Heros as Real People

I have long had a chronic case of hero worship. It was bad, borderline pyschotic even I'd say, in my youth. It started as delusions about celebrities and eventually it morphed into a confusing kind of hybrid of "I love you/I worship you" with the real people in my life. I like to think that, in recent years (and I do mean recent) that I've found a balance and given up on hero worship for the most part. Which is not to say that I don't think about Kim Deal every single day...but I think I have it in a healthy perspective.

One interesting turn over the years, largely facilitated by the internet, has been that people I once considered heros have transformed into regular humans. Perhaps even regular humans with whom I have a great deal in common, and even, on occasion, actually talk to.

The first case of this I think was with Kirt Kempter. He was a folk musician who came to my little college campus and played a show one day. I think perhaps there were only a dozen or so of us in attendance. And while the music was good, it was more about my mood that day. I had dragged my head out of my books for just a brief break to go to the show, which occurred about 20 feet away from my dorm room on an outdoor patio. It was one of those life changing moments...or felt like one. My reality cracked open and I saw my dreams very, very clearly. He was a fellow who had left grad school in the sciences to pursue a life of music.

Sometimes even when we see things clearly, it takes a long time to act. I went back to my books...and on to grad school...and so on. And it wasn't until a few years ago that I got serious about music, though not so serious as he got. But the moment in time was still important. And he became a hero of mine.

Years later I decided I should look up what he was up to, and managed to track him down on the internet and to order 2 more of his albums. We actually exchanged messages directly on the matter. Not only did it turn out he was gay...but eventually he gave up music and went back to science. And he sent me the two cds with his own handwriting on the envelope. He was surprised to hear from a fan from that "other lifetime."

In the end, he was a person. He struggled just like me. And we were/are both on a journey. Journies that have been more alike on occasion than different.

More recently I looked into current doings of The Nields, who were one of my favorite little-known groups of the 90s. I guess that I hadn't been paying very close attention to them for longer than I'd realized...because there had been babies and divorces and remarriages in the interim...and the upshot seems to be that, while the two sisters of the group still do perform, the group in general is kind of defunct...and the focus is more on family than musical success these days. Right around when I stopped paying close attention, Nerissa had a book published. Like myself and John Wesley Harding (who I also recently "talked" to directly and had send me a cd in an envelope with his own hand writing)...being a fiction writer as well as musician.

I follow Nerissa on twitter these days and she linked to a recent blog post. She talks a bit about the 20th anniversary of the start of The Nields. And the story feels ordinary and familiar. I can relate. It feels like the story of a slightly more successful colleague of mine more than the story of a hero.

Here's an exerpt from the post, cause she does go on a bit sometimes:
"Speaking of Neverland, in 2011, Katryna and I will turn 20. In June 1991, we played our first show for money, billed as "The Nields." That summer we got a regular gig (at the Williams Inn in Williamstown, MA) and put together a press kit (with an article from the Berkshire Eagle by Seth Rogovoy which read, "Come see the Nields. There's never any cover.") We went to music biz seminars and learned the Golden Rule for new bands: Say Yes To Everything. We did this, and it lead to us playing in the lobby of the Bushnell Theatre in Hartford, playing to attendees of a benefit. We had the idea that we could put "Bushnell" on our resume and get lots of fans. Instead we played "Closer to Fine" at the very moment a Channel 22 News camera happened to catch us in action. We also lost the local talent show to a teenage KISS cover band.

We had a lucky break and got booked at the legendary Bottom Line, recorded our first CD (66 Hoxsey Street, now out of print and doomed to stay that way, as long as Katryna and I have any say in the matter.) We got our first radio play (on WWUH in Hartford, thanks to Ed McKeon) and the rest is history. Or geometry. Or paleontology.

The rest has been a really great 20 years.

Katryna and Patty and I met early this week to talk about details of the big celebration we plan to throw for the fans who have been coming to see us lo these many years. Though I cannot divulge much of what we discussed or they will cut off my caffeine supply, I can tell you this: it's going to be remarkable. Meaning you will remark upon the happening for years to come. It will be a happening. it will be June in Northampton, and you will be there. Need I say more? OK, I will say this: We are playing the Iron Horse on Saturday night (June 11) and we have thoughts to play one song from each year we've been together. That means, unfortunately, that we will be playing material from 66 Hoxsey Street."

We're all just moving through life. Some to more acclaim than others. But even acclaim often fades to the day to day business of life.

Kim Deal is probably sitting in Dayton, Ohio right now hanging out with her dad or sister or brother or whoever she might be dating...all of them keeping an eye out for her mother, who has Alzheimer's. Maybe she'll head over to her house to work on some riffs for new songs...or to practice some long forgotten Breeders tune for an upcoming event. Or maybe she'll go get a coffee at Starbucks and spend the afternoon cleaning out her closets or paying bills or watching tv.