the shit that I have seen. My friend and Editor-in-Chief OBT and I had a brief discussion prompted by a text from me to him during my viewing: “if you had to pick, who would you say is cooler – Russell Hammond or Randal “Pink” Floyd?” It was a tough question, and a fun one to ponder. OBT shot back almost immediately, and he nailed it on the head: “Close call but I’d give the nod to Pink since Russell denied the story to Rolling Stone, even though he later made up for it.” 100% spot on. A very, very disappointing move on the part of Stillwater’s finest, but hey - what can you do? After all, Russell was a golden god, and when you have stood on top of a roof and in front of a crowd and above a swimming pool, that that shit will get to your head. Trust me, I know from experience. Duhhh… (Me! Me! Me! Me!)

You know what else? William Miller, the aspiring rock journalist from San Diego, is also one of the coolest dudes, in my opinion, on the silver screen. An absolute fucking stud. Guy hops on a bus Los Angeles, and cruises his way across the USA with a fricken rock and roll band; all the while losing his virginity, going to an acid party in Topeka, Kansas, and having a near-death experience on the band’s airplane over Tupulo, Mississippi. Oh ya, not to mention that he wrote an article that ended up on the cover of, as lead singer Jeff Bebe remarks, “Rolling Stone fucking Magazine!” All, at the ripe age of 15. Damn. Talk about a stat line. As Russell remarks as the plane is going down: “rock and roll.”

Back to the Russell v. Pink discourse - after a far-too-long interruption/samble ramble, we get to the actual substance of this blahg post (bahgs are my life, CDM). The second exchange between yours truly and OBT, was prompted by another text message with simple words but a thought provoking question: "if you could pick one specific year in which to be 17 years old, what year would that be?"

This is a question that I have often pondered. In my opinion, 17 is a pretty awesome year in one’s life. Perhaps one of the most formative years. You are still, most likely, under the guise of your parents’ roof and support, but you have been in high school for 3 years, can drive, and have hopefully been exposed to some type of party scene (can’t stop – CJB). When I was 12 at summer camp, I remember someone posed a question to our counselor: “did you like college or high school better?” His response still rings true: “high school. Hands down. You’re doing the same shit, but it’s against all of the rules.” This somewhat “rebellious” nature of being a 17 year-old heightens the fun. Also, in my opinion, at 17 one has reached the peak of his coolness. I don’t mean to say that you need to be the absolute big man on campus, but here’s a thought: you have had ample time in your life to ascertain some pillar of coolness - whether that is being funny, sarcastic, athletic, musical, or buying beer/dip/cigs/porno for your friends. You had almost two decades to do this, and no “re-invention” of yourself in college will be able to veil the fact that you missed out on the glorious years of innocence, naiveté, and “invincibility” (hah!) that were high school.

So, once again, back on task. 17. When would you want to be 17? My mother was 18 in the Summer of ’69, and that would have been pretty dope (hiyo!). Woodstock, protests, a huge shift in music - all that good shit. However, upon reflection, the 60s might have been a bit too fluid for yours truly. Had I been 17 in the Summer of ’69, I would, most likely, be now living on an Indian Reservation in Arizona harvesting peyote, weaving my own clothes out of hemp, and going by the Indian name “Whispering Wilos,” given to me by my newly adopted tribe. Not that that would be a bad thing, at all. But… perhaps a different wavelength than I would prefer to be on at age 60.

1973. That’s my answer. The same year that William Miller set off on his journey, in Almost Famous, to follow Stillwater across the USA. Damn, that seems like a great fucking era. It appears as though people placed a premium on being happy. My Editor-in-Chief, OBT, choose 1976. The same year that Pink, Benny, Donny, Mel, Slater, Wooderson, and Mitch Kramer had their epic day that spanned from their last day of school, to riding around in cars chaying, to the Emporium, and ending at the Moon Tower after Pickford’s party got broken up by his parents. Another great choice. Good tunes, cheap Samoa, very little rules whatsoever, and loose-fitting clothing.

But ’73, man, that’s my fuckin jam. The level of headiness was off the charts. And I don’t mean headiness in the sense of dropping low-grade acid for breakfast and prancing around in a forest of pine trees. That is 100% not heady. I’m talking Penny Lane headiness. Thinking with one’s “head.” Figuring shit out, and trying to define things in one’s own way. If the vessel for that figuring-shit-out came through music, drugs, art, rebellion, travelling, or finding something “real” and drinking a red cup at a party full of Topeka high school students with braces, then so be it. I guess it was a time of freedom. Music defined much of that era for folks like William Miller; and, even though Lester Bangs proclaimed to William that he: “missed out on rock n' roll, it's over. You got here just in time for the death rattle, the last rope,” William’s sister Anita reminds us that rock music will always be a rock on her way out the door: “One day you’ll be cool. Look under your bed, it will set you free.” A line that Penny drops early on with a twinge of grace, and that Russell confidently utters when the plane is going down sums it all up: “It’s all happening.”

Whichever year one were to choose is obviously only for fun, but I believe that it tells a lot about oneself. However, as my good buddy CdS reminded me: “I wouldn’t change a damn thing wilos!” He is right. First off, because I was the man in high school (duhhhh….), but also, because it is what is it. To steal a line from Russell Hammond and modernize his words: “In 11 years it’s gonna be 2023 – think about THAT!!”