Ghost of indie bands past

You know how they say that we all turn into our parents sooner or later… And for all of us who have kids and have ever found ourselves yelling “SO THIS IS HOW YOU THANK ME FOR EVERYTHING I DO FOR YOU?!!!” and then banged our head against the kitchen counter with the realisation of where those words actually came from, it’s no surprise. But sometimes it just hits you extra hard…

One of my ‘aha’ moments came today, when I was browsing through a collection of so-called alternative music (alternative to what, as they say) from the early 90's. Everything you would expect was there: Nirvana, Offspring, Blur, Pearl Jam, Oasis… And of course Jane’s Addiction, whom I consider to be one of my great ‘coming of age’ bands… (Did you know, by the way, that iTunes classify them as something called ‘college rock’?)

"College, schmollege"

So far, so good (except for the inclusion of U2… U2??!). And I was listening away, nodding my head, remembering, smiling, reminiscing about this event or that party… Sometimes thinking that yes, this is classic, timeless stuff, and other times questioning my erstwhile sanity. (Does anyone remember Enigma? Does anyone remember trying to sing along to Age of Innocence? Does anyone remember me trying to sing along to Age of Innocence walking across campus, each arm linked with that of a girlfriend, on the way back from that makeshift club, if you remember, at the back of the Meadowpark Hotel?)

And that’s when it hit me: I feel sentimental! For the first time in my life, I’m not looking back at some phase or other of my life with condescending smiles, remembering the silly, naïve girl who was once me and all the stupid things she would get up to. For once, I am actually pining for that girl, and for what now masquerades as happy, carefree times with a classic 90's soundtrack. (But which were, of course, difficult times of identity crises and early 20's angst.) It knocked me for six, as we say, to realise how strong that feeling can be when it hits you in the pit of the stomach with full force.

And this is, of course, exactly what my mother must have felt, when she played those old Elvis or Tom Jones records (you were supposed to like one or the other, but just like her daughter she was never very good at taking sides). I used to smile at that, again condescendingly (that is something I am good at), wondering why she wouldn’t just move on. But I can see now that she had, and for all the yelling about ungrateful children she probably, just like me, would never have traded what she had for what she’d lost, even if she could.

But music is a powerful thing, and it can actually invoke feelings resembling grief: For the person you once were and will never be again, for the people whose lives you played a part in but will never see again (you know who you are) and for the dreams you harboured but never followed through (for better or worse). And this, I suppose, is when you start browsing the Friends Reunited site…

But I’m not going to, because I know that the arms I clung to rolling home through what is officially the prettiest campus in the UK are now pushing buggies, and that the giggling faces I used to meet over breakfast on a Sunday morning to 'dish the dirt' about the night before are now staring tiredly but happily across the table at a husband and two-point-four children. The vivacious but neurotic girls we were back then are gone for good, and I would rather wallow in nostalgia accompanied by the pseudo-folkish wailings of Enigma than come face to face with that reality. If I want to keep both worlds, I can, can’t I?

They don't come much prettier than this.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to move on to the mid-90’s and The Smashing Pumpkins… (You know who you are, too.)