Little Running Bear

My 16 year-old self would view with incredulousness the idea that I could have the opportunity to see Roger Waters perform the Wall live and not buy tickets.

When I think of such situations I find myself justifying my position to the adolescent I once was.

In 1990, the Berlin Wall had only recently been knocked down and Roger Waters gathered an incredible collection of singers and actors to perform the Pink Floyd classic, live at the global junction of emotional and political thought.

My Walkman® was rarely without the D–100 cassette, pirated from my friend’s CD copy of the live recording. I had seen the video of the concert as well and my mind, every time I listened to the tape, was filled with images of the theatrics, marvelling at what could be achieved on a stage and the power it could contain.

Soon I had made decisions about which versions I preferred on the original album and which were better in the live version. The opening version of “In the Flesh”, performed by the Scoprions was always a line ball. It lacked the passion and emotion of the original but had the home-town advantage to provide the welcoming introduction required to suck the crowd into the roller-coaster they were about to ride.

Other songs had no competition at all. The inclusion of “What Shall We Do Now?”, the alternate to the album’s foreboding “Empty Spaces” brought words to the mental confusion of a disaffected, depressed adolescent. I remember times when I listened to the original album but, after “Goodbye Blue Sky” I would stop the CD, play the already cued-up tape of “What Shall We Do Now” and into the Bryan Adams version of “Young Lust” and then go back to the CD for “One of My Turns”.

I didn’t know it at the time but this was about to be the end of my close relationship with the music of Pink Floyd. Bossanova by The Pixies came out the same time as that Roger Waters album and that summer I learnt the joys of loud/soft. Pixies led to Sonic Youth, Nirvana, and back to The Birthday Party via Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I always had fond memories of the Pink Floyd time but it was very much a one-way passage to understanding the world through music.

Listening to any version of the Wall now is a reminiscence rather than an enjoyment of the album on its own merits. While seeing Mudhoney live a couple of years ago brought out the 18 year-old who went crazy at clubs, jumping around to “Touch Me I’m Sick”, the 16 year-old Pink Floyd listener was a developmental bridge unable to be crossed ever again.

Short-sighted self-importance is a major failing of the character of Pink. Listening the the Wall I thought I knew all there was to know about the world. The moment, however, that the veil of ignorance lifted, there was no going back. I can’t unlearn.

That 16 year-old me will never comprehend why I didn’t buy a ticket to see Roger Waters this February. He tried to convince me that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go but really it’s he who wouldn’t forgive me. Realising that I will no longer feel that “space cadet glow” is exactly why I’m not my 16 year-old self and there is nothing to forgive, only to understand.

“He said, You are a pig! ” continued the actress. “So I said, ‘And you are a Communist a–hole!’”

via Sean Penn, Colors co-star go at it at LAX | 80s music, John Hughes movies, big hair: Stuck in the 80s | Tampa Bay Times.

So here’s a thing I love about the 21st century. I can lie in bed in New York, see a TV recommendation from a friend, and set my PVR at home in Melbourne to record it so I can watch it when I get home. I did all this without leaving the bed.

This is the future, my friends. We have achieved both convenience at an unprecedented level and laziness at unprecedented distances.

Cynicism aside, I choose now.

Last weekend I was also able to appear on a screen at a friend’s wedding while being thousands of kilometers away. It was emotional and satisfying.

It’s easy to take technology for granted but when it helps us overcome the tyrannies of distance, it still feels miraculous to me.

By the time I got into the apartment last night it was 8:30pm. That makes it 27 hours door to door. That’s long enough to make any human crave comfort.

After checking in with people back home and showering I felt vaguely human. After walking the streets for an hour, sucking down a street gyro and chasing it with a cherry coke zero, I felt like I was in New York again. It doesn’t take much.

I found it difficult to settle and helped myself sleep with some doctor prescribed assistance and the next thing I knew it was 11:30 am. I’d already missed the breakfast special at Sunburst Espresso.

A shave and another shower and I was ready to face the world again.

Breakfast at said diner was two organic eggs, over easy, with turkey on toast. The home fried potatoes, which I usually avoid, are made with a grilled red pepper that really boosts the flavour. It may be the hunger talking, but it’s a pretty good breakfast and the coffee is great.

Things I had forgotten about:

• people love to have very loud and very personal phone conversations in the street
• every now and then some guy will pass by with his headphones on singing or reciting a rap to which only he can hear the backing music
• savoury eggs and a side for breakfast will come with an inexplicable serve of grape jelly

Now I have to hit the road with some errands and get the day started properly.

Dear city, I have returned. Your indifference is satisfying.