So High School

It was actually 7th grade. I had my very first guitar, a sunburst Gibson Melody Maker whose looks I never really cared for (and that I later traded in for a Gibson ES-335TDC, which I really loved and still have and still love), a Fender Deluxe Reverb amp (that I wish I still had but that I later traded for a Fender Super Reverb, which sounds great but is really loud and way too heavy and unwieldy and that I also still own), an Electro-Voice microphone (probably an affordable model 630 – no idea what happened to it), and my very own mic stand (that a couple of years later Johnny Barranco stole, I swear he did, not cool, man). (It was at this very same junior high that I saw that car “across the lot” that I fell in love with and wrote about in our Steely Dan-esque song Classic Model. (A lot of love of things in this story so far, I have to note.)

Anyway, one day I set all this stuff up in front of our choral music class and sang two songs, both by the Beatles: I’m a Loser (calling Dr Freud) and I’ll Follow the Sun. Note the fair and balanced nods to both Lennon and McCartney. I have no idea if I was any good, but I did it, of my own free will (and initiative, I think), and I don’t remember being especially nervous about it. (These days I struggle a good bit with stage fright, which is a bummer.) Later in the day, while walking down the hall between classes, I overheard one of my classmates making some rather nasty remarks about my performance to a friend, disparaging remarks amounting to “what makes him think he can sing?” It stung, and I think I can trace the beginnings of my lack of confidence in my musical abilities to that precise moment.

I liked math
And geography too
In the marching band
I was not too cool

In my last blog post I described myself as being, like my father, “socially awkward, a bit of a misfit”. That’s certainly how I felt during pretty much all of high school. And yes, I was in the marching band. My white, conservative, upper middle class Deep South high school’s culture was dominated, much as I suppose all high schools are, by the “cool kids” – socially adept, self-satisfied, destined to party hearty at Ole Miss and then settle into Mississippi’s Southern aristocracy, such as it was. Certainly I was not “too cool for school”.

According to Google’s Gemini, "that's so high school" means that “something is immature, petty, dramatic, or overly concerned with social status, referencing typical teenage behavior like gossip, cliques, or proving popularity, often used dismissively to imply someone has outgrown such antics.” I guess it’s a convenient way to reference a primary way that many Western cultures regard adolescence, that is, a time of emotional turmoil, identity confusion, and social awkwardness, one that’s often more prolonged than we’d want. And during this time stuff, like that nasty remark about my performance, can hit hard and make a lasting impression. I’d like to think that I’ve finally grown out of all this, but events or people can put me back in that head space. I don’t like it.

Adolescence is famously famous for being tricky, so I guess it’s not surprising that it marks us so strongly, that we tell stories and sing songs about it, that the coming-of-age story is told and retold and reworked and mucked with so often. I asked my buddy ChatGPT if other cultures regard adolescence in the same way, and it answered with an emphatic NO, stating that other cultures don’t let adolescence get the upper hand the way that we do by, instead, providing “clear transitions into adulthood”. Examples include the Jewish bar/bat mitzvah; Latin American quinceañera; Maasai, Xhosa, and other African initiation rites; and Pacific Island and Indigenous rites involving communal recognition of adult status.

For any of you who’ve transitioned into adulthood via one of these alternatives, please report back how it went for you, as well as whether or not you relate to our ongoing preoccupation with teen insecurity and self-discovery. In the meantime, we Westerners will continue to mine the rich, story-laden lode of this prolonged, ambiguous, and problematic life stage.

Wow, that was a lot, just to set up a song. Yes, I’m guilty as charged of mining this classic subject, just like everybody else (click on image to listen):

So, if you don’t relate to this song or topic, then I have a suggestion: GROW UP!

And, whether you’re an old soul, young at heart, or just trying to get through the day, thanks for listening.