The thing I used to hate about the alternative stations (until “alternative” became synonymous with “mainstream” and the attendant market considerations forced them to change their ways) was that every so often you’d hear something really impressive, and almost invariably they’d neglect to tell you who the hell it was. All the DJs seemed to think that if you needed to be told then you had no business knowing. No business even listening, old dude. Perhaps they were right about that, but what it means for me is that there are at least half a dozen tune-fragments floating around my head that I may never be able to attach names to because various DJs were too busy being hipper-than-thou to simply do their goddamn job. (“Hmpf, grrrr, nnnnnnngh,” he said. Once or twice in my life have I been willing to lower myself to walk into the CD store, naively asking about “that tune that goes duh-duh-duh-duh-dumb??”) The DJs would typically play five or six tunes in a row and when they would deign to rattle off the titles, half the time you no longer had the radio on to hear them. There are exceptions to every rule, and fortunately I was able to get the info on Pursuit of Happiness. Maybe it was the singer’s birthday? Whatever--I beat the system.

Which is not to say that I can even name the CD this tune is on, but that’s OK; I own discs by bands those young dudes will never hear as long as they live, because they’re not sold in stores and I’m not sharing!, hahahahaha. Probably because I am no longer in my 20s, just because a song blows me away whenever I hear it on the radio (it’s symptomatic of how superior the 90s are to the 80s that I would even be caught dead listening to the radio again. And yes I know that I’m referring to a tune that came out in 1988 here. I missed out on it back then. I was doing time as a Deadhead. I’m all better now.) there’s no longer that all-too-familiar compulsion to track down every import, bootleg, B-side, solo project and yearbook photo in a feeding frenzy of piglet consumerism, all the while convincing myself it’s all equally and incredibly goooood!!!

My dad has told me that one of the more pleasant things about getting older is that one feels the freedom to “let it all hang out” in a way that those 60s kids (to say nothing of their repressed 80s counterparts) could never even imagine. There’s a point past which you give up on making any special effort to try and impress anybody, particularly people you don’t know. And it has less to do with apathy than with the realization that it’s silly to spend ever-more-precious time worrying about stupid shit like that when doing so deprives you of the authenticity of simply being yourself. He didn’t put it quite that way, and I’m sure there are other factors that enter into it and that there’s a hell of a lot more to learn on the subject, but that’s the gist of what he was telling me.

So, then--perhaps if I felt my street cred was at stake, I’d feel obligated to run out and buy at least a couple of CDs before daring to venture comment. But I’m not nearly so silly as that, and what’s more even if I had the money I don’t have the time. I have far too many CDs as it is, many of which I do care more passionately about than I suspect I’ll ever be able to about Pursuit of Happiness. Old friends that they are, I feel guilty enough about neglecting them so. It’s a shame, but that needn’t deter me from writing a review--in this particular instance I simply know a good tune when I hear it on the radio and felt like reminding you of it as well. Try and stop me.

Having exhausted his knowledge of Pursuit of Happiness, he now lurches into a related subject--hey, if I was a pro we could call it “drawing a parallel.” Errrr, speaking of parallel lines, that somehow brings us to 4 Non-Blondes. If you don’t get the Blondie reference (and if so, don’t worry; you didn’t miss a thing) then I must be talking about the choo-choo tracks on the album cover. Hey, at least I own Bigger! Better! Faster! More! Etc.! Whatever!, and so can you if there’s a bargain bin within a five-mile radius. (What the hell happened to them anyway? Same old shit--rampant ego problems on the one hand and musical differences on the other.) One tune--“What’s Up!?!?”, and it’s a much better song than “I’m An Adult Now,” even if the latter has the more concise lyric.

Do I play the album? Of course not! That one tune is all I’ll ever need. (And no, Virginia, not the cloying, artificial, vapid, plastic, forced and typically anemic ***D*A*N*C*E***M*I*X*** either...stylin’ and defilin’, I say.) It’s brilliant...more than a bit retro on several levels, it sounds like it could be a long-lost Thunderclap Newman track (or Grand Funk, in their “I’m Your Captain” mode), as covered by Ann Wilson of Heart. The vocalist indulges in certain annoying-as-hell mannerisms, shifting gears from line to line--operatic, arch, folkie, primal-screaming, overacting, over-reacting. Yet rather than laughing at such absurdity, between winces I find myself attempting to sing along, genuinely moved. So perhaps I’m not an adult now after all.

So many tunes, so little time. I’ll miss them when they’re gone, and when that time comes I’ll be gung-ho enough to go ahead and buy some of ‘em. That’s what later life is all about--the opportunity to play catch-up. Then again, so is midlife crisis. Grant me the serenity to know the difference. I know I’ll be an adult now when K-Tel gets ahold of the rights to everything we’re currently digging, chilling, stylin’ and profilin’ and blesses us all with a 90s compilation called “Have a Shitty, Grungy, Angst-Ridden Day :^)” ...and I can’t wait to buy the CD-Rom--which, if that format still exists, will have so much storage space it’ll contain home movies of the bands’ tortured childhoods and maybe even reviews such as this. Bon appetit!