Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Monday, March 7, 2005
i love the nineties
It hasn't snowed in awhile; this picture was taken in January. Not sure why I decided to use it; perhaps only because of the lack of another more relevant one. But winter's almost gone, and I wanted to remember these lights, even if they'll be here next year. The green light in the corner reminds me of Gatsby. Maybe it's apt after all.
Yesterday was the I Love the 90s dance, and it was amazing on many levels. We danced for nearly three hours straight, through slow jams and through early 90s grunge, something we wouldn't have done at a normal dance. Formed a girl circle and sang ourselves hoarse during Mariah Carey's "Always Be My Baby." Did the Macarena. Got weepy or over-the-top corny during the love songs ("I Love You Always Forever" and "Kiss From a Rose"). Hearts hurt at Oasis's "Wonderwall." Relived my obssession with Ace of Base. Appreciated equally the pop of Britney and Spice Girls, the rap of Biggie and Coolio, and the grunge of Nivana and Nine Inch Nails. Even when the songs were bad or not dance-worthy, we still knew the words, and sang along. There's something about a collective consciousness that's so comforting and appealing, even when--or maybe because--it's coupled with that embarrassing shame of "Wow, did I really like that?" or the bittersweet memories of "I wallowed to this song on repeat for days."
Never thought I'd actually dance to "Smells Like Teen Spirit"--we were kind of young when that era was really popular and pertinent, but hearing the mass of people sing it and get so passionate about it--it made me feel how enduring the mood of that song is, how it wasn't just a symptom of the times but something latent in every young person at every time. How it is so simultaneously cleansing and painful, because it's so communal and so personal at the same time, and then such a triumphant emblem of talent and insight and empathy with a confused generation, but also such a sad reminder of how fragile all of that is. How angry and explosive, but touching and tender still. That kind of drained me, in a way for which I'm grateful.
People say, what's there to remember about the 90s? It was just here. Maybe that's a valid complaint, if you think in terms of pop culture, though that's still arguable; you just don't realize what can happen in such a short span of time until much later. But there's a lot to remember about the 90s in terms of personal experience; even if it's something everyone went through, this is the distinct period that you, I, went through it. The first time I was entranced by the radio, the first time I danced, the first time I listened to music when I was sad, the first time music itself made me sad, the first time I saw music set to images and stories in music videos, the first time a song reminded me of a boy, the first time I scribbled song lyrics on my binder, the first time I made a mixed tape, the first time I bought music (Mariah Carey's "Daydream" on tape and Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill" on CD).
Funny how the insignificant resurfaces. The nineties, the parameters of my un-noteworthy, absolutely ordinary childhood and adolescence, a life peppered by very little of interest--translated into and remembered as something so poignant by cut-out phrases on the walls, video clips of old TV shows, and silly pop songs.
Yesterday was the I Love the 90s dance, and it was amazing on many levels. We danced for nearly three hours straight, through slow jams and through early 90s grunge, something we wouldn't have done at a normal dance. Formed a girl circle and sang ourselves hoarse during Mariah Carey's "Always Be My Baby." Did the Macarena. Got weepy or over-the-top corny during the love songs ("I Love You Always Forever" and "Kiss From a Rose"). Hearts hurt at Oasis's "Wonderwall." Relived my obssession with Ace of Base. Appreciated equally the pop of Britney and Spice Girls, the rap of Biggie and Coolio, and the grunge of Nivana and Nine Inch Nails. Even when the songs were bad or not dance-worthy, we still knew the words, and sang along. There's something about a collective consciousness that's so comforting and appealing, even when--or maybe because--it's coupled with that embarrassing shame of "Wow, did I really like that?" or the bittersweet memories of "I wallowed to this song on repeat for days."
Never thought I'd actually dance to "Smells Like Teen Spirit"--we were kind of young when that era was really popular and pertinent, but hearing the mass of people sing it and get so passionate about it--it made me feel how enduring the mood of that song is, how it wasn't just a symptom of the times but something latent in every young person at every time. How it is so simultaneously cleansing and painful, because it's so communal and so personal at the same time, and then such a triumphant emblem of talent and insight and empathy with a confused generation, but also such a sad reminder of how fragile all of that is. How angry and explosive, but touching and tender still. That kind of drained me, in a way for which I'm grateful.
People say, what's there to remember about the 90s? It was just here. Maybe that's a valid complaint, if you think in terms of pop culture, though that's still arguable; you just don't realize what can happen in such a short span of time until much later. But there's a lot to remember about the 90s in terms of personal experience; even if it's something everyone went through, this is the distinct period that you, I, went through it. The first time I was entranced by the radio, the first time I danced, the first time I listened to music when I was sad, the first time music itself made me sad, the first time I saw music set to images and stories in music videos, the first time a song reminded me of a boy, the first time I scribbled song lyrics on my binder, the first time I made a mixed tape, the first time I bought music (Mariah Carey's "Daydream" on tape and Alanis Morrisette's "Jagged Little Pill" on CD).
Funny how the insignificant resurfaces. The nineties, the parameters of my un-noteworthy, absolutely ordinary childhood and adolescence, a life peppered by very little of interest--translated into and remembered as something so poignant by cut-out phrases on the walls, video clips of old TV shows, and silly pop songs.
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