Uncertain Principles

One of the annoying features of the trimester system that Union runs on is that the alumni reunion weekend (dubbed "ReUnion" by some sad little person in the alumni office, who deserves to be slapped for about nine hours straight) ends up falling in the academic term. I missed it last year (I was out of town at some sort of wedding or something), but I'll be here this week to experience the extra-special parking crunch that comes from adding a few hundred fat-cat alumni to the campus population for a weekend.

Of course, it also serves to remind me of the fact that my own ten-year reunion is coming up in a couple of weeks. Which makes me feel both old, and vaguely nostalgic. Thus, I will inflict upon you a little mix-tape nostalgia.

The title of this one is taken from the room number of the lab I worked in my senior year in college. I don't recall exactly when this got made-- sometime in the late summer of '92, I think-- but it's done service as both a late-night thesis-writing tape, and a late-night driving-across-Pennsylvania tape. The writing on the label has started to fade a bit, but I just about know the song line-up by heart anyway, so that's no big deal...

Side One:

• "Modern Love," David Bowie. This was one of those weird late discoveries-- I had the greatest-hits package I took this off for a couple of years before making this tape, and after listening to it off and on about a hundred times, I suddenly realized that I really liked this song.
• "Solar Sex Panel," Little Village. Little Village was an odd little group featuring John Hiatt and Ry Cooder and... some other people. This is one of those wonderfully daft John Hiatt songs, full of inexplicable phrases that shouldn't work, but do, and entendres that aren't subtle enough to be double.
• "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong," Spin Doctors. I'd like to say that I put this on the tape before these guys became hugely popular, and the song was played on the radio every ten minutes-- and I did, damn it! I'm serious! Honestly!
• "My Morning Song," the Black Crowes. Off their second album, when they were still just stoned enough to do a really good imitation of the mid-70's Rolling Stones.
• "D'yer Mak'er," Led Zeppelin. Probably the most recognizable opening drum riff ever. A Zep-addicted guy across the hall from me freshman year put me off most Zeppelin (I start twitching when I hear "Whole Lotta Love"), but there are a few tracks that I still like. This is one.
• "One Particular Harbor," Jimmy Buffett. A bunch of us drove down to Boston to see Buffett that summer. He sounded better in the show we saw than on the live album I took this from, but it's a decent reminder of that road trip.
• "Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard," Paul Simon. Paul Simon at his goofy best. One of the great whistling solos in modern music.
• "Bertha," Los Lobos. Off an album of Grateful Dead covers. I heard this song at a keg party when I visited Swarthmore as a prospective student, and spent a few years idly trying to find a version of it that sounded like the one I remembered. Weirdly, this cover came closer than any of the Dead bootlegs I heard during that span.
• "Evangeline," Matthew Sweet. Girlfriend was one of those inescapable albums my junior year in college-- no matter where I went, it seemed like someone was playing it.
• "Skateaway," Dire Straits. Off Making Movies, a perfect album. What more need I say?
• "Local Hero," Bruce Springsteen. Off either Human Touch or Lucky Town, I can't remember which. And, really, does it matter? The phrase "I can't tell my courage from my desperation" sometimes strikes me as deeply meaningful, but that passes.
• "Tumbling Dice," the Rolling Stones. In this Internet age, I could no doubt find out what the actual lyrics are, but it's much more fun to sing along with some garbled and incoherent version of what I think I hear Mick saying.
• "I'll Be Your Baby Tonight," Bob Dylan. It's cut off after only one verse, but it's still a fun song.

Side Two:

• "Roadhouse Blues," the Doors. The Doors operate in one of two modes: Either they're the World's Greatest Bar Band, or they're Significant Artists noodling along vacuously while Jim Morrison mumbles death poetry. Guess which I prefer...
• "Free Four," Pink Floyd. Cognitive dissonance on parade: a wonderfully catchy, bouncy little song, with the most crushingly depressing lyrics you can imagine. "You shuffle in the gloom of the sick room,/ And talk to yourself as you die." Yeesh. I think it's an honorary Irish Song, but I'm not sure.
• "Wild Child," Lou Reed. Lou Reed, like Mark Knopfler, exists in that grey area between good singers and the Bob Dylan/ Tom Waits level of "I could do better than that..." It's not the catchiest song ever, but his voice is so reassuringly mediocre that it's easy to sing along.
• "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses," U2. The original album version, not the more radio-friendly re-mix they try to pass off these days. Lots of swirling, buzzing, echoing guitars.
• "Seven Turns," the Allman Brothers. You know you've listened to a tape a lot when you can sing all the guitar parts, too. This kicks off the crucial late-night driving section of the tape.
• "Learning to Fly," Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. First single off the follow-up to Full Moon Fever, and a solid tune.
• "Fall on Me," REM. Michael Stipe at his incomprehensible best. They really went downhill when you started to be able to understand what he was singing about.
• "Radio Radio," Elvis Costello. "Crashing" is not an adjective you really associate with synthesizers, but it's the only one appropriate for the opening of this song.
• "Ziggy Stardust," David Bowie. The Thin White Duke at his very weirdest. I know where all the "oohs," and "yeahs" and incoherent not-real-words noises go in this one, and this never sounded better than it does at two in the AM on the Jersey Turnpike.
• "Beast of Burden," the Rolling Stones. I really can't sing in this octave, and you know what? I don't care. Kate always busts up laughing at the "Ain't I rough enough?" part, but I don't care about that, either...
• "Over and Over," Neil Young. Something about this song sounds slightly Stones-ish. It also serves as a reminder of a very enjoyable road trip to see Neil and Crazy Horse at RPI.
• "Two Princes," the Spin Doctors. As God is my witness, I swear I put this on the tape before it became ubiquitous. Honest. Is it my fault that I have impeccable pop instincts?

So there you go. Not as eclectic as some of the more recent tapes, but it's held up well over the years. It's one of the select few tapes that go in the built-in holder in my car, so it stays in easy reach for those times when the radio sucks, the rest of my tapes are buried under a pile of crap on the floor in the back, and I'd suffer a fatal loss of momentum if I were to stop the car long enough to look for them. It'll probably find its way into the tape deck when I head over Route 2 in a couple of weeks, too...

Posted at 10:14 PM | link | follow-ups |