I've been sympathetically described by my friends as “excruciatingly awkward.” I've been told I walk around like I'm completely lost, staring at the ground to avoid all possible eye-contact. I often daydream about building a teleportation device that would send me straight from my room to anywhere on campus, completely eliminating all unnecessary social interaction.
Naturally, I'm also a huge Lou Barlow fan.
Lou Barlow got his start playing in hardcore punk bands in the early 80s before joining the seminal alternative rock band Dinosaur Jr. with childhood friend J Mascis. After playing bass in Dinosaur Jr. for five years, the two had a legendary fallout, leading to Lou being fired in 1989. From there, Lou decided to focus on his solo career, recording noisy tracks under the name Sentridoh and reconnecting with an earlier side-project, entitled Sebadoh.
Barlow is a legend in the world of “lo-fi,” a genre characterized by rudimentary recording techniques and the use of four-track recorders. His songwriting is startling introspective, marked by deeply personal confessions and the stark display of his emotions and weaknesses. It's the kind of music you don't particularly want to be able to relate to, but once you can, it's an experience unlike any other.
This is loner music, through-and-through, made by a loner for loners. This is music for people who daydream about not having to talk to other people, like myself. So in proper fashion, I went to a Sebadoh concert on Friday alone, where I stood amongst other loners and sang songs with them about lost love and an increasingly fractured sense of self. An interesting experience, to the say the least.
Lou Barlow is exactly what I hope to be in twenty years. Who wouldn't want to be in their mid-forties playing loud, noisy, fun music for a living? Best of all, he's apparently managed to deal very well with his own personal awkwardness, something I struggle with constantly.
It was still there, noticeably apparent every time he pushed his bangs out of his face after songs and let them hang like a veil every time he launched into a brutally honest song about past relationships, but it was different. He had accepted it, made it a part of him, and even turned against his audience at times. (One interaction in particular stands out in my mind: “I love you Lou!” “Yes.”)
After playing thirty songs in incredibly frantic fashion, the band lumbered off the stage at the Black Cat, and I slowly made my back to the merch table to see what they had to offer. Lo and behold, none other than Lou Barlow was standing behind the ramshackle table selling t-shirts.
As I waited in line for my t-shirt, watching person and after person shake his hand and share some kind words, I was surprisingly calm. When I got to the table, I grabbed the t-shirt I wanted, gave him my money, shook his hand, and said the first thing that came to mind, which was probably the stupidest thing I could've possibly said:
“I've been a fan for a long time. Thank you.”
Two things to note there.
First, Sebadoh formed three years before I was born. Also, the albums they were touring to promote, Bakesale and Harmacy, came out when I was five and seven years old, respectively, and I didn't actually listen to them until I was almost out of high school. So the sight of a kid who must be like 16 years old telling him he'd “been a fan for a long time” must've been hilarious beyond words.
Second, I somehow managed to make that brief little exchange the most awkward experience of my entire life. I picked up a t-shirt, held out a twenty-dollar bill out in-front of me, and Lou stared at me like I was a crazy person. When he finally took the money, I reached out my hand to shake his, and he looked down at it like he had never shook anyone's hand in his entire life. When I spoke those unfortunate words, he smiled, nodded, and thanked me for thanking him. And then I walked away. It couldn't have been any worse.
It was only on my way home that I realized everything I should've said: “Bakesale and Harmacy and Sentridoh and your solo album all changed my life, your work with Dinosaur Jr. made we want to be a better bass player, and your bass line on 'In a Jar' is the absolute pinnacle of all recorded music.”
Oh well. Maybe next time.
- 3/29/11
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