Napstering Nostalgia

by Sandra Boncek Hume

I am, some might say, a music snob. Top 40 radio doesn't interest me, and "artists" that are content to let someone else write their songs leave me scratching my head. Sometimes a top-of-the-chart artist that actually pleases me breaks into my musical consciousness, but that usually happens through the natural course of channel surfing or mall shopping. It's not something I seek out. Meanwhile, I'm happy to sit back with Johnny Cash or Ben Folds or Ani DiFranco or any other songwriters that get me, you know, right here.

So I wasn't a typical Napster customer. I appreciate my music, I support the musicians I like and it's not unlike me to buy more than one copy of a CD of a band that I think is worth supporting. I'm not about sticking it to the man; ultimately the man does pay the bands. But despite initial resistance, in time I hopped gingerly on the music-downloading wagon with everyone and their 12-year-old brother. I performed search upon search and said silent (and not so silent) prayers to the gods of high-speed access as song after song landed neatly in "My Music."

Was I downloading the latest releases from the hottest bands? Not quite. Was I doing a dance of joy because I no longer had to buy CDs? Au contraire, mon frère. My Napster searches targeted the distance. The former distance. The past. Tracking down tunes from my clueless childhood or angstful teen years--before I had a musical clue--allowed me to relive, with pleasure or with horror, some of the most telling moments of my life. These are not quite the songs you'll find on the time-capsule compilations, and for good reason. They stink. But thanks to Napster, they are back in my life.

Run Joey Run (David Geddes): I'm pretty sure there's been a logarithmic calculation that determined this to be the worst song ever recorded. But when it was a cherished part of my friend Shelley's limited 45 collection in 1976, we played it nonstop on her plastic turntable. We acted it out, switching around who was Julie and who was Joey. (Julie was better, because she died.) We sang "Daddy please don't" dramatically, shot each other and fell down dead. Later this scene would be co-opted by 90210 when the Noxzema girl's Dad aimed for Dylan but shot her instead.

Mr. Jaws (Dickie Goodman): It's a little disconcerting to think about my childhood without this Dr. Demento ditty. Where else could you find the BeeGees, Glen Campbell, the Captain and Tennille and the Doobie Brothers all in one song? Or hear a shark whispering "Big boys don't cry - big boys don't cry?" Loop in the frightening Jaws crescendo and the drowning sound effects that close the song and you've got yourself some serious shark-infested musical comedy - or drama, if you first heard it at age six.

Morning Train (Sheena Easton): Before she became Prince's subject and the temperature rose inside her sugar walls, Sheena Easton was a housewife. Her baby took the morning train, worked from 9 to 5, and then, took another home again to find her waiting for him. But after all, he took her to the movies, to restaurants, slow dancing, anything she wanted. Yawn.

Twist of Fate (Olivia Newton-John): I had the Grease soundtrack (double fold-out album), I had the Xanadu soundtrack and now, to my joy, the highly anticipated reunion of Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta was coming up in a movie called "Two of a Kind." I never saw the movie, but I remember the single and the video. "Magic" it wasn't.

Never Tell An Angel (the Stompers): I'm Boston-bred, and the Stompers are a Boston band. I'm guessing that's why whenever I bring up this song all I get is a blank look. Research tells me it peaked at a paltry 88 on the Billboard charts, but to hear a Bostonian tell it, the summer of '83 was all about never telling an angel when your heart's on fire (along with wanting to be startin' somethin' and rocking down to Electric Avenue).

Breakin - There's No Stoppin' Us (Ollie and Jerry): I never wore parachute pants, but I had crushes on the boys who did. I gazed admiringly with the rest of the crowd as yesterday's suburban geeks became today's hotties simply by donning windbreakers and lying down and spinning on linoleum or cardboard portable dance floors. For reasons that escape me now, the guy who could do the headspin represented the pinnacle of breakdancing genius. Ollie and Jerry's song went along with the "Breakin'" movie franchise (lest we forget "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo"). Honorable Mention: "Breakdance," by Irene Cara. On the heels of "Flashdance - What a Feeling," this song was a big step down, no? Much better: "Jam on It" by Newcleus, or even "White Lines" by Grandmaster Flash. No shame in these songs whatsoever. "Higher baby, get higher baby, get higher baby - and don't ever come down! FREEBASE!"

We Don't Have to Take Our Clothes Off (Jermaine Stewart): For some reason, this was the anthem of my fifteenth summer, even though my comrades and I unabashedly defied its prim message (in word if not in deed). We danced to this song and, in reverence to our illegal Sun Country Wild Berry, altered the lyrics to say "cherry wine coolers" instead of "cherry wine." OK, now I'm embarrassed.

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