the cure
Saturday, November 03, 2007
It's late on a friday night, as it always is, and I'm listening to the B-sides from Standing on a Beach for the first time since I've moved back and realizing that it's odd that I haven't heard it till now. It's weird being here, being home, but in many ways it's like i'm living somewhere completely new. Only I get to see some of the places I love more often than for the past dozen years.Last weekend I took a ride through New Orleans East, past my old kenilworth neighborhood, past the baseball field and past some old friends' houses and whatnot, and I regretted it. I didn't like being there, I didn't take my time. It didn't feel rewarding to see my old house... it looks black on the inside like so many other dead houses. It's overgrown. There's no more tree in the front yard. Our neighborhood had "catwalks" -- allies in the middle of the block to walk through -- one of which was between our house and the neighbor's. Our house was always the one with the skateboard ramps. We'd set them up in the catwalk, unimpeded by cars or anyone fussing at our presence. And we'd listen to all of this angsty punk music that we didn't get, and weird new wave music that we also didn't get, but we understood that it was different or whatever. Like they all say.
So now I'm back here, and the places I lived are not the places I visit. I was never in the CBD as I am daily now, I never did live in Mid-City (but for a few months in 97). While I was in Wisconsin I felt like I was constantly clinging to where I was from. It was what set me apart, in a way. It was my conversational trump card. But it was also a part of my identity, which in many ways I maintained through music and listening to these albums that I have always listened to, this B-sides collection in particular.
The reason it's surprising to me that I haven't heard it yet (besides the obvious -- that it isn't on my ipod) is that I'd kind of expect myself to be kicking the "who I used to be" reflection into high gear. I have passed through Gentilly quite a few times since I've been back, and I don't feel bad going through there. It just feels weird not to have anywhere to stop. I suppose if my younger brother were in town we might get out and walk through the neighborhood. But I can't stop at grandma's. And I'm not going to be going back to my house across the street to put this album on. But I'm contradicting my point here... the point was how little I've actually been in that mode of conjuring up the past. But then I go through NO East and put on an old album that I never left behind and back I go.
Labels: new orleans, nola, nostalgia
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