Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater
A backward glance to buried treasure
Story time.
Back in the dawn of time (I can feel my parents rolling their eyes), I was an unhappy, angsty little boy. I didn't know (and still don't, for the most part) what made me unhappy, but I was unhappy. No one seemed to like me in school, the one and only social outlet I had. That's actually not true, I had a small group of friends, and we spent a lot of time together. I would hate to slight that. At the time, though, it seemed like I was the least popular kid in school.
For a variety of reasons, I didn't get interested in so-called popular music until I was nearly in high school. I had no peer pressure on the musical front: my parents were and are classical musicians, and so classical was my musical upbringing. My friends had wildly diverse musical tastes, which I only partially shared. They never really pushed music on me.
One day, possibly while working at my early job of backing up a computer system (insert 5.25" floppy disc A; run back to terminal and press enter; 3 minutes pass; run back to disc drive and swap to disc B; repeat for ~30 discs), I was listening to the radio. I don't recall what station, possibly KUBE -- this was back before they'd gone to the all hip-hop format they have now, and they played top 40.
Soon there emanated from the radio a song which caught my attention. I think it was the "compressed" singing which first caught my notice -- I've always enjoyed what I think of as "interesting noises." This usually means sounds which aren't to be found in nature. In any case, this song caught my hear. I strayed by the radio until it was done, suddenly interested for the first time. The DJ called out what he'd just played, naming "my" song as "Peekaboo" by a band called Suzie and the Banshees. I committed the name to memory, and determined to look for it the next time I was at a record store.
Look I did, and although I didn't find any Suzie and the Banshees, I quickly found Siouxsie and the Banshees, which I correctly deduced was the same band. I located the album which contained Peekaboo, and bought it. I'm sure I listened to the whole thing many many times, and found myself going back to the record store when possible, and buying as many of the band's albums and singles as I could find. I also bought numerous posters, an interview picture-disc, and a scrapbook sort of publication. I developed what can only be called a crush on the British singer. I didn't know anyone else who knew about the band, much less liked them, so I began to think I was a fanbase of one.
Siouxsie and the Banshees (along with The Cure and a number of other bands) became a soundtrack for my late teen years, intimately associated with many aspects of my life. I have any number of memories which are triggered by listening to this music again, and which can only really be remembered with particular songs scoring them.
Fast forward a few years, from 1988 to 1993. I now had all Siouxsie albums produced thus far, and many singles, either on LP or CD. I was now going to college at the Evergreen State College. At Evergreen, I was finally given access to this "Internet" thing I'd heard some of my more computer-literate friends talking about. Specifically, I had access to email.
I signed on to the SATB-L mailing list (which I probably discovered via either Usenet or Gopher, a predecessor to the WWW). I'm sure I made many embarrassingly uninformed posts and displayed a ridiculous amount of innocence.
Regardless, at some point members of the list began an ambitious project: we would gather together all the singles, live recordings, whatever we could find which constituted "rare" Siouxsie recordings, and create a set of self-recorded CDs using recently introduced CDR technology. At the time, the cost of this set of 4 CDs, just for the media, was ridiculous, perhaps $50-60. This doesn't consider the many hundreds of dollars a single-speed recording CD drive cost. These CDs would be burned, and then passed from member to member, with additional CD sets available to anyone who could afford to supply the media. The project coordinator also offered to create tapes for those who couldn't afford the CDs. The tapes would cost $26.
As I was a poor college student, spending $50 on a set of CDs was completely out of the question. $26, though, was just within my budget, and a very attractive (if expensive) proposition. I made out my check and sent it off to the guy making the tapes, at some college on the far side of the country. I was giddy with anticipation, since this collection represented a vast treasure trove of music I'd never heard before, and desperately wanted to hear.
Two weeks passed, then a month, then two months, then six months. Despite repeated emails to the tape creator, I never heard from him again. The check was quickly cashed. I was a sucker. I actually do think he'd intended to make tapes, but he got overwhelmed, and wasn't very good about returning people's money (or he wasn't able to after spending it). In any case, I was out $26 -- a lot of money to me -- and mad about the whole thing. I didn't want anything more to do with the project or the list, and unsubscribed myself shortly afterwards.
Years passed after this little fiasco. Occasionally I would spot the project again, once spying a set of discs in a store, inexpertly produced in Finland or somewhere equally exotic, for the princely sum of $20 per disc (there were four). $80 was equally beyond my budget at the time, and I still felt cheated that I had already paid for this music yet didn't own it. I continued collecting Siouxsie and the Banshees albums as they came out, including whatever singles I could get my hands on.
Fast forward again, to 2006, several weeks ago. I was poking around at random on Google after trying to figure out on which album a particular song had appeared. I found my answer, but I also found a Siouxsie album I hadn't heard of before: Downside Up.
I clicked the link and read the Amazon entry with a growing rushing sound in my ears -- this was the professionally-produced version of that rarities collection from years ago! I noted with what approached glee that Amazon was charging list price for it, which meant I could order it from my friend Steve, who runs Quimpersound in Port Townsend with no qualms.
In less than 5 minutes, I had the album ordered and on the way. $45 shipped to my door.
It arrived this weekend.
And I still haven't listened to it. I'm even now ripping it so that I can put it on my MP3 player (which is how I listen to music at work), but that's just putting it off.
Honestly, I'm kind of afraid to listen to it. I already know about 1/3 of the music on the album, from owning the single where it was originally released. But that other 2/3 (of four discs!) represents new, never-before-heard music to me. From a band which was important to me 10 and 15 years ago. It was so important at the time, and particularly at the time of the tape fiasco, it would have meant a great deal to me to even hold this thing in my hands.
But... What if it doesn't mean much to me now? What if I'm distracted while I'm listening to it? What if it becomes background music!? (I used to lie on my bed in the dark, just listening to Siouxsie and the Banshees albums, concentrating my whole attention on the sound coming out of the stereo.) What if that long-dormant crush on a singer 20 years older than me comes rushing back? What if it doesn't?
I'll just have to listen to it and find out. Still, it doesn't stop me from feeling like I'm a character in Amelie, rediscovering a childhood treasure hidden in a cigar box.
Posted at 11:37 permanent link category: /misc
Categories: all aviation Building a Biplane bicycle gadgets misc motorcycle theater