Everybody Has Their Own Opinion

Back in 1991 I was living in semi-squalor in Jamaica Plain (Haverford Street HOLLA!). I'm not saying the apartment was messy but that was only because my roommates and I didn't own much of anything. We had a stack of empty beer bottles that we would store next to the refrigerator until we had accumulated enough empties to turn in to buy a case of beer. We'd load them into my roomie Sterling's (also known as "Girl-ing") little pickup and zip over to Blanchard's on Center St. and repeat the process.

My room was (eventually) the little one off of the kitchen at the back of the house. I had a mattress (no bed frame...not even a box spring, just a full-size mattress on the floor. What's up ladies?), a bass amp and a bunch of milk crates into which I crammed all my clothes. Our apartment was the first floor of a triple decker and we got broken into a few times. Once they dumped my other roomie Dave's change jar onto his bed and took only the nickles, dimes and quarters. That takes TIME people. They actually picked through my CDs and didn't take any. Well, fuck you too Mr. Crackhead burglar. I have excellent taste in music thank you very much.

Right next to our house was an empty lot where the neighborhood kids would play a hybrid version of football and soccer. Basically it was soccer played with an football that had a slow leak. The rules of said game were in a constant flux. This usually meant that they would end up playing in our yard too which was fine really since we weren't using it. They had spilled into our yard so many times during these marathon games that I'm not sure we could have kept them out even if we wanted to. It had become common ground to them. I would typically drown out their shrieking with obnoxiously loud music and/or booze (I must have been a terrible roommate actually. I was dirt poor and really bad at managing what money I did have. I was constantly late with rent and my share of the bills plus I was loud. Wow, I suck). But one day the kids ruined me.

I had been trying to teach myself the bass guitar for a while (although never really committing to it in a significant way so every time I got the urge to pick it up and try again it was like starting at square one) so I was in my room with the bass amp up too loud trying to learn the opening of "Mountain Song" by Jane's Addiction (shut up. It was 1991). I would play the song on the CD and then try to mimic it not really knowing what I was doing (tuning? what's that? don't these things come, like, pre-tuned or whatever?). Over and over again I did this eventually making some progress in that it sort of almost sounded somewhat close if you tilted your head and had never heard the original song.

I was kinda psyched about my mad skills and then I noticed that it was now really, really quiet outside. I turned to look out one of the windows and was greeted with about 5 or 6 grinning faces all piled comically around the window. "What're you doin'?" one of them asked in a sing-song voice. "I'm, uh, playing the bass." I said and actually stood up to show them. "You're not very good." a little girl in the corner of the window said and they all burst into peals of laughter that at this very moment I can hear. Fuckers. They then took off and went back to making the world a more shrill place.

I'd like to say that I persevered and overcame my critics (especially since they were 7 years old, 8 tops) but I haven't. I eventually gave the amp and crappy bass to a friend who was in a band and needed them. At home right now I have another bass amp and bass guitar (no idea what kind..) and I'm thinking I should try again. Gone are the dreams of being like Bruce Foxton but maybe I can have some fun. Plus, I'll practice on the 2nd floor so the little shithead kids in my neighborhood can't offer their opinions.