Tag Archives: Classic Rock

The Girl Who Found RUSH

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There wasn’t much room in my friend’s tiny Pinto, but somehow we all squeezed in. We were teenagers, high, laughing, and on our way to see RUSH at the Hirsch Memorial Coliseum. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about on the way there. I mostly remember the feel of it: being young and free, surrounded by friends, the anticipation of the concert ahead. For a few hours, nothing but laughter and silliness. We were just a group of kids who loved music.

RUSH was the first band I ever saw in concert. I was in high school at the time, an unlikely fan of a band whose music was probably more complicated than any other band I followed at the time. But something about RUSH drew me in. I’m certain it was more than just the music itself that resonated.

My friends and I were in marching band together. We were a raucous group of kids, and our band director had a difficult time getting the entire class to settle down, yet we were a top marching band. I loved music, but hated marching band. For one thing, girls weren’t permitted to wear makeup, which was nothing short of a tragedy to my teenage self.

My adoptive mom forced me to be in marching band after I casually told her that the band director invited me. I wanted to be a cheerleader. That, of course, was not to be. Band, despite being geeky, was where I eventually found my tribe.

Most of my friends, growing up in Bossier City, Louisiana, were white. I was not. In Junior High, I desperately wanted to be part of a popular group of girls, most of whom were white. For a while, they seemed to accept me. Then one day, I was told to find another group to hang out with. That stung. At the time, I didn’t understand why I had been pushed out, or consider that race may have had anything to do with it. The girl who seemed to lead the group was of mixed race and very popular, which made the racial exclusion even harder for my younger self to understand.

My band friends were white. I knew that. Race was never something we ever talked about, nor did anyone else. Growing up as a Taiwanese adoptee (although I was told I was Japanese and Vietnamese at the time) meant that I was often aware of difference in ways that I could not articulate. But with these friends, something happened that I didn’t fully understand then. They seemed to look beyond the obvious differences between us. We were simply kids in band together who shared a love of music and partying, and that felt safe.

Then there was 2112.

Exit Stage Left was the first RUSH album I owned. Of course, Tom Sawyer and Limelight were my favorites. My love of RUSH, and one of my band friends, led me to 2112. I must have listened to that album a million times over.

The story of 2112 is about individuality versus conformity. The protagnist discovers a forbidden musical instrument in a society that has eliminated music and individuality. The discovery awakens something in him that doesn’t fit the world in which he exists. I think something around the nonconformity was part of what drew me into the album so deeply.

Though I was in marching band, which was ostensibly about music, I hated being forced into it and the expectations that came with it. I was being told, in small and big ways, who I should be and how I should present myself. Then I found RUSH, a band whose music was expansive, strange, rebellious, and completely unconcerned with fitting into the expected mold.

In the music, I didn’t need to explain myself. My friends could not share my experience of being a Taiwanese adoptee or what it was like growing up racially different from the people around me. And yet, they saw me. We liked the same music. We laughed a lot together. We crammed into a tiny Pinto. For a confused teenage girl who carried an awareness of being different without having much language for it, their friendship was profoundly meaningful.

Sometimes belonging doesn’t come from people who are just like us. Sometimes it comes from finding people with whom we can simply be ourselves, without having to work so hard to fit in.

Belonging is messy and sometimes partial. What I know about RUSH, beyond the fact that they remain one of my favorite bands, is that their music gave me an escape from a messy, racially complicated adolescence. For a spell, I didn’t need to figure it all out. I could listen to the music, share thoughts about it with my friends, and feel like I belonged.

And I’d cram back into that Pinto with that group of friends any day.

If you haven’t listened to RUSH 2112, it’s a trip. Here’s the opening track, 2112: Overture…

Summertime

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What is it about summertime that takes me back to my youth?

The older I get, the more aware I become that there are fewer summers ahead than behind me. There’s a Portuguese word for this feeling: saudade. It describes a deep, melancholic longing for a person, a place, or even a version of yourself that is gone and may never return. It’s the bittersweet ache of being grateful the past existed while quietly mourning that it’s gone.

I can actually feel the word saudade. It’s a sensation that settles somewhere between my heart, my throat, and my belly.

There’s also senescence, but hell, saudade sounds a whole lot sexier 🤣

Summers were uncomfortably hot in the South. I grew up in Bossier City, Louisiana, where heat, humidity, mosquitos, and very large bugs were part of life. Yes, we had a bug zapper hanging from the metal canopy over our backyard patio.

I remember lying on the front lawn during my childhood, staring into an endless blue sky, picking dandelions just to blow their fluffy seeds into the wind. Every once in a while, I’d wander to the ditch behind our neighborhood, catching minnows, crawdads, and toads, all the while hoping my parents didn’t catch me; they strictly forbid going anywhere near the ditch.

Yep. That was childhood in Louisiana.

Summers were also for swimming, of course. I lived in a two-piece 😂 My parents had a pool built in our backyard, and the anticipation of finally being able to jump in felt like waiting for Christmas morning.

Ironically, once it was filled with water, I was terrified to jump in. I clung to the side of the pool until my mom enrolled me in swimming lessons at the local YMCA. How I hated those lessons. Swimming lap after lap felt like torture.

I became a strong swimmer though. You couldn’t keep me out of the water after that. There were countless afternoons and pool parties with my girlfriends, our skin glistening with baby oil as we stretched out in the blazing Louisiana sun for hours. Back then, a tan was the goal. We had no idea we were collecting the sun damage we’d spend decades trying to undo.

Music has always been like a time capsule.

This morning I was listening to Fantasy by Aldo Nova. Some of you may be too young to know who he is, but hearing that song immediately transported me back to my youth. I have a classic rock soul, though I love other genres of music. (Country is probably my least favorite… although I did have a country music phase in the mid-2000s!)

There are a few artists who never fail to stir memories like Blue Öyster Cult, Red Rider, Robert Plant, The Police, Fleetwood Mac, Scorpions, Duran Duran, Adam Ant, Blondie, AC/DC, Night Ranger, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Styx, Eagles, Journey, Rush, Heart, April Wine, and Foreigner. I’m sure I’m forgetting a few, but you get the idea.

Certain songs are like time machines, carrying me back to who I was, where I was, and how I felt. My first heartbreak. Summertime freedom. The quiet, rebellious part of me that wouldn’t fully emerge until years later, after I stopped trying so hard to fit in. I was fortunate to grow up surrounded by unforgettable music, and those songs are like old friends whenever they find their way back to me.

I think certain songs mysteriously call out, wanting to be listened and paid attention to. Perhaps it’s my guides. Perhaps it’s my own intuition gently reminding me to sit with this feeling of saudade. To embrace getting older instead of resisting it.

I’ve lived a life filled with brilliant moments and profoundly painful ones, as we all have. And there’s still a part of me trying to make sense of it all, searching for meaning in the moments that hurt the most.

Until then, I’ll keep listening to the music that nourishes my heart and soul.

I hope you do the same.

Rock on🤘