Issue 24: This Is the Story of How We Begin To Remember

A very special ONE YEAR anniversary issue sharing two formative albums

Welcome back to Band Practice for a very special anniversary issue! Exactly one year ago today, I published my first issue (linked here for any historians). To celebrate, I’d like to do something a little different. Now that quite a few more people subscribe than just my mom (hi mom) and the handful of people that I forced to (kidding), I thought that now would be as good a time as any to share a little bit about myself. And what better way to do that than through music. I’m going to share two albums that I consider formative in my early years—albums that had a big influence in my life and helped shape who I am today. They are part of the algebra that makes up my taste in music and made me love music in new ways. I’ll also give brief shout-outs to a few more formative albums and, of course (you know me), there’s a playlist to accompany the issue. But first: a note about doing this project for a year…

Dwight Shrute celebrating Band Practice’s birthday

Band Practice’s first trip around the sun

I could use this space to talk about my reflections and goals for this newsletter, but I kind of already did that at the beginning of the year, which you can go back and read here. Instead I want to say—mostly to myself for when I go back to read this—that I’m really proud of myself for sticking with this for a whole year. With almost every issue I wanted to quit. I don’t know if this is true for any other creatives out there, but every time I go to write I have to face demons—demons that tell me that I’m a terrible writer, that I don’t know what I’m doing, and that I have nothing original to say. Every time it’s a battle. But every issue is a battle that I have won—they are proof that I overcame and put something new out into the universe successfully. I have 24 victories under my belt now.

I don’t know if writing will always feel like a battle—maybe it will get easier as I get better at this or maybe it’s just part of practicing. And that’s what I’m here to do: practice. I’m going to keep practicing even though it’s challenging. I’m going worry less about perfection, allow myself to make more mistakes, and focus on trying new things here and having fun. That’s an important part of practice, too: having fun. And, reader, there’s going to plenty of fun ahead if you stick around.

Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me this past year. You’re part of the reason why I kept fighting and why I still do. And to the demons who will inevitably pop up again: step aside, bitch, I’m in my vanquishing era.

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Two formative albums

It feels extremely limiting to only choose two albums—even 20 wouldn't be enough—but I had to set a limit to keep this issue from being a million words long. To narrow it down, I chose only albums that were released after I was born that I discovered in real time. I still love and stand behind them. These two albums—and the other ones I will briefly mention—span from my earliest childhood memories through middle school. (There may be a part two and three at some point with formative albums from high school and college.)

There are many parts of my music upbringing that aren’t represented. I stuck to popular music (no musicals, classical or, most tragically, Disney movie soundtracks). These are but a few important touchstones in my life that helped form my love of music.

Before we proceed, let’s just get this out of the way: I was born in the early 1980s so let’s not do the thing where we say, “omg you were how old when that album came out?” To some of you I will be old, to some of you young—it doesn’t really matter. Let’s all be excited about the discovery of new music at any age. Agreed? Excellent. Onward!

Album cover for Graceland

Graceland — Paul Simon

Singer/Songwriter [Released in 1986]

There are two original sparks I can remember that ignited my love of music and both happen to be linked to Paul Simon. One of the earliest music memories I have is listening to Simon & Garfunkel’s song “The Sound of Silence” on the headphones connected to my parents’ stereo curled up in an upholstered swivel chair whilst imagining riding a horse into a great open field (I was and always will be a dramatic daydreamer). The second is Graceland—the first album I remember loving.

From the first inhale and exhale of the accordion in the opening track “The Boy In the Bubble,” I was mesmerized. In the song Simon sings, “these are the days of miracle and wonder,” and that’s exactly how the album felt: miraculous and wonderful. The rhythms were so strong it was as if they were pumping out of my own heart. It was exuberant, carefree, and fun. It made me want to dance because to me—then and always—music was dance and dance was music.

Graceland was my first introduction to worldwide sounds and rhythms. Simon collaborated with South African artists like Ladysmith Black Mambazo and the Boyoyo Boys, taking genres like isicathamiya and mbaqanga, and stirred them into the melting pot of pop music. He used unconventional pairings like synths, accordion, and some rather badass bass playing to produce something poppier, folkier, and thoroughly rocking.

I wasn’t old enough to understand how simultaneously groundbreaking and controversial this album was—I just loved it in a transcendent sort of way. “You Can Call Me Al,” with its riddle-like lyrics and mean penny whistle solo, was fun to sing to. And “Diamonds On the Soles of Her Shoes” felt free and easy. But “Under African Skies” with its sweet, gentle harmonies remains my favorite. There’s nothing better than a chorus comprised of some good “oombah whoas.” All of it was joyful and dance-worthy.

Graceland set me on a path to seek out music with great rhythm, great songwriting, and—most of all—soul. Simon doubled-down on all three of these elements in his next album, Rhythm of the Saints, which I would come to love even more.

Favorite tracks: The Boy In the Bubble, You Can Call Me Al, Under African Skies

Available on Spotify, Apple Music

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Album cover for Tragic Kingdom

Tragic Kingdom — No Doubt

Ska/Pop/Rock [Released in 1995]

Tragic Kingdom was one of the first albums that was my own. I still had to commandeer the family stereo to play it but for that one hour of play time, I could pantomime rebellion and turn into someone cooler, more confident, and punk as fuck.

With Tragic Kingdom, No Doubt cracked open the ska genre and brought it to the mainstream, making it more pop-absorbent and rock-friendly. They took risks on the album like throwing in a harpsichord solo on “Hey You” and experimenting with disco on “You Can Do It.” Though angsty, the album is saturated in SoCal sunniness. It is unrelenting carbonated energy—save for a few introspective tracks. Between the energy, the glittering horns, the spitfire vocals, and the attitude I was all in.

This was the first time I was really obsessed with a band. I wanted to do everything that Gwen Stefani (the lead singer) did. I wanted to be her (not anymore, ok! I know she’s problematic!). When she dyed her hair pink, I dyed my hair pink and I have the pictures to prove it but I won’t show them to you because that’s too vulnerable! I tried to develop my singing voice by mimicking her voice (I feel like I could probably maybe still do a decent impression). In many ways, her voice was the voice I didn’t have yet but was trying to figure out how to use.

I was just becoming old enough to understand crushes and longing and heartache and, while I didn’t catch all of the meaning behind what Stefani was singing, I knew that she was profoundly bold. She had the audacity to write about her relationship and breakup with a fellow band member (Tony Kanal) while. he. was. still. in. the. band. I wailed along to “Sixteen” as if I was a defiant teenager (I was neither) and “Don’t Speak” as if I knew what it was like to break up with someone (I definitely didn’t). I memorized every lyric and note in hopes that I, too, could become bold by transfusion.

My love for this album became more than the love of a band or a singer or a genre—it became a piece of my identity. While the obsession would simmer in the background for the band’s five year hiatus, it would pick right back up again with their release Return of Saturn in 2000.¹ From thereon I got more and more interested in the ska and pop punk scenes and, occasionally, dressed the part. But it was more than that. There was, indeed, something that was transfused from Tragic Kingdom. It was that little bit of permission to be myself and to assert myself. In this important moment in adolescence I was emboldened to declare—as Stefani sings in “Different People”—“look at me, I’m my own person.”

Favorite tracks: Spiderwebs, Just a Girl, Sunday Morning

Available on Spotify, Apple Music

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Shout-outs: a few more formative albums

Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We? / No Need To Argue — The Cranberries

Both of these albums taught me how to feel music in the depths of my being. And “Dreams” was truly a coming-of-age song. There was no better way to feel blissfully detached from reality and enveloped in your own feelings than to put it on and marinate in it. (Please stop using it in soundtracks; it’s sacred!)²

Spice — Spice Girls

“Girl power” came at the time I needed it the most. Middle school was awkward! Self esteem was in low supply! But when I put this album on I felt the confidence of a thousand push-up bras and mini skirts. And—importantly—it was ripe with opportunities for choreography. I spiced up my life and I’ve never looked back since.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill — Lauryn Hill

Since I wasn’t exposed to or allowed to listen to a lot of rap/hip-hop music, this was hip-hop and R&B 101 for me. It was an education not only in these genres but in soulfulness and vulnerability in songwriting—and it absolutely floored me. It remains one of my favorite albums of all time and I may have more to say about it in an upcoming issue (wink).

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You got to know a little about me, now I’d like to get to know you… What artists or albums were formative in your love of music? Let me know by leaving a comment or replying to this email. I would love to know. :)

Would you like to see more issues like this in the future where I share some formative/favorite albums?

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The playlist!

Formative artists: childhood and adolescence edition

The playlist ranges from the earliest music I remember listening to up until the end of middle school. These are not just songs that were formative but artists that I loved (some that I would develop a deeper appreciation for later like Nirvana and Radiohead). The songs are loosely in autobiographical/chronological order—an incomplete but solid list. I field tested it and it’s actually kind of banging. I hope it brings you joy. (P.S. it’s more fun if you don’t peek at the track list—it’s got some fun surprises)

Listen to the playlist on Spotify

Listen to the playlist on Apple Music

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That’s all for now! I have some fantastic albums to share with you in the next issue—I can’t wait for you to read about them. Be on the lookout for it in your inbox later this month and make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss it.

Be bold and vanquish!

1. I still hold a grudge against one of my high school friends who borrowed my Return of Saturn cd and never gave it back even though I haven’t spoken to her in years. Should I let it go? I probably should let it go.

2. Derry Girls gets a pass but no more! This also applies to “Zombie”!