I’m almost positive I heard about Yo La Tengo because a barista I befriended in high school posted one of their songs on Facebook, and I, trying desperately to be cool and make friends with the older baristas at my favorite coffee shop[1], listened and loved it[2]. I also think my old high school art teacher had this album on his class playlist.
I remember my first summer home
from college, I sat in my childhood bed and illegally downloaded this entire album.
It took me the better part of a day to individually put each song into a YouTube
to mp3 converter, download it with my horrible hill-town wifi, name it, and
place it in the right order. It was a labor of love that made me miss LimeWire.
While I downloaded it, my dad was putting the screens into my windows to
prepare for summer. Living in Western Massachusetts meant cool nights and
massive, buzzing moths flinging themselves at the screens to try to reach
whatever light I had on in my room late at night.
That summer was bittersweet. My
core group of friends from high school and I were all still close, and we spent
the whole time migrating from one of our houses to the other. We knew it was
the end of an era, but we didn’t know just how long it would last. I think that
was the last summer our group was that big- since then we’ve splintered and
scattered.
One night we all went camping,
sleeping in tents in the woods behind my house. We went on a night hike to the
power lines, we built a fire and got drunk and fell asleep sharing sleeping
bags. Later that summer, a friend was plucking at a guitar and starting singing
Stockholm Syndrome. His voice was quiet, it felt somber and reflective,
nostalgic for a time that hadn’t happened yet but was looming close. I’m still swarmed
with that feeling whenever I listen to that song. I think of unrequited love
and unfiltered anxiety. I miss my friends, even the ones I haven’t spoken to in
years. Despite how out of control my emotions were, it felt easier to be around
other people then. Now, my social anxiety has overtaken me. The idea of camping
with my friends feels like it requires months of planning, especially in the
middle of COVID.
To me, this album is the coffee
shop I spent hours at every day that no longer exists. It’s the long drives through
farm towns and sitting in my friend’s driveway crying out our pent-up emotions.
It’s the friendship I had with people I rarely speak to anymore. It’s the comfort
I felt despite the anxiety, depression, and disordered eating that plagued me. It’s
an idealized version of the past, but an ideal I felt even when it was my
present.
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