See the thing is, I'm an only child, and I've found that most of my friends who have any real "taste" when it comes to music had the benefit of an educated older sibling--the older sister who'd eject the New Kids on the Block tape and replace it with the Pixies, or whatever.
I didn't have a situation like this. My situation, in fact, was dire. Like I said, I'm an only child. And while my parents' taste in music is just fine, I certainly wasn't programmed at age 13 to notice or care what my parents thought about music.
In fact, I was languishing in a cultural wasteland. At junior-high age, I was a cynical and unpopular student at a small Catholic school in south Minneapolis. While many girls in my situation might have taken solace in artistic pursuits, I had the misfortune of being the student of a "creative arts" teacher who had what I can only describe as misogynistic tendencies (and according to the school's website, is still teaching there!). But that's a subject for a different blog post.
What I should really be talking about here is Twin Peaks. I was a total Twin Peaks nerd--a Twin Peaks nerd in the sixth grade. In other words, not a cool member of my class at Annunciation Catholic School.
But whatever. I became obsessed, of course, with Julee Cruise. Shortly after she appeared on the show, I hustled out to the Edina mall to purchase her album. And that's when I met Alex!
Alex was--and I suppose it should come as no surprise--a total dork (in retrospect). But at the time, I thought he was SO FUCKING COOL. I didn't even know better to act nonchalant--I eagerly sought his assistance in locating my Julee Cruise record. He walked me over to the CD (probably my fifth), and then said those magic words--"Well, if you like Julee Cruise..."
My tapered jeans were already half-off. He walked me over to the "soundtracks" section and presented me with the soundtrack to the Wim Wenders movie "Until the End of the World" (filled with tracks by "washed-up punk rockers" according to my German teacher in high school several years later).
"You should check out the Talking Heads, and Nick Cave and Elvis Costello," he said. Weak kneed, I assured him that I would.
And check them out I did. In fact, one thing led to another, and I ended up a manic Nick Cave fan girl, dragging two of my soccer player friends to his show at Lollapalooza in 1994 ("Oh my God, did he just say 'I've been CASTRATED?'").
I went back to Disc Jockey to buy more CDs and "flirt" with my mentor. He was always helpful and accommodating. But when it came down to it, he had to let me go: "If you really want to get good music, you should go to the Electric Fetus or Let it Be," he said. And well, he was right.
