I’m a prideful guy. I’ll just admit it and get it out of the way. I enjoy reading Important books and thoughtful essays by really smart people and having discussions about deep things—the environment, politics, the cultural importance of sports, and other nerdy subjects and I think pretty highly of my opinions.
I love music too so I’m drawn to the Important artists—er, artistes—that have something universal to say (sing?) about life, love, and the general human condition. You know, the four B’s: Bob, Bruce, Beatles, and Bono. When people ask about my favorite song, I’m quick to answer “The Long and Winding Road,” by the Beatles and I’ve secretly longed to be the guy in “Born to Run” who promises Wendy to love her with all the madness in his soul and to die with her in an everlasting kiss. Epic, powerful stuff. That’s who I like to think I am.
But the truth is I'm not. Of course, I never mean to be phony, but recently I was listening to a local classic rock station (antenna’s broken. It’s either classic rock or conservative talk radio.) and I heard a song that with every passing word wrapped me up into a neater and neater package. I didn't know what to think.
It was a song of hope deferred, of dreams fulfilled. It’s a story about a kid with delusions of grandeur but those delusions become reality. But after the dreams, the goals, the fame, he still remembers the kid with the big dreams and it keeps him striving for the best, to “stay on top.”
As much as I would love to say that I am defined by Dylan, that I’m aligned with the social worldview of Bono, that I can most easily relate to John Lennon, I can’t. I’m just a regular guy--a guy who prefers chicken fried steak to chicken cordon bleu. I’m neither a genius nor an artiste. I’m a kid who spent his mornings, afternoons, and nights playing air guitar in a mirror to KISS ALIVE and Van Halen II. I’m the middle-schooler who imagined what it would look like to see faces illuminated by the 100s of lights beaming from behind me on the stage, who wasted dozens of wide-spaced, spiral notebooks practicing his autograph and sketching band names in my textbooks.
I am the Juke Box Hero.
(rw)
Thanks for that trip down memory lane! I remember setting up my parent's house stereo speakers into a makeshift stage, plugging in the 8-track (yikes!) and playing that song over and over.......for hours. My parents would come to watch my "show" and really just shake their heads......they had no idea what was going on, but they were very supportive.
Great memories.
Posted by: Ed | October 14, 2008 at 08:42 PM