I think everyone goes through that point in their life where music takes on a special meaning-certainly one or two albums must stick out in your mind.
I was probably 13 or 14 when I started getting into punk and ska, like many angsty suburban teens. I didn't quite know what to make of Streetlight Manifesto though. While all of the other bands I was listening to were either shouting "fuck authority" or "stop the war" over the sounds of heavily distorted guitars, Tomas Kalnoky's outfit was releasing songs that caught my attention and wouldn't let go.
The crunch of a distorted guitar and raspy, half-shouted vocals ringing out over intricate horn lines, featuring dueling melodies-it was downright infectious.
The sheer musicality of the songs, with horn lines that act more like an orchestra than flair, blew me away. I'd never imagined that songs that were four and five minutes long could fly by, leaving me waiting for more. There's something to be said for being able to sing along to every horn part, even if you can't keep up with the lyrics.
The lyricism of the songs is what keeps me coming back though. There's so much that can be said in a song like "Better Place, Better Time" that sounds so cheesy when spoken or written out, but when placed into a song it sounds perfect.
I don't know if reading the words "So you were born, and that was a good day / Someday you'll die, and that is a shame / But somewhere in the between was a life of which we all dream / And nothing and no one will ever take that away," the chorus to "Somewhere in the Between," will ever give me the same sense of empowerment as when sung or shouted.
This is why music is so important, because it can say things that don't come across in the written word and don't carry the right weight when spoken. The trick to music is finding what speaks to you, and I mean really speaks, not just the catchy pop song on the radio.
It has been nearly nine years since Streetlight Manifesto's first album came out, and "The Big Sleep" still sends chills down my spine. I can't think of any other song or album that does that after that length of time.
I think what surprises me most about how much of a part of growing up Streetlight Manifesto's music has been for me is how little I think about it. In all seriousness, I knew that I would have to write a column on my favorite band or record, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what to write about. When I was driving back to Madison after break I was flipping through my iPod and came across "Everything Went Numb" and it all fell into place.
The saxophone introduction, the minimal guitar in the verse, the driving bassline, it all clicked again immediately. I still knew every word, even if I couldn't spit them out fast enough (if you don't believe how fast the lyrics are, check out some of the songs I've mentioned. You will not be disappointed).
The sense of calm that washed over me, however, was profound. After probably the most trying winter break I've had, I needed something familiar and safe to get my head back on straight.
Listening to Streetlight is rejuvenating for me in a way, giving that extra energy I need to get off the couch and actually wash the dishes or keep me awake on the drive back to Madison.
It's kind of like coming home to your favorite meal, or knowing you have your favorite cookies in the cupboard. There's a little pep in your step and life doesn't look so glum, and after all, isn't that what music is all about?
What's your turning-point album, or your most significant musical experience? Tell Jeremy at jgartzke@wisc.edu.
