Sony Walkman Cassette Player: a black box the size of three iPhone 5s stacked on top of each other; a machine that tore through AA batteries like a US bank and government bailout money; and a portal into my love for music.
Welcome to the ‘90s. You weren’t cool if you didn’t have one clipped on to your blue jean shorts while you walked around chomping on some Big League Chew. I wasn’t cool. I was far from whatever cool meant, but I had one anyway, pulling down the waist of my hand-me-down denims to my thigh. I didn’t need to be cool; I had my escape—my music.
I remember that Christmas well. I found the present I had been looking for all morning, and I tore and ripped at the delicate red paper keeping it from me. I could feel the outline of that bulky, black beauty, and I had to have it--now. And then there was that hard, clear plastic wrapped around it tightly, showing me what was mine and mocking my desires. Scissors. I ran with them. I cut into it, and I pulled through the jagged edges around the mediocre opening I had made and touched my prize . . .
A tape. I needed a tape. Santa Clause had brought me the new Weird Al album, Alapalooza. I ran over to the pile that was my Christmas haul, and I grabbed it. What is the deal with all of this packaging? Nothing was happening fast enough for me. Finally. I slid it out and put it in my Walkman. Batteries. My flashlight didn’t need them anymore, so I shook them out and put them into my new toy. In the coming days, nothing would need its batteries except for my Walkman.
I pressed play, pulled apart my headphones, and put them over my ears: “Jurassic Park” blared through the headphones, and, suddenly, everything slowed down. Christmas kept happening around me, but I didn’t notice. For the first time in my life, I was in control of not only the sound around me but music, too. It felt powerful. Siblings arguing? Dad yelling? Nothing.
It’s not even close to my favorite Weird Al album, but it was my favorite escape. That’s where I met the Red Hot Chili Peppers. “Bedrock Anthem” was my favorite song on it, and I didn’t know it, but I was listening to my favorite band—kind of.
All of us kids loved Weird Al. We listened to him religiously, and it didn’t bother my religious parents. Did you know he made a movie? UHF, look it up. I still quote it around my siblings. He is the anthem of my childhood. And guess who has tickets to see him this April? This guy! Kid me, meet adult me. I hope you enjoy each other.
Welcome to the ‘90s. You weren’t cool if you didn’t have one clipped on to your blue jean shorts while you walked around chomping on some Big League Chew. I wasn’t cool. I was far from whatever cool meant, but I had one anyway, pulling down the waist of my hand-me-down denims to my thigh. I didn’t need to be cool; I had my escape—my music.
I remember that Christmas well. I found the present I had been looking for all morning, and I tore and ripped at the delicate red paper keeping it from me. I could feel the outline of that bulky, black beauty, and I had to have it--now. And then there was that hard, clear plastic wrapped around it tightly, showing me what was mine and mocking my desires. Scissors. I ran with them. I cut into it, and I pulled through the jagged edges around the mediocre opening I had made and touched my prize . . .
A tape. I needed a tape. Santa Clause had brought me the new Weird Al album, Alapalooza. I ran over to the pile that was my Christmas haul, and I grabbed it. What is the deal with all of this packaging? Nothing was happening fast enough for me. Finally. I slid it out and put it in my Walkman. Batteries. My flashlight didn’t need them anymore, so I shook them out and put them into my new toy. In the coming days, nothing would need its batteries except for my Walkman.
I pressed play, pulled apart my headphones, and put them over my ears: “Jurassic Park” blared through the headphones, and, suddenly, everything slowed down. Christmas kept happening around me, but I didn’t notice. For the first time in my life, I was in control of not only the sound around me but music, too. It felt powerful. Siblings arguing? Dad yelling? Nothing.
It’s not even close to my favorite Weird Al album, but it was my favorite escape. That’s where I met the Red Hot Chili Peppers. “Bedrock Anthem” was my favorite song on it, and I didn’t know it, but I was listening to my favorite band—kind of.
All of us kids loved Weird Al. We listened to him religiously, and it didn’t bother my religious parents. Did you know he made a movie? UHF, look it up. I still quote it around my siblings. He is the anthem of my childhood. And guess who has tickets to see him this April? This guy! Kid me, meet adult me. I hope you enjoy each other.
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