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Jan. 14th, 2003
The who were always on in my car throughout high school, college and grad school. Even now when I need to reconnect with a certain part of myself I pull out that old vinyl to look at as I listen to my Who and Pete mp3's. Even when I became enamored of punk and new wave, I still had the Who for those solitary night drives back from parties, gigs or Oklahoma.
My favorite songs were the ones that Pete sang. So when I found his solo albums I was ecstatic. His reedy but emotive voice felt like my own as it came out of the speakers. I found myself, as the years went on, following much the same path...spiritual, sexual, intellectual, sober and not. This man so many years older than I, from such a different experience could describe the difficulties and ecstasies I carried inside my confused brain and hormonal heart.
Quadrophenia was a movie about me. I was Jimmy and wished I could be Pete. I was in that place where I believed completely in my friends and what we were doing. We were changing everything...we were different, we were passionate...what we were doing MEANT something..THIS, this was real and we were special. And then, like Jimmy I found out that while I believed all that, to most of my friends it was a giggle. I felt so strongly that I wanted Jimmy to go off the cliff with the Face's scooter and argued this viewpoint passionately each of the thousand times I watched the movie with friends. I got myself a war coat and a scooter.I drew the who logo on the back and added extra mirrors. I was 20 years too late, but it didn't matter.
And I realized later that the scooter went off the cliff alone, and however much it hurt, Jimmy went on to grow up, his adolescent passion and identity is what crashed onto the beach below.
Now, while I wouldn't trade my beautiful daughter and wonderful husband for anything...and while I would never go back to being 20 again, still a part of me exists in that moment in the alley, on the dancefloor, sleeping on the beach.
Why do I have to be different to them?
Just to earn the respect of a dance hall friend,
We have the same old row, again and again.
Why do I have to move with a crowd
Of kids that hardly notice I'm around,
I have to work myself to death just to fit in.
Please Pete, please, say it ain't so.
My favorite songs were the ones that Pete sang. So when I found his solo albums I was ecstatic. His reedy but emotive voice felt like my own as it came out of the speakers. I found myself, as the years went on, following much the same path...spiritual, sexual, intellectual, sober and not. This man so many years older than I, from such a different experience could describe the difficulties and ecstasies I carried inside my confused brain and hormonal heart.
Quadrophenia was a movie about me. I was Jimmy and wished I could be Pete. I was in that place where I believed completely in my friends and what we were doing. We were changing everything...we were different, we were passionate...what we were doing MEANT something..THIS, this was real and we were special. And then, like Jimmy I found out that while I believed all that, to most of my friends it was a giggle. I felt so strongly that I wanted Jimmy to go off the cliff with the Face's scooter and argued this viewpoint passionately each of the thousand times I watched the movie with friends. I got myself a war coat and a scooter.I drew the who logo on the back and added extra mirrors. I was 20 years too late, but it didn't matter.
And I realized later that the scooter went off the cliff alone, and however much it hurt, Jimmy went on to grow up, his adolescent passion and identity is what crashed onto the beach below.
Now, while I wouldn't trade my beautiful daughter and wonderful husband for anything...and while I would never go back to being 20 again, still a part of me exists in that moment in the alley, on the dancefloor, sleeping on the beach.
Why do I have to be different to them?
Just to earn the respect of a dance hall friend,
We have the same old row, again and again.
Why do I have to move with a crowd
Of kids that hardly notice I'm around,
I have to work myself to death just to fit in.
Please Pete, please, say it ain't so.