After much debate, we decided at the last minute to attend our third Cruel World despite having had a mild fit over their choice to headline Duran Duran (not goth…not goth!). I was still there for Tones on Tail (anything to get me in the presence of at least some members of Bauhaus and Love and Rockets). I hastily threw together this customized Love and Rockets-themed outfit from a jogging jumpsuit from JC Penney and an L&R logo from one of the H’s too small t shirts. I felt pretty good in it.
Unlike previous years, the weather was perfect. Also unlike previous years, there was nobody there I was overly excited to see, and therefore no magical moments, although I was caught off guard by how emotional I got hearing Simple Minds’ “Alive and Kicking”, and also really enjoyed Jesus and Mary Chain with all their buzzy psychedelic awesomeness, finally got to hear The Stranglers do “Peaches”, and of course Tones on Tail to round out the night.
My body, as usual, was destroyed. Back hurt after a few hours, feet and legs ached despite lots of sitting/lying down, and even with compression socks I still got Disney rash.
I had hoped working out or walking five days a week would make me in better shape for this. Nope. Still old. Nothing can undo that, sadly.
So here I am the day after this festival with all bands in their 60s and 70s, and surrounded by mostly people like me who had 70s and 80s youths, feeling my aching body and awash with the feelings and sounds of my formative years, and just full of…I guess…saudade is the only word that really sums it up.
I also ran into the boy who broke my heart in high school, which, while delightful, also made me feel some type of way. We’ve been in touch since HS and resolved past issues and are now pleasant but distant friends - I mean, we’ll never hang out or anything - and we had chatted briefly on FB about both going to the No Values show in June, but I was surprised to see him yesterday. That certainly added a little something to that weird feeling of being so far removed from my teen self, and yet she’s still in there, you know?
It’s odd to look at my kids now - especially Bobby, as he’s on the eve of being a teenager - and think this is the little person that will still be inside them when they’re grown men and completely different than they are now. Will they one day listen to the music of their youth and cry? Is there music of their youth, or is their music just my music? Will music mean the same thing to them, or not, since obviously music was my way of escaping my traumas and dissociating? I wonder these things about them, while also acknowledging a) they’re boys, b) their childhood was in the teens, not the 70s, and c) they are growing up in Los Angeles and not Boston and New York City. So many differences.
Today is Mother’s Day, and with the specter of my own broken maternal relationship long behind me now, I can enjoy the day and claim it for myself. I’m going to sit in bed and nurse my aching body and later we’re all going out to a nice vegan dinner. I’m grateful for these men in my life, I really am.
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