In which Tedd’s musical history (or lack there-of) is (loosely) traced.
Ah, look at all the lonely people.
Ah, look at all the lonely people.
First lyric heard. First melodies remembered. The Beatles, of course. They caused me to spell it wrong for years; caused me to be a terrible speller. Moonlight sonata falls in at some point; favorite melody, like to think one of the earliest heard, but that may just be wished for nostalgia. But if I believe it, was it?
Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been,
Lives in a dream.
Final Fantasy III soundtrack. Understanding of narrative styles and musical themes.
Classic rock then, and always. Mowing the lawn with Zeppelin, the who, floyd, more Beatles. Tommy. Everyday. Tommy. First two years of high school. Everyday. Came up with stories, theories – expounded upon, analyzed, air-guitared. Fucking
Blonde on Blonde/ The White Album
Zeppelin’s lightening sound tracked earliest writing. Would walk a mile after school to see a waitress, always listened to Bron-Y-Aur-Stomp. Would lose my virginity to her – years later.
Waits at the window, wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door,
Who is it for?
- This is Radiohead. This is Marijuana.
Father McKenzie, writing the words of a sermon that no-one will hear,
No-one comes near
First heard Kid-A while home from school with a sinus infection while playing Zelda: A link to the past for Super Nintendo. In Limbo still sounds like the swamp level.
How to disappear completely sounds like my life feels.
Chris Cimino handed me a bass guitar during my senior year. The Crooked beat.
- These 4 notes.
- How will I know when they switch?
- You’ll know
Band in a basement; band in a yucky house.
Two high school rock concerts.
Listening to OK Computer while driving away from High School for the last time.
Exit Music.
Look at him working, darning his socks in the night when there's nobody there,
What does he care?
College. Two years. Zero practice, almost. Summer. Porcelain. Chronic throat gland swelling. Persistent pain. Chewing pain pills and washing them down with cheap beer. Tre’s apartment. Opium,
One year later.
Some weird playing a song in the blue frog when all I want to do is drink coffee and write. Cold Tom.
Jam Band. Horns and guitars. Jeff, a 16 year old gunslinger. A house on a hill outside of Cazenovia. Jumping in the pool during a jam, taking a swim, then jumping back into the melody. The beautiful drive between Cortland and Caz. Route 13. I’m wide awake, it’s morning.
The music in Segio Leone westerns.
Eviction.
Michael Mazochi’s couch. Listening to Michael and Sandra record an album. A chair thrown through a door. Matt Sneed. Booze. The Bad Beagle. Ian Thomas. Michael Miller. Josh Oxford. Folk Music.
They move to
Central Ave. Vinyl. The White Album/ Blonde on Blonde. Music from big pink. Danielle buys me Bringing it all back home. On the beach. The flaming lips.
Three piece with Jeff and Micky. 12 bar blues. Rock music.
Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried along with her name.
Nobody came.
Driving across the country with Michael Miller while listening to records.
The Buffmilox.
Panic Attacks; starvation. The Ranch.
Ox. Apricots and Rice. Scales. Theory.
Laura. Michael. Miller. Tedd. Mazochi.
The Band.
Jake Blunt.
A dozen names.
The Hotel Café.
Performing regularly.
The first time that I realized that people liked our band.
Practice.
Karabal nightlife. Justin Miller
The Widows.
Cd release.
Shanti Shanti Shanti Hi
The Best Laid Plans
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he walks from the grave.
No-one was saved.
Hope.
All the lonely people, where do they all come from?
All the lonely people, where do they all belong?
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