22 minutes and 25 seconds

That's how long it took me to wash the dishes tonight. I know, because it took me exactly as long as the first 5 songs of U2's War album. You see, that's pretty much my relationship to music these days—how long it takes me to wash the dishes or drive somewhere or rock someone to sleep. 

Used to be, back when I was an angry young man / pathetic young whelp, music and I were soul mates. We loved each other truly, madly, deeply. And it was a two-way street, no matter what music might say about me these days. You know how fickle music can be. Oh, it seems faithful, and it might be for a long, long, long time, maybe even forever with some people. And yet with others, suddenly one day, BOOM. It'll turn on you, without warning.

Parked in an orange beanbag chair located precisely between two big Klipsch speakers, seated an ideal 7.34 feet away for maximum stereo separation and sonic clarity, a double LP sleeve designed by Hipgnosis in my lap, I would not so much listen to the music as commune with the msuic, enter into dialogue with the music, become one with the music. Why, I was so hardcore, I didn't just reserve this sort of serious study for Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy or Pink Floyd's Animals or Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band or Astral Weeks. Oh, no, not I. No, I was so badass, I once listened to "Daydream Believer"—that's right, by the Monkees and, yes, this may be the first time anyone was ever described as badass for listening to the Monkees and that shows you just how badass I am or was because I love that song and am not afraid to admit it—for two hours straight, putting that one track on repeat, delving into the mysteries I was sure were contained within its saccharine lyrics and intoxicating melody. Okay, fine, so it was after yet another miserable dance sophomore year and I was pretty hammered on peppermint schnapps and I think I actually passed out after about the third spin and woke up around the 37th. BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. 

The point is…you know, I'm not sure what the point is, 'cuz between the last graf and this one I had to put two kids to bed. But I'm pretty sure there was a point and it was really cogent and insightful and oop, now someone needs help in the bathroom and I gotta run. Sorry, music: you've been replaced. Guess maybe I was the fickle one after all. But maybe someday, if you're willing to wait a while? I'll be back. I promise. Probably.


About the other scott peterson

Writer of comics and books and stuff.
This entry was posted in Fambly, Music, U2. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to 22 minutes and 25 seconds

  1. I think your point is that you once thought of music as a white knight on a steed but now you know how happy you can be.

  2. J.B. Hurt says:

    Awesome reply (and equally awesome post Scott – Welcome back!). I loved the Monkees! To this day, whenever watching an old western gunslinger stand-off, when most people hear the whistling theme of The Good, The Bad & The Ugly in their heads, I hear that drum “ba-dum” of Davy Jones’ gunbelt dropping from the show’s opening sequence. Thanks for the flashback!

  3. Woody says:

    Wait, you hated U2 and Springsteen could do whatever he wanted back then. I believe the Monkees because I recall even more “badass” stuff than that. The angry young man/pathetic young whelp did have a pretty bitchin cd collection. Rocking little peoples to sleep is a good trade off though.

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