"To truly love some silly little piece of music, or some band, so much that it hurts."

By the time I got to the party on Saturday night, I was already thinking about some of my favorite and most important moments in my musical history on Saturday after reading Brian's post in Bears Will Attack about his 50 favorite albums. But then a conversation about Almost Famous (a movie I didn't think much about the first time around) with the wise and witty Meredith Bragg brought on a conversation about those albums, songs and shows that changed the way I listened to, bought and thought about music.

So bypassing the songs that my mother sang me when I was little ("Show Me The Way To Go Home" and "You Are My Sunshine" were favorites and forecasted my love of sad songs), the Disney songs ("I Wanna Be Like You" was the first song I remember wanting to hear over and over and forecasted my later love of Louis Prima) and songs from the Muppet Show (I felt real disappointment when I found out that "Hey Mr. Bassman" was not originally by Scooter), here are the pop songs, albums and shows that aren't necessarily my favorites, but just acted as the huge signposts in my musical history.

Simple Minds, Southern Star Amphitheater, Houston Texas, Spring, 1986
It's funny now to think about how different Simple Minds sounded to me at the time. Once Upon A Time was an extremely commercial (but still great) album, but compared to the Night Ranger and Honeymoon Suite that I had been listening to, it sounded outright revolutionary, and this was really the start of wanting to listen to music that was different than what the people I knew in high school were listening to. This was also the first time that I danced like a maniac and didn't care what people thought about me.

OMD, Sam Houston Coliseum, Houston, Texas, Fall, 1986
Another show where I danced like a madman and the first time that I realized how great dance pop music can be, dumb teenage boys calling "Fag!" be damned.

Duran Duran, Rio, sometime in my freshman year of high school
It took me years to get to the point where I could admit to anyone that I loved the first two Duran Duran records. I wish I hadn't worried about it so much.

REM, Life's Rich Pageant, Spring, 1988
One of my favorite stories, but I'll keep it brief: a friend of mine who was a big REM fan convinced me to listen to the tape of this album that my uncle had given me, and the very first time I listened to it from the beginning in my bedroom on the crappy old stereo that I had was the very first time that I thought, "I can't believe that there's been music like this being made and I haven't been listening to it." I still can't hear "These Days" without thinking of that afternoon when I first put that tape in the player, making sure to rewind it to the beginning.

Anne McCormick, wherever you are, thank you. I'll always remember you.

The Smiths, The Queen Is Dead, Spring, 1988
Another story that I've told a million times. It's funny to think that I was fully exposed to both the Smiths and REM thanks to people bumming rides home from school and making me listen to a band that I'd dismissed. I loved the title track, but didn't think much of the rest of it the first time out, but by the time my family went to the beach that summer, I was fully, totally, completely in love with the Smiths.

Pixies, Doolittle, Summer, 1989
I have to admit that I bought this record solely because I thought it would make me cool. I'll also admit that the first time I listened to it, I wasn't really sure what I had gotten myself into. But I kept listening and loved it more and more each time. Probably the first time I really challenged myself to listen to something that didn't immediately strike me, and even though it was for misguided reasons, it left a lasting and welcome impression.

PJ Harvey, Dry, Winter, 1993
I wouldn't really say that this changed much about how I thought about music, but for about a year, I thought that the universe revolved around Polly Jean Harvey. Side note and one of my favorite show stories: when I saw PJ Harvey that summer in Atlanta, Polly Jean started the show playing a Fender Jaguar, and when, about three songs in, she switched to the red hollow-body guitar that she was famous for playing, a guy in the crowd yelled out, "My mama told me!" I don't know why he said that, but it was perfect.

Grant Lee Buffalo, Fuzzy, Fall, 1993
I'm not sure I ever would have gotten into GLB as much if I hadn't been in London in the fall of '93 where the British music press was going crazy for them. One of the big (yet somewhat ironic) lessons that I learned in London was how to come to terms with my being American, so it seems only right that it was in London that I found music that I loved because it was so clearly and beautifully American.

Pulp, Different Class, Spring, 1996
One of these days, I'm going to sit down and start writing out my song-by-song thesis on why this is the most brilliant, perfect album ever made. This album absolutely blindsided me at a time when I wondering if I would ever feel that way about music again. Long story short, I was completely in love, obsessed and overwhelmed.

Belle and Sebastian, If You're Feeling Sinister and the three EPs, fall, 1997
Just like with Pulp, Belle and Sebastian came into my life at a time when I was wondering if would ever be completely overwhelmed by any band again. I still love IYFS, but mostly when I listen to it now, I marvel at how absolutely this was the right album at the right time. To say it resonated with me would be a huge understatement. This started me on a two year obsession with B&S and I still love them today, but not in the same way that I did when I first heard them.

So it's a little sad to think that I haven't been that blown away by a band since 1997, but it's also nice to think that I can still love albums and songs, and go through periods where I listen to one song over and over, but that time of my life where I obsessed over the bands is over, which is okay. Getting into individual albums and songs is just as rewarding, but without that obsessive period when you want to buy everything with that artist's name on it, plaster your wall with posters, join every mailing list you can, or at least just write their logo all over your book covers.

And this is kind of what Meredith's point about Almost Famous was: that it was about that time in a music fan's life when those bands just absolutely blow you away and you want to do everything you can to be around it and with it and sometimes you need to reflect on that and remind yourself that music is still something worth getting giddy and silly about.