Ever had your heart broken? Ever broken a heart? I have. Both. I’m guessing that you, have, too. I told you guys about the time that I broke the heart of a man who changed me, profusely, but that I was over it and felt bad, and didn’t know what to say. I sent him the lyrics to Garth Brooks The Dance.
For real. I get that you may no longer respect me. I barely respect my own self, but write it off to a time of angst and doneness. Also, part of me still thinks “brilliant!” because hello, what better way is there than say “I don’t regret the time I had with you but I’m totally over you” than with magical song lyrics like this?
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared beneath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known you’d ever say goodbye
And now I’m glad I didn’t know The way it all would end …the way it all would go,
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d of had to miss the dance
Holding you I held everything…
*note – the fact that the official lyrics say “I’d OF had to miss the dance” and not “I’d have had to miss the dance” bothers me, but does not (mostly) take away from the power of this song. Mostly…ok, it doesn’t but I wanted to mention that “of” is not grammatically correct. Moving on.
Back to the swoon. I mean come on! “Holding you! I held everything!” Sigh…
Also, I hate country music. Or did. But this song? OMG. “I’m glad I didn’t know the way it all would end…the way it all would go…”
I’m also glad I didn’t miss the many dances that I shared with those that I’ve danced with. Briefly or longer. You added to me and I thank you.
Instead of leaving you with The Dance, which does have awesomefuckinglyrics for breakups, by the way, I’m going to tell you a story about when I was in high school.
Back then, we did not have iPods. Or iTunes. Or on-demand music (I know. I’ll give you a moment to soak in the suckiness that was life in the mid-80’s when we wore fanny packs and carried walkmans) (and shuttup, Tatum, fanny packs were cool).
We were held captive by the radio. We rushed home from school, turned on the radio and our tape recorders, hoping to capture the perfect song that we’d been dying to get and either couldn’t afford or didn’t have the means to buy because hello, life before unlimited access to driving.
The radio station that I listened to in the mid-80’s was KBPI, in Denver. My favorite DJ was Steve Cooper. He had this schtick, where he was introduced as “The amazing Mr. Please, Please, Himself, Master Steeeeeeeeve Coooooper!” I loved that man’s voice. He played me my favorite music. Every single afternoon.
The key to recording music on the radio was limiting the DJ’s interaction at the beginning and the end of the song you were trying to capture. And they always interacted. If you were, say, searching for song lyrics to remind the first boy you ever totally gave your whole-huge-vulnerable-heart to (Sean Day)…and he ended up being an asshole…
…and you wanted to prove that you Had A Past with him by recording Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight, because you may or may not have had The True Love with him in the mountains to this song, before he slept with your friend Emily, the DJ was going to be playing at the beginning.
And maybe, after he slept with your friend Emily, you made him a mixed tape because, before he slept with your friend Emily, you were this:
And he was this (to this day, I see beyond the perm, and the mullet, and see one fine yummy looking boy, which probably says a lot about me…except that he did, later, call me to say that he wished we got married and that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, so he was a little bit mostly totally forgiven but never gotten back-together with because he sucks and turned really weird later):
Anyway. Most of my mixed tapes had the voice of “The amazing Mr. Please, Please, Himself, Master Steeeeeeeeve Coooooper!” (or another DJ’s) voice on them. Including the one that I played for the then-love-of-my-17-year-old-life, Sean. Phil Collins. Not as much for the song, which kicked ass, but for the fact that we spent a magical afternoon together in the mountains, and he made me ListenListen to it, with my face in his hands (swoon), and then, shortly afterwards, moved on. To the whatever whatever that wasn’t actually ME. I wrote him a poem (I know), and made him a mixed tape that had that song at the beginning. The best part? “The amazing Mr. Please, Please, Himself, Master Steeeeeeeeve Coooooper!” was on the beginning. Along with the KBPI ROCKS THE ROCKIES voice that was uber techno-cool back in the day.
Then. About five years later…
I was at a party. New year, new boy (no boy, actually, then). We’d been drinking. We entered a basement, of my friend Julie’s weird friend Mary’s somebody (sister?) and immediately, knew something was WOW. This basement had cd’s lined up on along the ceiling in rows and rows and rows. And rows. There was a sound booth. There were drums. So, obviously, because I’ve never played the drums in my life before, and was convinced that I’d totally kick ass at them, I sat down and began playing genius drums. Like massive amazing I am Lars drums. After a while of indulging me, my friend Sara suggested we leave. I agreed.
Which is when I heard The Voice. It said something mundane, like “when the hell are all these dicks going to leave my house?” but I froze. I knew that voice. I knew it. I turned around, searching for the source. Found none. Froze, hoping for another clue.
And there it was again.
And me. “I know you.” “I know your voice.” “Have we met?” (knowing that no, we hadn’t because his looks did NOT match his voice).
I was at The Home of “The amazing Mr. Please, Please, Himself, Master Steeeeeeeeve Coooooper!” For a party.
That part has nothing to do with breakups. But you have to agree, it’s bloody well awesome, right? So. Aweseome.
I searched for a soundclip, rather diligently, so you could hear his voice, and KBPI the way it was in 1987. All I found was this KBPI commercial, where he’s briefly featured. And the whole KBPI ROCKS THE ROCKIES techno cool motto-thing can be heard at the end, as well. Enjoy.
Also, Sean sucks. Or, maybe he did me the biggest favor of my young and old and in-betweens life. Because he would have probably slept with my friend Emily, or another Emily, at some point. Maybe nobody really sucks, when it comes down to the down of it.
You know? I could have missed the pain. But I’d have had to miss the dance. And the dance was pretty great.
This has been a Twisted Mixed Tape Tuesday production, Einsteined by Jen Kehl. Come and tell us what music makes you think of “YOU SUCK (I suck?).”