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jafreitag · 3 years

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Grateful Dead Monthly: Oxford Plains Speedway – Oxford, ME 7/2-3/88

On Saturday and Sunday, July 2 and 3, 1988, the Grateful Dead played two shows at the Oxford Plains Speedway in Oxford, Maine.

Oxford Plains opened in 1950 as a half-mile track, but was later shortened to three-eighths. According to the Wiki, it’s the largest sports venue in Maine, seating 14,000. The Speedway has hosted events in the NASCAR Busch Series (sort of the minor league for stock cars), but back in the late ’60s, it hosted three NASCAR Cup Series races – two won by Bobby Allison and one won by Richard “The King” Petty.

Yes. That’s Richard Petty in his trademark powder-blue #43 Plymouth. If you had 1960s motorsports figures on your GDM bingo card, right on!

In June of 1988, the Monsters of Rock tour with Van Hagar, die Schorps, Dokken, Metallica, and Kingdom Come stopped in Oxford.

And if you had Van Hagar and/or Dokken on the bingo card, sweet!

The following month, so did the Good Ol’ Grateful Dead for two nights. Our very own GD Editor (and Lester Bangs wannabe) ECM attended. Here’s his extended and incredibly awesome personal reflection.

Thirty-three years ago Deadheads flocked to Oxford, Maine for two days of peace, love and music. The weather was great, the scene was chill and the Grateful Dead played dream set-lists for what would be their last shows in Maine and yours truly was fortunate enough to have been there. It was one of the very best experiences I ever had seeing the Dead and I often wish I could relive it again. So, gather ‘round the campfire and let’s get started, shall we?

PROLOGUE: Summer’s here and the time is right

I had just graduated from college in June 1988 and after treating myself to a 2-week backpacking trip to Europe I dutifully hopped on tour with the Grateful Dead, because like… isn’t that a rite of passage? The mail order Gods were very kind to me which was no small miracle when you consider the huge influx of new fans on the scene in the wake of Touch-mania due to the commercial success of In the Dark. Another factor that contributed to making tickets tough to score was the fact that the band opted mostly for small, outdoor sheds for this tour instead of the ginormous stadiums they had played the previous two summers. I scored tickets for Pittsburgh (6/26), SPAC (6/28, my 22nd birthday) and both nights of Oxford Plains (7/2-3). The latter was a venue the band had never played and it also happened to be the tour closer which raised the stakes even higher. In addition, there was a rumor that the band might add a “surprise” extra show on July Fourth (alas, that never happened). And, of course let’s not forget about the band’s storied history of playing legendary shows in Maine such as 9/6/80 (Lewiston) and 10/12/84 (Augusta). Needless to say, the Oxford shows were highly anticipated by everybody.

Prior to Oxford, I attended Pittsburgh and SPAC with my brother Dan and a bunch of friends. I could write a separate essay on those incredibly fun adventures alone but I will save that for another day. I attended Oxford with my childhood friend, Brad, whose family had a house in Whitefield, New Hampshire which is a tiny, rural New England town near the White Mountains. We used that as home base to travel back and forth to the shows which is only about an hour and a half drive. The plan was to stay for the July Fourth holiday after the shows and then return home to New York.

BACKGROUND: Jumping queues and makin’ haste, just ain’t my cup of meat

Before I review the shows, I must first describe the scene/vibe since it was such a big part of the overall experience. Like most of the surrounding area, Oxford is a small, rural, New England town with a population of about only 4,000 people. It is quiet, serene and wooded. Within that setting is an unexpected attraction – the Oxford Plains Speedway, a car racing track that was established in 1950 and seats 14,000 people. In 1988, the Speedway decided to dabble in rock concerts – something the tiny town was ill-prepared for. Here are just a few obstacles that quickly come to mind: A single, one-lane road was the only access to the Speedway, very few local hotels and a police force of one(!)

On June 25, 1988, Oxford hosted the Monsters of Rock Festival featuring Van Halen, Scorpions, Dokken, Metallica and Kingdom Come. A torrential downpour combined with rowdy fans left the site trashed.

Now, before we get all judgy about metal-heads, let’s acknowledge that the Grateful Dead scene was not without its own problems. As I mentioned, the commercial success of the album, In The Dark, resulted in an incredible influx of newbies known as “Touch-Heads.” The show at SPAC on June 28th was a disaster as ticketless fans crashed the gates and rushed the ramps that led inside the pavilion. As a result, there were scuffles with security and lots of arrests. It turned out to be the last straw and consequently, the Dead never played SPAC again.

The town of Oxford had good reason to be concerned about the Grateful Dead concerts that lay ahead just one week after the Monsters debacle and the news about the Dead show at SPAC just a few days prior. Fortunately, the band and its fans sent around a plea to leave nothing but footprints. The 90,000+fans that descended upon the tiny town of Oxford not only gladly complied with that request but harmoniously co-existed with the residents. Maine papers reported that it was a most enjoyable weekend for all people especially the towns people.

THE SCENE: Strangers Stopping Strangers

Grateful Dead archivist, David Lemieux, had this to say about Oxford:

“It seemed a little out of the way, which is why it was a good place to end the tour. It was a nice mellow place. I was bummed that they never played there again because everybody I knew who went to the Oxford show, to this day, will say it was one of the most fun Dead shows they ever saw. They were great shows musically, but they were just fun…It was extremely easy-going. It was a West Coast vibe on the East Coast. I heard from so many people who said it felt like an Oregon Dead show. That’s the highest compliment for a concert on the East coast.”

David Lemieux thought so highly of the Oxford shows that he included July 3, 1988 as the show to represent the year of 1988 for 30 Trips Around the Sun, the special 50th anniversary box-set that featured one complete show for each of the thirty years the band performed. Note that the box-set also includes a second Maine concert – the Augusta Civic Center show on October 12, 1984. Supposedly, the Lewiston show on September 6, 1980 would have also been included if a better audio source existed.

My friend, Brad and I arrived in the town of Oxford in the early afternoon on July 2nd. Getting there was slow. There was a lot of traffic congestion because of the one-lane road leading to the Speedway. Many people abandoned their cars and opted to walk. Enterprising locals let Deadheads camp and park on their lawn for a small fee. As our car inched along we were able to check out the scene. And what a scene it was! The town of Oxford had been transformed into a little Dead village. The vibe was incredible – perhaps resembling a latter day Veneta or Woodstock. Deadheads were grooving everywhere — swimming in streams, hanging out in fields, playing hacky sack, tossing Frisbees, hiking along the local route through the small town. Everybody was friendly, smiling and having fun together. Strangers stopping strangers just to shake their hand…

The parking lot itself was nothing more than a giant, dusty, plowed dirt field but the scene was outrageously good. The weather was perfect and the Speedway parking lot circus was in full swing – thousands of happy people, tents, cars, hissing nitrous, tie-dyed flags, loose dogs running around, fireworks going off, Hibachis, ice chests and goo-ball hawkers everywhere.

The “Shakedown Street” was enormous – two huge avenues of merchandisers selling everything legal and illegal from bagels to ‘shrooms. Everything was “kind.” Kind beer for $1, kind water for $1, kind cigarettes and kind bud… Kind, kind, kind.

Cops ignored just about everything. To be fair, they were greatly outnumbered. Supposedly, the town’s sole police officer was aided by about 30 officers from the Maine State Police and neighboring communities, but the sheer number of people was overwhelming.

Fortunately, the Dead had the foresight to set up a field office out in the parking lots. People from the Grateful Dead office were out in the trenches all weekend long handing out garbage bags, keeping their pulse on the rhythm of what was going on and even scolding destructive trouble makers when necessary. This turned out to be crucial in keeping things peaceful, clean and safe for everybody.

SATURDAY JULY 2: Life may be sweeter for this, I don’t know

The scene inside was mellow – a giant field surrounded by a racetrack and bleachers. Delay PA towers placed behind the soundboard made hanging out in the back of the field pleasant – you could dance or lie down on a blanket and hear the concert perfectly. In fact, a lot of tapers set their rigs up directly behind these towers and were able to get very good audience recordings of these concerts.

We went into the show early so that we could see the opening act – Little Feat. They had recently reformed after being inactive due to the death of Lowell George in 1979. Now in 1988, they were opening for the Dead to support the release of their new album, Let it Roll. It was exciting to see them rekindle their magic for fans both old and new. Some clever vendors sold bumper stickers on the lot that said “DEAD FEAT.” The band was in fine form and they turned in a really strong set consisting of everything you would want to hear from their live album, “Waiting for Columbus” mixed in with songs from the new album.

After Little Feat finished their set, Brad and I decided to upgrade our spot. Unfortunately, between the sea of people and the big open space, we got separated. I knew that finding him would be almost impossible and I wanted to get some good real estate for the show so I decided to make my way up towards the front. It was still early and there was plenty of space. I eventually settled in front the soundboard where I knew the sound would be perfect. I mingled with some friendly Heads while we waited for the band to take the stage. They were a bit older than me and took me in when they heard that I got separated.

At one point, we noticed a hippie girl in a long flowing dress gracefully floating through the crowd. She was wide-eyed, smiling and clutching a single red rose. She eventually made her way over to our area. She stopped and stood directly in front of me, staring and smiling. She was in a state of euphoria, radiating beauty and kindness but not saying a word. I stood there paralyzed with awkwardness not knowing what to do except smile back. Ever so gracefully, she held the rose out for me to smell, which I did, and then she was off. It was a beautiful moment that encapsulated the entire weekend at Oxford.

It was still daylight when the band took the stage for the first set. Since I was up so close I could see how relaxed they looked. The beautiful scenery was clearly agreeing with them. I remembered what Phil said at the beginning of the Veneta show – “This is really where we get off the best.” I hoped and prayed that this was one of those times.

The band surprised us by opening with “Iko” which juxtaposed the mellow vibe we were feeling with a celebratory one. I looked around and watched people laughing, dancing, and hugging. This was not a typical high-energy East Cost rocking version. Rather, this was band easing into the first set in the late afternoon on a summer day in Maine with a “feel-good” purpose.

The band continued that easy-going vibe into the next song – Jack Straw. It started out almost too mellow. However, by the second jam we have lift-off as Phil carpet bombs the Speedway, taking no prisoners.

Next up is a copacetic West L.A. with a slinky groove that acknowledges the “Speedway.”

While the band is tuning for “Memphis Blues,” the audience starts a “Let Phil Sing” chant. This was the norm at most shows following the “Box of Rain” bust out in Hampton in 1986. However, what wasn’t normal was for Phil, who is notoriously reserved on stage (at least in the latter years), to respond to those requests as he did on this occasion. Cleary in good spirits, Phil has some fun with the audience:

Phil: “Don’t you think the guys in the band are going to get jealous if you yell for me all the time? I want you guys to yell for Mickey, Bill, Jerry and Brent, alright> Next time you see somebody yell ‘We want Phil’ you yell ‘We want Brent’ or ‘We want Mickey’ alright? Thank you.”

That brings Jerry and Bob to the microphone, who add that we should extend our requests to the crew – “We want STEVE! We want KIDD!” – and even to volunteers from the audience(!) This naturally draws lots of laughter and applause. Everybody was having a good time.

With that that band tears through one of the best renditions of “Memphis Blues.” Bobby’s Pepto-pink Strat lit up the Maine sky. Once again, the crowd begins to chant Phil’s name.

Bobby: “Phil can’t hear you. He’s been stone deaf for eight or ten years now. If you hold still he can read your lips. Brent can’t hear you ‘cause he’s run for it.”

Jerry: “Don’t listen to Weir. He’s been crazy for years.”

“Row Jimmy” is superlative. Although it was played at SPAC just three nights earlier, who could complain when such a great song is repeated? Jerry’s notes blissfully echoing into the cosmos. The audience gently swaying to and fro…not too fast and not too slow…it’s the common way to go. Weir uses his guitar to do his paddling shtick during one of the choruses. Classic Bobby.

The band closes the first set with three of the new songs that were introduced earlier in the tour – “Blow Away”, “Victim of the Crime” and “Foolish Heart.” All were well received. Everyone listening intently.

The setlist for the second set is of what dreams are made. Although nothing the band played could be considered a “best of” performance, everybody who attended would agree that this was a delightful set of nighttime, outdoor music.

The sun begins to set behind the band as they gently ease into the opening notes of “Crazy Fingers” creating a breathtaking visual and aural landscape. “Life may be sweeter for this, I don’t know…” The outro jam was everything you could want in “Crazy Fingers” starting with Phil’s lead lines on the high neck of his bass as Jerry picks away in the background. The instrumental journey builds to the next level as Jerry takes over with a delicate lead that flows into the Middle-Eastern flavored jam.

The “Playin’ > Uncle John’s > Terrapin” sequence that follows is divine. Bobby delivers the verses in Playin’ with oodles of confidence and then the band drops into a luscious spacey jam led by Phil’s bouncy bass lines. This drifts into an anthem-like version of “Uncle John’s Band.” Garcia’s mid-song solo is pure bliss. Smiles abound everywhere. The song oozes with kindness and joy and melts into “Terrapin” – Counting stars by candlelight…and eventually we come to the Drums/Space segment of the show.

Supposedly, all the fans that had travelled without tickets were “miracled” when the doors opened as the band went into “Drums.”

Post-Space, the band finishes in fine form with short, but solid versions of “The Wheel > Gimme Some Lovin’ > Watchtower.” The audience cheered when the band sang, “so glad you made it” since Oxford was not easy to get to.

Then, we get the Holy Grail – Morning Dew. Jerry goes deep with his vocals – especially the final Anywaaaay…Phil and Jerry trading melodic licks in the quiet part…the song building momentum… and then the kind of triumphant, powerful ending that makes your hair stand on end….Magical, Electric, Spiritual.

Instead of ending the show, we are treated to a rocking “Sugar Mags’ as a bonus show closer. Rock Star Bobby strutting around the stage with his long, shaggy hair and getting the crowd all fired up. The “Quinn the Eskimo” encore is basically an audience sing-a-long that leaves a big smile on everybody’s face.

There is a video of Set 2 on YouTube if you are interested.

The post-show parking lot scene picked up where it left off. Fireworks and bonfires burned, lost dogs wandered everywhere, people were passed out in the dirt and thanks to the Dead’s crew, a slew of Deadheads scurried around with garbage bags trying to clean up.

SUNDAY JULY 3: All I know she sang a little while and then flew off

On Day #2 the band turned in two sets of music that were inspired and full of energy but the game ball rightfully goes to Brent Mydland for his outstanding performance. Over the two days at Oxford, he played some of his best songs and was a very conspicuous presence in the 2nd set on this evening.

The band comes out raging with “Hell in a Bucket” complete with the same motorcycle effects that were used on the album, In the Dark. Bobby thoroughly enjoys this ride and gets off on Healy’s vocal effects. “Sugaree” is competently performed. Brent lights up “Walking Blues” with a fierce B-3 organ solo.

Bobby then steps to the microphone and continues the joke from the day before by saying: “There’s a guy down there saying let Mickey sing. Now he’s obviously never heard that. You can have it if you want it.”

Garcia delivers the first real highlight of the day – a funky and twangy “Jed” which benefits greatly from Brent’s bouncy keyboard work. Garcia growls some of the lyrics.

Queen Jane fills the “Dylan slot” nicely and features heavenly solos by Jerry and Brent.

The set-closing “Bird Song” at sunset is easily the highlight of the show, and perhaps of the entire weekend. This one gets jazzy and goes way out there into a scary meltdown before building to a huge peak. An added bonus to those who were in attendance was the ultra-light plane that appeared during the jam and circled around overheard. The audience cheered in delight and started pointing up to the sky. The band looked confused as they noticed the audience’s attention being diverted from the stage to the sky. Alas, the distraction probably killed the jam. However, the pilot took a perfectly timed graceful swoop over the stage as Jerry sang the last verse.

Like most people, I was expecting one more song since “Bird Song” rarely was a set closer (at least in 1988), but I’m guessing that the distraction of the plane combined with the potential danger it presented caused the band to err on the side of safety and prematurely end the set after just 6 songs. However, they would make up for that in the second set by playing 6 songs before “Drums ,” which was also pretty unusual. Another unusual aspect of that set was the absence of a Garcia ballad but I am jumping ahead of myself.

In between sets, there was an epic drum circle at the back of the Speedway. Also during the set break Brad and I ran into an old friend from high school, Kevin, who we hadn’t seen in years and we wound up hanging out together for the rest of the evening which was a lot of fun.

As the band took the stage, the audience started a Help/Slip/Frank chant (not played since 9/12/85) but….paradise had to wait until the fall ‘89.

Set two starts off with a highly charged “Touch of Grey” that gets the crowd’s energy going. Immediately afterwards, Bobby strums the chords to “Looks Like Rain” but stops suddenly and instead the band breaks into “Hey Pocky Way.” What a great call! This is an immense version that showcases Brent. The dance party is in full swing.

Bobby eventually gets his way with “Looks Like Rain.” He delivers passionate vocals while Jerry delivers a textbook performance of the noodly musical “raindrops” that was a trademark of this tune in the 80s. The band breaks routine with “Estimated Prophet” by giving us a double dose of Bobby instead of the usual alternating Jerry/Bob sequence of songs. The mid-section jam builds to a nice head and Bobby gives his best screeches before the final jam which is fluid, if not standard.

“Eyes of the World” is short but sweet. However, the real buzz about this version of “Eyes” is Brent’s piano solo(!) which was fantastic and a very rare treat since that was not a song where he would typically take a solo. He should have done it more often! Brent really brought his game to Maine. Phil also steps up for the jam. Everyone is pitching in and listening to each other making for some really strong interplay.

Normally, “Eyes” would wash out into to “Drums” but on this evening the band made the unusual decision of tacking on another song. In addition, it was very unusual for the band to play 6 songs before “Drums.” Here, Brent performs his new song, “I Will Take You Home” for just the third time. His vocals and keyboards are delivered tenderly.

During the “Drums/Space” segment, Mickey ups the ante with The Beam. Just when things can’t possibly get any weirder, Jerry brings us back to earth when he starts picking the notes to “GDTRFB.” Each of the instruments fall into place and soon we are chugging along at an upbeat pace. Brent takes a B-3 organ solo and hands it off to Jerry who builds things to a thrilling peak. Bobby continues the high energy streak with a segue into a raging “I Need a Miracle” complete with audience participation.

The show has an unusual close to it. The double-barreled rocker, ”Dear Mr. Fantasy/Hey Jude” ends with some very funny, over-the-top vocal stuff. Bobby and Brent trade incoherent screams/yelps that may be technically deficient, but the energy is amazingly high.

The “NFA” encore has a cold start with just the vocals before the music kicks in which makes for yet another unique aspect of this show. Full crowd participation goes on for five minutes long after the band has left the stage and probably the Speedway

Mmm-bop mmm-bop bop bop…

Epilogue: Never had such a good time

Brad and I returned to the White Mountains in New Hampshire to celebrate the July Fourth Holiday with his family. We stopped in Springfield to check out the Basketball Hall of Fame on the way home. A few weeks later I traveled to Boulder, Colorado to visit some more friends in the mountains. We visited Red Rocks even though there was no concert. I wanted to experience the vibe and imagine what it would have been like to see the Grateful Dead perform there.

A month later I was working at a “Big Eight” accounting firm in New York City. It certainly was a reality check but it didn’t stop me from attending 7 of the 9 shows the band played at Madison Square Garden in September. The memories of Oxford and that summer are some of the best in my life. Ah, to be 22 years old again…

Thanks, Ed. That was great!

Transport to 7/2/88 on the Live Music Archive HERE.

Transport to 7/3/88 on the Live Music Archive HERE.

Video Sources:

7.2.88 – Set 2 (voodoonola2)

7.2.88 – Set 2 (Kevin Tobin)

7.3.88 Lot Scene

Finally, if you had bad fan dvd art on the bingo card, you’re welcome.

And if you had “the original” Jerry plane dropping a Phil-bomb on your bingo card, you win. Seriously!

[Ed, we sent GDM bingo cards to all the blog followers, right? Right? Dude, idk. I didn’t, did you?? Omg. This was a thing in a zoom meeting mid-Covid. You don’t remember that. Ok. Cool. I know that 31 Days gets way more likes than LN on the ‘gram, and that’s great, really. But bingo was my idea to juice the audience. And now what. What? We are so busted. Corporate is gonna be pissed. WFH is totally over. I hope the bathroom remodel is done at HQ.]

Bingo plan aside (apparently), I will send something random – could be a snapshot, a stick of gum, a two-dollar bill, or basically anything that fits in an envelope and requires one first class stamp – to the first three people who post something substantive about this show below the line. Get to work, hippies! Free sh!t is the best

NOT kidding. Mail will be sent.

More soon.

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ignisaurumprobat19-blog · 7 years

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Nomad (full story)

initially published on r/nosleep

PART 1

February 12th, 2015, 6.42am

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively grab my Iphone and turn it on. The date immediately catches my eye. Yesterday, it's been five years since I got here. It's the first time I reach 5 years in the same place. Part of me is thrilled, but I can't help having a sense of impending doom.

Unlike most days, I manage to get out of bed before my mother comes banging on my door. Maybe that's because of the five-year anniversary, but I feel an urgency to enjoy every minute. If there are people to see, things to do, words to say, I have to do it. Fast.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this time I'll stay longer. Maybe this time I won't have to leave.

8.03am

I pick up Alice on her doorstep. She slumps into the passenger seat and greets me with a « Fuck, I'm so fucking tired ». I laugh, turn up the radio and we sing along, like every morning since September, when I finally passed my driving licence. The road to school is a quick one. I almost want to keep driving, or to tell her, right here, right now, that I love her and that she's the best friend I've ever had. But being cheesy isn't like me, and she might find it weird. If I leave, she'll think of this conversation as a troubling coincidence. If I stay, she'll think I'm not being my usual self and she'll worry, and I dont want to have to deal with this today. So I just park in front of school, and we go on with our day.

5.35pm

It's been an ordinary day. I've been on the alert all the time since yesterday, waiting for something to happen, but so far everything is fine. I might really stay this time. I try not to get my hopes up, but I can't stop myself. I'm alone in the car on the way back from school, Alice got out earlier. I don't turn on the radio this time. At every car that drives a little recklessly, at every red light, I sweat, I get anxious.

7.20pm

Mom cooked a roast for Dad and I and vegetarian lasagna for Chloe. Chloe's just got back from university for a two week break, and even if she answers the parents' questions, she seems.. Distant. Off. Not in a worrying way, though. More in a laid-back way, as if she didn't really know where she was, but it didn't matter. She smiles constantly. The food is delicious. My sister seems on cloud nine. For the first time today, I feel completely relaxed.

11.10pm

A knock on my door. « - Yup ? -Can I come in ? » Chloe's head appears in my doorway. « - Sure. »

She settles down on my bed. « - How's school ? -Not too bad. Still waiting for the answers to my uni applications. I don't think I'll get into a great one, but I'll be happy with anything as long as I can hope to become a doctor. -Hey, don't say that. Wait for the results before saying you won't get in. -Yeah. I guess. -And how's life ? How are your friends ? -Fine. I still hangout with the same ones, basically, but I met lots of Alice's friends so I hangout with them sometimes, too. -And what about boys ? -Nothing new on that side. I would have told you otherwise ! -Well... I might have something to tell you. -I knew it ! You're not pregnant are you ?! -Nooo ! But you know, Alex and I were talking last night, about our future careers and all, and we ended up talking about the future in general... Ad he said he planned to propose at the end of the year ! -Holy fuck ! But that's awesome ! -I know ! I'm so excited ! But I haven't told anyone yet, not even Mom, so please stay quiet for now. I'd rather wait until we're actually engaged before telling people. -Sure ! -But... You will be my bridesmaid, right ? I know you're not a fan of weddings but... -Of course I will ! Come on ! You're my sister ! » But as I say those words, my heart is heavy. I really hope I'll get to fulfill this promise.

Februray 13th, 2015, 8.20am

I slept through my alarm today. I run through the house : breakfast/shower/get clothed/ grab keys/ grab bag. Thankfully I don't have to pick-up Alice today, she only starts her classes at 10am. I sing along to the radio, even though I'm alone. I think about Chloe's wedding, her engagement party, her hen do. It's going to be so amazing ! Today, I want to be positive and allow myself to make plans. No matter what happens, I can't live the rest of my life avoiding any kind of plans. For fuck sake, that's not living. I'm singing (terribly) along to « You're beautiful » when the truck goes through the red light and crashes into my car.

August 22nd, 1999, 7.22am.

I'm awoken by the shrill sound of my alarm. Still half-asleep, I reflexively try to grab my Iphone on the nightstand, but my hand only encounters the void. No Iphone. No nightstand, even. That's when it hits me. The truck. The red light. Chloe. My life. It's over. As I start to tear up, my mind is bombarbed with informations. I know, without knowing how, that my name is Alexandra now. I'm no longer 18, I'm 24. I've been a secretary in my dad's office for the past two years, I live alone, I have no siblings and I have a 26 year old boyfriend but our relationship isn't great lately. I know what I look like, despite not having seen my reflection yet. I also know that I am dead.

First time I died, I didn't really understand what was going on. Mind you, I was four and a half at the time. I was sick, I knew that, but I didn't know I was going to die. Did my parents know ? Did they try to get me ready for it ? I don't know. I don't remember much of them. I remember a blonde woman and a man with steel-blue eyes and lines around the eyes. I don't even know their names. I always called them « Mom » and « Dad ». My name was Leah. I don't know the exact year, but I think it was in the 1980's. I just remember that I couldn't breathe anymore, and then I fell asleep, and then I woke up and I knew that I was Mary, that I was 14, had brown hair, and had to get up and go to my best friend's house. I had a new family, a new face, and a completely different body from the little girl's body I fell asleep in. I screamed for my mom, but the mom who came to me wasn't the blonde mom I was used to. I explained the situation as best as I could ; and Mary was up for three years of therapy. I simply couldn't act like a 14 year old teen. I was completely capable of doing well in school, as I had access to all of Mary's knowledge, but I didn't know how to behave with her family and friends. I was just a small child inside. I died in a car crash when I was 17. Or 8, depending on your viewpoint.

The next day, I was Claire, 10 years old. The transition was easier this time ; I could act like a child again. This time, I didn't tell anyone about Leah or Mary. I pretended I was Claire, and I didn't get sent to therapy. Claire died at 14, falling off her horse, in 1982.

Then I was Laura. Laura was different. Laura was 28, when I was only 13. Laura had a husband, a son, and a job as a sales rep in a big firm in NY. The year was 2022, and it was my first time using the Internet, which didn't help. Most of all, Laura was a cocaine addict. She didn't look like she used, at first glance. She was pretty, with blonde hair and a doll-like face. Sure, her eyes were bloodshot, but with a toddler and a time-consuming professionnal life, what else could you expect ? But as soon as I woke up as Laura, her body asked for its dose.

I killed Laura three months later.

The first time I committed suicide, I thought I would really die. I didn't think I would come back. I was only 13, I still believed there was a way out. I know better now. After my overdose, I woke up and I was Rebecca, 43. In 1973. The guilt was overwhelming, at first. I thought I had deprived Laura's loved ones of their wife, their mother, their daugher, their friend. Because of that, Rebecca got depressed until she died at the hands of an attacker, in a street of San Francisco, in January 1976.

But I realized, years later (or sometimes, years before ), that feeling guilty made no sense. Since the second I arrived, Laura was gone. Whether I killed myself or not, she wasn't coming back. If I stayed, I would only have spent more time pretending to be her, trying to be a wife to her husband, a mother to her son. And the 13 year old girl I was was too young to take care of a baby or to have sex with a 30 year old man. I know now that I took the right decision. It was better for them to grieve for Laura than to have their life ruined by me pretending to be her.

Nowadays, I don't hesitate before I committ suicide. I know the real people won't come back anyway, so if I'm unhappy in a life, I just go to the next one. When I decide to stay, nonetheless, it looks like I'm only alloted a limited time. On average, I get 4 years. Sometimes less, rarely more. The maximum so far has been 5 years and two days.

I shouldn't have stayed that long. I should have left before. How naïve of me to think that I could stay. Have a family, be a bridesmaid at my sister's wedding.

7.42pm

If I don't want to be late for work, I have to get up now. I get out of bed, head to the bathroom. In the mirror, Alexandra is looking back at me. I can't stand this. I scream, punch the mirror, grab a shard of glass and slit my throat.

June 7th, 1981, 6.32am

I wake up in the arms of a man. Before I can even get access to who I am, a severe nausea gets me running to the bathroom. The noise wakes the man up. As I vomit, he walks up behind me and lovingly holds my hair up. He whispers : « - You know, I got an idea for the name. What about Leah ? » Holding my big, pregnant belly, I stand up slowly. My eyes meet our reflection in the mirror above the sink : a blonde woman, a man with blue-steel eyes and lines around the eyes. I wonder how to tell him that less than 5 years from now, our daughter will die.

-----------------------------------------------------

PART 2

September 9th, 1985, 4.05am

I've failed.

I've failed, and now I can't sleep. Everytime I close my eyes, I see her little body going still, her chest rising and falling for the last time.

I've tried. I've been an overprotective mother. I made sure she always wore the right clothes for the weather, I breastfed her, I gave her healthy, balanced meals. But what can I do against cancer ? If only this was not the 80's. If only it was a century from now, she would have had a much better chance. But I don't get to chose that.

And now she's gone. Just like I knew she would, deep down, since she is me.

And all the last glimmers of hope, hope that I could change my fate, hope that I could make it stop, went away with her last breath.

September 9th, 1985, 10.12am

I've applied make up carefully. My blonde hair is in a strict low bun. I've ironed my black dress right before we left.

I've got to look good. After all, this is also my funeral.

My husband looks like a mess. His world shattered three days ago, and he already looks several years older. I tear up, looking at him and his devastated face.

My feelings for him have been hard to define, given that he both gave life to me and made me his wife, even though he has no idea about the first part. All I know is that I've never felt anything but pure love towards him, so it can't be bad, can it ? I didn't chose to come back here. I can't be blamed for feeling this.

I put my hand on his cheek and force him to look at me. I try to find the right words, but will there ever be anything right to say anymore ?

Our eyes are still locked when the loud screeching noise starts, and then there is nothing but pain, and then there is nothing at all.

March 21st , 2004, 10.32am

Samantha's life sounds pretty shitty, to be honest. I've only been here for an hour, but I'm not thrilled at the idea of having a husband who cheats on me, two teenagers to deal with, and crippling debt.

Not to mention that I absolutely hate her look.

Luckily, it's Sunday and the husband took the kids out to the swimming pool. A weekly occurrence, apparently. So I have another hour left to cry my heart out about everything. Everything that has just happened. Everything that happened in the past 5 years. Or everything that happened 20 years ago, if you'd rather.

It was a good life. It was a messy, disturbing situation, sure, but it was a good life.

My mother's name was Patricia, and my father's was Eric. They were good people. She was a children's book illustrator, he worked in a bank, and while they don't sound like the most assorted pair, they were crazy about each other. I had to tone that down, obviously, but it was easy to blame it on the pregnancy, the childbirth, the fatigue from raising a kid. I made sure Eric never felt unloved.

Most of all, they loved me. Oh, they loved me so much.

We were an ordinary family, but it was enough. It was more than enough.

June 5th, 2004, 3.15pm

More than two months in now, and Samantha's life is pretty shitty. But I've seen worse. She doesn't drink, smoke or use drugs. She's an housewife, and it's strangely relaxing to not have to deal with too many people during the day. Or at all, really, since her husband barely talks to her and her kids try to spend as much time as possible outside the house.

One thing that I really enjoy about Samantha, though, is that the déjà-vu feeling is gone.

It started during the pregnancy. I'd get this adrenaline rush, recognize the scene, and I knew what was going to happen in the next 10 to 30 seconds.

This has never happened, in any other life. From a young age, I've had no choice but to force myself to remember everything. When you've lived different lives, at different times, you simply cannot allow yourself to slip and say something out of character, or talk about a technology that doesn't exist yet or an event that didn't happen. It gets you into a lot of trouble. Trust me, I know.

I shrugged it off as the hormones playing tricks on my mind.

But once Leah was born, it got worse.

I had déjà-vu about once a day, and I was always correct.

It made feel... Uneasy. It didn't feel right.

And now it's gone.

April 7th, 2017, 7.12am

I haven't thought of Patricia in years. Or decades, I guess, but whatever.

I suppose it's writing all this stuff that reminded me of her. She was a good person, I suppose, but she got stuck in such a bland life. If she went somewhere when I came, too, maybe she's better now. I hope that's how it works.

Admittedly, what happened yesterday makes it obvious that I don't know much about how it works.

I was sitting on the bench, at my usual bus stop. I've been taking this bus home from work from monday to friday, at 6.18pm, for 2 years. Ever since I woke up as Sophia. I love it here. The city is nice, Sophia is young, she has cool friends and a nice flat. The time is good too. Right before it all started to break down. I'll be gone before that, of course, that's the good part of knowing history. Or the future, as they'd call it here.

The second I saw the long, overflowing yellow skirt, I was overwhelmed with this long-lost, yet familiar, déjà-vu feeling.

I knew she was going to stand in front of me, not sit, and hop in the next bus.

I could already see her long auburn hair caressing her elbows as she looked to the left to see her bus approching, standing with her back to me. Hell, I could even smell her sweet, sugary perfume.

But for the first time, I was wrong.

She walked towards me.

She stood with her back to me.

She looked to the left, saw her bus approaching.

Then she turned around to face me.

In a swift , determined motion, she grabbed my chin, lifted my face to meet my eyes.

Whispered :

« Stop telling them about it. ».

-----------------------------------------------------

PART 3

April 9th, 3.50pm, 2017

I'm going mad here. I'm so tired of all this.

After the girl with the yellow skirt ordered me to stop talking about it, I went crazy. I grabbed her shoulders and started shaking her, yelling. I don't even know what I was saying. It was like decades of anger and pain poured out of my body. People interfered to protect her, and she got away. Before I knew, I was on the bench again and I was sobbing uncontrollably. I'm so mad at myself ! I could have gotten answers, or at least a clue on what's happening.

There were colleagues around, and they saw everything. One of them got on the next bus with me and got me home safe. She even offered to cook me dinner and stay for a bit, since I was in such a bad state. I refused. I didn't trust myself to control my words.

I got called into my boss' office the next day, and I pretended the girl was someone an ex-boyfriend cheated on me with and that I lost my temper when she provoked me.

He seemed to believe it, but he looked worried about me. Kept telling me his door was open if I needed to talk. People at work are definitely looking at me differently now.

I hate that they see me that way. I am not a violent person. I've only been violent when I had to. Violence can be necessary, but a guy cheating on me is not a valid reason to use violence. Why would it matter to me, anyway ? All of my relationships are, by essence, short ones. I can't afford to get too attached to someone.

When I arrived at the office this morning, there was a letter for me in the mail. The secretary said it wasn't sent, it was brought. By a man, in their thirties, black hair, pretty average. That's all she could remember about him when I pressed her for details.

The letter was handwritten, black ink on a simple white sheet of paper.

The ink ran a little.

It said :

«You are not one of them, but you need to learn.

If they know, you can't learn.

If you can't learn, it will only take longer.

Be wise, as it is your nature.

Trust me, cause we are One. »

It was signed by a single letter : *« H »*.

In all my lives, I don't remember being close to a man whose name started with « H ». As I said, I haven't had many lovers. Partly because I've been a kid or a teenager for quite a long time, and also a married woman a few times, and partly because when I was a single adult, being in a serious relationship was too much trouble. I've had flings, of course, but I try not to get too involved. Living with someone when the relationship didn't preexisted my arrival is tricky. I can't be fully myself, but there's no established routine that I can rely on, either. Everything has to be created from scratch, and for someone like me, it can be dangerous to open up too much.

Not to mention the fact that when I ineluctably leaves, I'd rather have as few people as possible to mourn me.

But now that I think about it, if I met him in another life, maybe I knew him under another identity. Maybe « H » is only his name here and now. That would mean he's like me, that would mean I'm not alone.

I don't know if that's a relief or one more reason to worry.

He seems to know a lot more than I do : if he is like me, then why am I not as informed as he is ? Are there more people like us ? What do they want from me ? What am I supposed to learn ?

Why did they let me suffer so much, for decades, without ever telling me that I wasn't completely alone ?

Where were they when I was Alicia, when I cut her 15 year old wrists so that the nightly rapes she endured stopped ?

Where were they when I was Brooke, when every second of the life I lived was spent fighting because there's no other way for a homeless woman to survive in the streets of a devasted New York ?

Where were they when I was Catherine and died in a pool of my own blood, holding the corpse of my lifeless newborn ?

Where were they when I was Amelia and died in a car crash that killed a whole family in the other car, as well as my own kid in the backseat ?

Where were they when I went from being 31 to being 15 again, and lost once again every bit of a life I had built ?

Where were they when I was my own mother and had to watch myself die ?

If they knew and did nothing, then I think I know all I need to know about them. I don't want to play a part in whatever they're doing. I don't care if I'm an aberration of nature or the result of a freak experiment. I don't want to serve anyone. I don't want to « learn ».

April 9th, 5.01pm, 2017

Ok, ok. I could be freaking out over nothing. He could be someone who works in the building, who read my posts and guessed my identity. Maybe he's pulling a prank on me ?

April 10th, 10.06am, 2017

Something happened on the bus to work.

I was hit with a déjà-vu so intense my head started to throb. She wasn't the girl with the yellow skirt, but someone much younger. 15-ish ? Curly black hair, dark brown eyes, freckles, rather cute, really. I had never met her, but I *knew* her.

I didn't see anything, this time. The déjà-vu wasn't about a moment, it was about *her*.

When she spoke, her tone was so low I could barely pick up what she said.

« Don't ask me anything. I can't answer. But please stop posting. You're not ready yet. You just have to learn. If you don't know yet, then you still have to learn. You're only making this more difficult for yourself. If only you stopped fighting, you could be ready so soon. »

Her tone was almost pleading. She kept her glaze ahead while talking. After a few seconds of silence, she finally turned to look at me.

« I miss you. »

My tears started falling down, years of them, a waterfall on my cheeks and neck.

« You can't do that, you can't, you can't just come and tell me to stop asking questions and to stop talking and to just shut up, you can't ! I'm not a puppet, I'm not your toy, please stop it, I'd do whatever it takes, please, please, I can't take it anymore, you forced me to be my own mother, please, please, please... »

People were starting to give me weird looks, but she wasn't even listening anymore. The bus had come to an halt, she was already getting up.

I grabbed her wrist desperately. She shook herself free and bended down so that her face was close to mine. Her face expressed equal parts anger and pain.

« Stop whining, Parthenos. You never had a mother».

And with that, she was gone.

I've looked up Parthenos. It means « virgin » in Greek. I'm not a virgin, I've never set foot in Greece, and as far I know, I've never been someone who had greek origins. If she knows as much about me as she seems to, she should know that.

As much as it scares me to admit it, though, that word feels familiar.

April 10th, 1.04pm, 2017

I know who she is. I don't know how, but I know who she is.

When I was Alicia, I didn't have many friends. I was a lonely kid who tried to avoid contact with others as much as I could. I didn't trust anyone, and I didn't want anyone to know what was going on at home.

I could have killed him. I could have killed my stepdad. Before I was Alicia, I was Meryl. Meryl knew all about killing people. She didn't like it, and it wasn't nice being Meryl, but she had to. That's why I stayed for as long as I could. People needed her. The job had to be done.

So yes, I could have killed him. But I didn't. I didn't want to get sent to jail or to a psych ward. When I decided to end it, I just killed myself instead.

But while I was Alicia, there was one person I trusted. Her name was Victoria. She had long, shiny blond hair and a seemingly perfect life, yet she chose, for some reason, to hang out with the school weirdo. I was so grateful for her.

I remember that once, we were watching tv in her living room when I saw myself smiling on a picture on the wall. Myself, as Rebecca. I knew it was before I arrived in Rebecca's body : I had memories of this, but they were not firsthand memories.

When I asked Victoria about the woman in the picture, she said it was her grandmother. That gave me chills.

And now, that girl on the bus. I know she's Victoria.

April 10th, 3.42pm, 2017

I got another letter at work. Brought by the same man, according to the secretary. She paid more attention to him this time : definitely in his thirties, black straight hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, dressed smart in a dark blue suit. I still have no idea who he is.

I'm scared to open the letter.

April 10th, 3.55pm, 2017

Black ink on a simple sheet of white paper.

« Let's get coffee tomorrow, my dear niece.

8am, Starbucks on Crowne St.

Be careful who you talk to.

H. ».

---------------------------------

PART 4 (FINAL)

April 11th, 2017, 7.56am

He's already sitting at a table when I walk into the coffeeshop. Black suit, black shirt, black hair, and those striking blue eyes. He looks about 32, maybe 33, definitely not older than 34.

Sophia is 27. If he really is my uncle, then he definitely wasn't talking about this life.

He notices me and waves, and as I meet his eyes, my head starts to throb. Just like when I saw that girl on the bus. Victoria, or whatever she's called now.

I walk to his table and sit in front of him.

Neither of us say a word.

Then he starts smiling. Bigger, and bigger, and bigger. He doesn't look threatening though, he looks.. Entertained. That pisses me off so much.

« -Having fun, eh ? You and your friends must be having a blast, messing up with my life ! What are you ? Scientists ? Did you make your little freak experiment with me ? »

He shakes his head, still smiling.

« A cult, then ? »

That makes him chuckle.

« Oh no, no. We're definitely not worshipping anyone. » He laughs even harder at that.

« Calm down. I'm not responsible for what's happening to you, ok ? It just... Happened. You needed it.».

« It just happened ?! That's your explanation ? I just happened to have my life fucking cursed ? »

He sighs and takes his head in his hands.

« Why do you always have to be so dramatic ? I'm trying my best here, could you at least try ? »

« Try ? What am I supposed to do ? »

« Just... Remember! » He looks exsperated. « I get it, you needed it, blah blah blah, but you don't have time anymore, and now Héra found you, and... » He stops mid-sentence, shoots me an almost frightened look : « Ah, never mind. »

Hera. I feel a wave of panic through my whole body. For a few seconds, I'm confused and none of this makes sense. All I feel is fear, fear, fear, and I cannot form a coherent thought.

Then it hits me.

Long, flowing skirt. Auburn hair. The girl from the bus stop.

Not too different from her real form.

I knew Hera before I was Sophia. Before I was Alicia, Meryl, Brooke, Ciara, Jane, Alisha, Heidi, Samantha, Patricia, Amelia, Catherine, Cindy, Priyanka, Mary, Rebecca, Laura... Before I was Leah.

Before this place was unhabited.

Before humans were created.

I look at my uncle. I still see his current form, but I also see every one of his appearances since the last time I saw him.

Unlike me, he didn't have to be different people. He always looks more or less as he does now, except he alters his style to fit in whatever time period he's in.

Of course, only our kind can see him as he really is. This is no more than a disguise, a way to walk among you. But unlike some of us, he doesn't do it to manipulate you or to gain power. He genuinely always liked you, ever since I gave you life. He said you were fascinating. I didn't understand why, but I do now. I do.

He looks alarmed when he sees that I'm tearing up.

I choke on my own tears : « Oh, Dis... »

I've always called him by this nickname, even though he hated it. *Mostly* because he hated it, and it was fun to annoy him.

I can see relief flowing over his face. A tear rolls on his tanned, smooth cheek, and he grabs my hand :

« About time. We need you. »

« Hestia came to talk to me on the bus yesterday. Is she ok ? »

« She is. She always kept an eye on you. »

I'm crying now. The kind of sobs that leave you out of breath, a mess of snot and tears and mascara rivers.

I squeeze back Hades' hand and let myself break down.

I'm back.

I needed to learn. It's both a blessing and a curse to be the incarnation of Wisdom and War. Violence is a part of me, but resorting to it have always felt like failing.

As humans multiplied, violence and war were everywhere. I did all I could, but your wars drained me.

By becoming too involved in your conflicts, I ended up forgetting my nature.

I wanted to end you, wipe you off, so we could have some peace. But some of my kind wouldn't let that happen. They have different plans for you.

Since I couldn't end you, I had to find another way. I didn't understand you, and there were so many of you. I couldn't answer your calls. I needed to learn. I needed to experience the spectrum of human emotions. So I became one of you.

What I've learned is that you are, indeed, insignificant. Earth would be a more peaceful place without you.

You can kill, rape, torture, bully, kidnap, mutilate, harass, enslave...

In other words, you are just like us.

But you are also capable of love. I've seen that. I've felt that.

Learning time is over, now. Dark times are ahead.

More wars are coming. Some of us are going to make sure they happen.

But I'll be there, humans.

I am Athena Parthenos.

I am Athena Nikè.

I am Athena Pallas, daughter of Zeus, niece of Hera, Hades, Hestia, Demeter and Poseidon, granddaughter of Chronos and Rhea, great-grand daughter of Gaia and Uranus.

I never had a mother, but I know motherly love.

I can't be hurt by human weapons, but I know the pain of blades and fists.

I can't get sick, but I know the misery of illness.

I don't age, but I know the affliction of old age.

I can't be killed, but I know what death feels like.

I am ready. I hope you are too.

#writers #writers on tumblr #my writing #writers of horror #greek mythology #hades #hera #ignisaurumprobat19 #sixpenceee #that's some sixpenceee shit

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thisaintascenereviews · 7 years

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Album Review by Bradley Christensen Billy Joel – The Stranger Record Label: Columbia Release Date: September 29 1977

If we’re going to be talking about the 1970s, we have to talk about more than just Elton John, so let’s take a break from talking about him just to talk about Billy Joel a little bit more, shall we? If you don’t remember last month, I covered Billy Joel’s 1980 record, Glass Houses (well, I’m writing these reviews out of order, and I’ll be posting them out of order, because I want to cover that LP for 80s Month, so you’ll see that review before this one, but I’ll be writing this one before that one… Whatever, as long as you see it, it doesn’t matter when I write it), and I really liked that album. It’s a really great, slick, and energetic pop record. It’s a very nice example of an album that shows an artist taking modern elements, such as new wave and dance-pop and incorporating into their sound as a way to adapt to the times, but not pander to their fans. Glass Houses doesn’t feel like a pop album, because Joel had to make a pop album, but because he wanted to experiment the different sounds, ideas, and influences that pop can offer. It’s a really good record, and definitely worth a listen, but it’s time to talk about a few more albums, especially his earlier work. Joel had a string of albums in the early to late 70s that are considered very, very, very good, those being 1973’s Piano Man, 1977’s The Stranger, and 1978’s 52nd Street. Today I’ll be talking about The Stranger, as that’s often considered his best album by many writers, critics, and publications, but it’s also his most successful album that isn’t a compilation. Billy Joel is an interesting songwriter, not only because he managed to experiment with different styles of music, but he managed to release a lot of really awesome records that people still love today. While Joel stopped releasing new music in 1993, he still tours all the time. It’s good that people can still see him tour, as well as hear the best songs of his career. There is something to be said about an artist that knew when to quit, at least quit making new music, and give people what they want – the hits.

I digress, but The Stranger is very much considered his magnum opus, and I’ve had the album for a couple of years now. I don’t remember where I picked it up, most likely Shopko, if I remember correctly, but I just never got around to listening to it all that much, let alone getting headfirst into it. I’ve been listening to it all week, though, and you know, this is an interesting case of respecting an album more than I really like. I would have to respectfully disagree, too, because this isn’t my favorite album of his. Make no mistake, this album is very good, but it’s not a great album. I don’t think so, anyway. I mean, I see why it’s considered a classic, and it is a classic, but it’s not an album that I personally love, by any means. Before I talk about what doesn’t work for me, and why this album is one that I respect more than I like, there are some great things on this album, mainly Joel himself. His vocals are top notch, as he’s always been a great singer. He’s very emotive, expressive, charismatic, and very enjoyable, and his lyrics are awesome, too. Like Elton John, especially at the height of his classic period, the lyrics are very poetic, detailed, vivid, and well-written. There’s a lot of very wonderful storytelling on this LP, and Billy Joel always had a knack for writing lyrics that really tugged at your heartstrings. This album is no exception, whether it’s in the form of “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant,” that documents the whole relationship between a couple, “She’s Always A Woman,” which is an ode to a woman that Billy Joel loves, or “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song),” that talks about a man moving out from his apartment, or something like that, because of the way he’s being treated. I never usually have issues with Billy Joel’s vocals or lyrics, and yeah, he sounds awesome on this LP.

The reason why I don’t love it, however, is for its sound. By this point in his career, he was experimenting with more jazz and big band sounds, and it shows up a lot here, which is fine, because it’s an interesting and unique sound, but I don’t like this kind of stuff that much. On an album like 1973’s Piano Man, the jazz elements are there, but they’re kept to a minimum. The songwriting, pop hooks, and more melodic song structures are the focus, not necessarily its sound. This album brings them out to the forefront, and I can’t say it works for me that much. Not because the sound itself is bad, but some tracks really, really drag on, because of the jazzy, free-flowing sound that it takes on. There are only nine songs on this album, but it’s 43 minutes. That’s not a long time, but it feels like it is, because most songs here are over five minutes long. This is just a classic case of an album not being my thing, but I can respect it for what it is, as well as for being a classic, because it is. I wouldn’t doubt that at all. It’s just that this album is not my favorite of his, at least out of the ones that I’ve heard, anyway. I wouldn’t say skip this, either, because it’s a very well put together, interesting, and engaging listen. Some of the best songs on his career on this album, but it’s not an album that I find myself really coming back to. If you want a good example of where his sound isn’t too longwinded, exhausting, and just kind of boring in places, Piano Man is a good one to listen to. It’s got his signature piano-pop / rock sound, as well as some jazz elements, but it’s done in a more cohesive, focused, and catchy way. If you want something more pop-flavored, 1980’s Glass Houses is the way to go. That’s probably my favorite, because I’m partial to pop music, as well as very slick, catchy, and engaging production, and it’s also very short and sweet, only about 35 minutes. The Stranger is very much a classic album, but just because something is a classic doesn’t mean I have to love it. I like this album, but I don’t quite love it.

#billy joel #the stranger #movin' out anthony's song #scenes from an italian restaurant #piano man #captain jack #glass houses #an innocent man #52nd street

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