High Fidelity, the movie, is one of our all-time favorites. High Fidelity, the show, which debuted on Hulu last month, I’m pleased to report, is fucking fantastic as well. The reason we think that is because we used to talk like the main characters all the time. In-depth music conversations, lazy afternoons at bars drinking whisky, top five movie soundtracks. They felt like important conversations because liking someone and choosing them as a life partner is critical if they can hold their own while discussing whether Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours” or “Tusk” was a better album.
It’s Rumours. You know I’m right.
This very conversation occurs in the first episode of the Hulu series and you can almost sense Rob’s disappointment (played incredibly well by Zoe Kravitz) when her blind date confesses to not knowing anything about Fleetwood Mac’s backstory after she goes off on a tangent, analyzing the lurid affairs that every member of the band had. He’s also a Phish fan so, there’s that.
I remember going out on dates with guys where their love of music was non-existent, where album analysis would die within the first twenty seconds of a conversation, where you knew this wasn’t going well. I’m just saying this was important for me. Not everyone needs this but I sure as hell do and I got it immediately with AFH on our very first date. We excitedly traded concert stories, showed each other indie bands we were listening to, made plans to visit record stores together, recognized a kindred spirit right there in front of us.
In my life, prior to being “Mama” I was Dramatic Annie. I ran a successful music blog for 5 years, with traffic of 150,000 subscribers per month BEFORE Twitter and Instagram were a thing. I made a “mix tape” every Sunday for my readers called “All In A Week’s Work”, I posted videos from underground shows, I related every relationship I had to some sort of song or how I was feeling at the time. And, on May 7th, 2013, I wrote this:
I want: someone you know whose eyes are on you whenever you’re in a room and you can feel them even if there’s 20 feet between you. Someone who can effectively air-drum to Van Halen. And who loves Game of Thrones. And can make fun of themselves. Whisky is a must. Loves music. And will throw gang signs up with me at major landmarks across the world. I don’t believe this is too much to ask.
16 days later I met AFH for the first time.
If that isn’t “The Secret” shit working in my favor, then I don’t know what is.
We had a grand old time. However, like most things do when you get into that lifelong relationship, the website fell by the wayside. Blogger has since deleted everything BUT WordPress kept about the last year of posts so if you want to read what it was like to be someone with no commitments, day-drinking on a constant basis and listening to banger choons, head over HERE.
Reading back through that stuff, it also reminds me of when, as a woman I would be put down regarding my love of music; that I didn’t know as much as the man I was talking to and when mansplaining was a completely normal thing. The ironic thing was, most of the time I knew more than that guy who had just memorized a few key facts about different bands to seem knowledgeable or impress girls. When poked about their favorite album or what broke that particular band up in the first place, you could see their horror that they’d been caught out so their reaction was always to change the subject, save face, put me down. I only ever did this when the guy was a douchebag, all bravado because undoubtedly he had a small penis and was incredibly insecure. This was a guy who utilized the “I met so and so” or “I got backstage…” stories to get laid. That’s completely fine and if that was working for them, great. But it always insulted me when they thought that that would work on me. Anyone who’s talked to me for more than 30 minutes understands that music is something in my lifeblood, with hours and hours and hours of my childhood sat in front of the stereo listening to one album after another, soaking up the liner notes, attending shows, making mixtapes on cassettes. So, a casual “I’ve met the band” comment won’t work on this chick. Or, “oh, so you listen to pop then.” Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean that my taste in music is shit. For an better, more eloquent article on what women have faced as music journalists or even just showing their love for music in a regular conversation, click here and go read this amazing Vulture article by Jen Chaney.
Real music lovers don’t die because they become parents. We took our daughter to her first music festival, Shaky Knees here in Atlanta, when she was 10 months old (2016) and have been going on a regular basis since then. She’s a fucking pro. I did the full three days when I was six months pregnant back in 2017 and, even though I looked like a fucking turtle on its back getting up from the ground, I did it and enjoyed myself. This year, we’ll be taking Oli for the first time as well as the line-up is quite spectacular so we’ll see how we do. We’ll also be reporting on this blog for the Shaky Knees weekend (May 1-3) which will be fun. In the meantime, we’re heading out to go see Radical Face at Terminal West in a couple of weeks and will still be fighting the good fight despite the fact that we have to get babysitters now to go out. Stay true to yourself, put on that record and just for a second, relax and listen. – FemaleGG
A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together! http://theghostgeneration.com Twitter.com/Gh0stGeneration