This weekend I'm driving up to Ventura to see the Gaslight Anthem perform live at the Ventura Theater. The Gaslight Anthem are a Jersey band whose influences range from Stax soul to the Clash, as well as a guy named Bruce Springsteen. It was because of Springsteen that I was initially interested in their music, but I soon became a huge fan of their work. The '59 Sound was the album that put them on the map in 2008, and they've release two others, American Slang in 2010 and Handwritten which came out last year. The latter is particularly strong.
In honor or seeing the band this weekend, here is the Basement Songs column I wrote about "The '59 Sound" back in November of 2008.
Back in January, I wrote a special Basement Song column
dedicated to my daughter, Sophie, on her
birthday. Tomorrow, November
14, is my son Jacob's birthday, and I now I want to dedicate something
to him.
When it came time to choose a song to focus on, I couldn't
help but return to a number that he and I bonded over recently. Some
of you loyal readers to Popdose may cry foul over using this Gaslight
Anthem song twice in less than a month. See, I reviewed their album in
October and actually featured today's song. However, it was through
my repeated listens to The '59 Sound, and the title track of
the album, that Jacob became familiar with the song. When I was
contemplating what to say to Jacob for his birthday, this song's melody
kept coming back to me. I took that as a sign to forgo the tearjerker I
was going to write about and keep this post in the rocking spirit of my
son. Thanks for reading.
Jacob,
When
thinking of what to write today I contemplated reflecting on your rugged
journey into this world. The days you spent in the neonatal intensive
care unit, the concern that you needed surgery, the sudden helicopter
ride that flew you from peaceful Burbank to the noisy and crowded UCLA
hospital,, and finally bringing you home with us just in time for
Thanksgiving, yes, a lot happened during the week you were born, so much
that much of it is a blur to your father. I spent so much time driving
in my car going to and from home to the hospital to your aunt and
uncle's that you'd think I could recall some melody from that period
in late 2001. But I can't.
The more I think about it,
though, the more I think this is a good thing. I don't want to dwell on
the heartache or the pain; I don't want to dwell on cystic fibrosis,
or breathing treatments or the number of pills you have to take each
day. No, today I just want to say how blessed I am that you're my son.
In
the past year or so, the two of us have begun to develop our own
special relationship, one different from the one your sister and I
share. From trips to the comic store to watching cartoons, from Star Wars
to Spider-man, I've witnessed a kindred spirit come to life inside
you. Knowing that you appreciate and love the same cultural things I have
treasured my entire life is thrilling. And of course, there is the
music. The two of us have a shared affinity for the same type of driving
rock and roll that gets your feet pounding and your head bobbing up and
down.
It began with the Boss.Who knows how many
hours you spent watching the E Street Band Live in Barcelona
concert prancing around the living room strumming your ukulele and
singing the lyrics to The Rising. It was so many that it influenced
the way you hold the guitar.Because you were mirroring Springsteen's
image on the television, you now only feel comfortable carrying an axe
in the lefty mode. You quickly connected with the Ramones, too,
which is a funny group for a little boy to latch on to. It began with "Now I Wanna Be a Good Boy" featured on What's New Scooby Doo, then "My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down (Bonzo Goes to Bitburg)" in School of Rock,
and finally "Rockaway Beach" showing up in Rock Band.
It
shouldn't come as a surprise that you would take a liking to the
one-two punch of the Ramones. Punk isn't necessarily a music form as
much as it's an attitude. Punk is independence. Punk is standing up to
the system ("sticking it to the man" as Jack Black would say). Punk
is finding beauty in the crap the world throws at you. It shouldn't
surprise me that you enjoy punk stylings because you, my son, are
punk.Y ou're strong, independent, fierce, empathetic and forgiving
despite everything you go through. Most important, you are a true individual.
I could have easily chosen a Ramones song or one of Springsteen's masterpieces to dedicate to you on your 7th
birthday had it not been for what happened last Saturday night. The two
of us were on our way to McDonald's and I dialed my iPod to the title track from the Gaslight Anthem's album, The '59 Sound.
As the band ripped into this raucous rocker, I looked into the
rearview mirror and caught you staring out the window, nodding your head
to the rhythm and the beat of this great song. I had played "The '59 Sound"
for you a couple of times and you had smiled. However, it's sometimes
hard to tell if your child actually likes the songs you're playing for
them or if they're just trying to make dad happy. When I stole that
glance driving down the street, you were in your own world, rocking
out. The moment was pure. My influence wasn't present, just you in sync
with the music.
Later that night, while washing dishes, I
played "The '59 Sound" once again, thinking I was alone. You
strolled into the kitchen, dressed in your pajamas, ready for bed.
"Hey, daddy," you called out.
I
turned around and you went into the little dance you do, you know, the
one that's a cross between the funky chicken, the moonwalk and Axl
Rose's shuffle? Man, I just wanted to scoop you up and hug you so hard
except that I was laughing so hard. After your display of agility, you
started down the hall toward your bedroom, but not before looking back
with the biggest smirk on your face, proud that you'd made your dad
laugh.
You know, Jake, in the years to come you may never
recall this fleeting moment in your long life to live, but I will
treasure it always. I hope you'll always keep "The '59 Sound" close by
to lift your spirits in the low times and to raise the mood when your
ready to rock the house (just don't do too much damage). Finally, I
hope that whenever you hear the opening chords of the song that you'll
think about your dad and how much he loves you.
Happy Birthday.
Dad
In honor or seeing the band this weekend, here is the Basement Songs column I wrote about "The '59 Sound" back in November of 2008.
Back in January, I wrote a special Basement Song columndedicated to my daughter, Sophie, on her
birthday. Tomorrow, November
14, is my son Jacob's birthday, and I now I want to dedicate something
to him.
When it came time to choose a song to focus on, I couldn't
help but return to a number that he and I bonded over recently. Some
of you loyal readers to Popdose may cry foul over using this Gaslight
Anthem song twice in less than a month. See, I reviewed their album in
October and actually featured today's song. However, it was through
my repeated listens to The '59 Sound, and the title track of
the album, that Jacob became familiar with the song. When I was
contemplating what to say to Jacob for his birthday, this song's melody
kept coming back to me. I took that as a sign to forgo the tearjerker I
was going to write about and keep this post in the rocking spirit of my
son. Thanks for reading.
Jacob,
When
thinking of what to write today I contemplated reflecting on your rugged
journey into this world. The days you spent in the neonatal intensive
care unit, the concern that you needed surgery, the sudden helicopter
ride that flew you from peaceful Burbank to the noisy and crowded UCLA
hospital,, and finally bringing you home with us just in time for
Thanksgiving, yes, a lot happened during the week you were born, so much
that much of it is a blur to your father. I spent so much time driving
in my car going to and from home to the hospital to your aunt and
uncle's that you'd think I could recall some melody from that period
in late 2001. But I can't.
The more I think about it,
though, the more I think this is a good thing. I don't want to dwell on
the heartache or the pain; I don't want to dwell on cystic fibrosis,
or breathing treatments or the number of pills you have to take each
day. No, today I just want to say how blessed I am that you're my son.
In
the past year or so, the two of us have begun to develop our own
special relationship, one different from the one your sister and I
share. From trips to the comic store to watching cartoons, from Star Wars
to Spider-man, I've witnessed a kindred spirit come to life inside
you. Knowing that you appreciate and love the same cultural things I have
treasured my entire life is thrilling. And of course, there is the
music. The two of us have a shared affinity for the same type of driving
rock and roll that gets your feet pounding and your head bobbing up and
down.
It began with the Boss.Who knows how many
hours you spent watching the E Street Band Live in Barcelona
concert prancing around the living room strumming your ukulele and
singing the lyrics to The Rising. It was so many that it influenced
the way you hold the guitar.Because you were mirroring Springsteen's
image on the television, you now only feel comfortable carrying an axe
in the lefty mode. You quickly connected with the Ramones, too,
which is a funny group for a little boy to latch on to. It began with "Now I Wanna Be a Good Boy" featured on What's New Scooby Doo, then "My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down (Bonzo Goes to Bitburg)" in School of Rock,
and finally "Rockaway Beach" showing up in Rock Band.
It
shouldn't come as a surprise that you would take a liking to the
one-two punch of the Ramones. Punk isn't necessarily a music form as
much as it's an attitude. Punk is independence. Punk is standing up to
the system ("sticking it to the man" as Jack Black would say). Punk
is finding beauty in the crap the world throws at you. It shouldn't
surprise me that you enjoy punk stylings because you, my son, are
punk.Y ou're strong, independent, fierce, empathetic and forgiving
despite everything you go through. Most important, you are a true individual.
I could have easily chosen a Ramones song or one of Springsteen's masterpieces to dedicate to you on your 7th
birthday had it not been for what happened last Saturday night. The two
of us were on our way to McDonald's and I dialed my iPod to the title track from the Gaslight Anthem's album, The '59 Sound.
As the band ripped into this raucous rocker, I looked into the
rearview mirror and caught you staring out the window, nodding your head
to the rhythm and the beat of this great song. I had played "The '59 Sound"
for you a couple of times and you had smiled. However, it's sometimes
hard to tell if your child actually likes the songs you're playing for
them or if they're just trying to make dad happy. When I stole that
glance driving down the street, you were in your own world, rocking
out. The moment was pure. My influence wasn't present, just you in sync
with the music.
Later that night, while washing dishes, I
played "The '59 Sound" once again, thinking I was alone. You
strolled into the kitchen, dressed in your pajamas, ready for bed.
"Hey, daddy," you called out.
I
turned around and you went into the little dance you do, you know, the
one that's a cross between the funky chicken, the moonwalk and Axl
Rose's shuffle? Man, I just wanted to scoop you up and hug you so hard
except that I was laughing so hard. After your display of agility, you
started down the hall toward your bedroom, but not before looking back
with the biggest smirk on your face, proud that you'd made your dad
laugh.
You know, Jake, in the years to come you may never
recall this fleeting moment in your long life to live, but I will
treasure it always. I hope you'll always keep "The '59 Sound" close by
to lift your spirits in the low times and to raise the mood when your
ready to rock the house (just don't do too much damage). Finally, I
hope that whenever you hear the opening chords of the song that you'll
think about your dad and how much he loves you.
Happy Birthday.
Dad
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