What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: The Reunion Game

February 04, 2011

The Reunion Game

What the fuck is going on? Why is every old indie rock band getting back together? I'd like to say that I'm ambivalent about these reunions, but the more they happen, it's just starting to bother the shit out of me.

First, it was the Pixies, and that made everybody happy because almost everyone who likes the Pixies now never got to see them when they were around because they were either a) too young at the time, or b) not alive yet. So that seemed pretty cool.

Then Pavement came back and that was, like, astounding, like if The Smiths got back together or something. I didn't go see any of the Pavement reunion shows because, I don't know, these nostalgia tours really bother me, and I hated the idea of Pavement cashing in a la The Eagles or The Police. I guess I also don't like that the bands I loved in college have entered into that pantheon.

But now, holy shit: The Dismemberment Plan, Jawbox, Pulp, Sunny Day Real Estate, Soundgarden, Death From Above 1979, and Sebadoh, among many others, have reformed. Fucking Death From Above 1979? Really? They'd only been dormant since '06, and they have maybe 15 fans. Huh?

I miss the romanticism of the truly amazing indie band, unjustly ignored in their time, still finding an audience because their records are really just that good. When that same band gets back together five or 10 years later, that romantic notion of artistic integrity goes out the window.

Oh well. Anyone want to go see Sebadoh at the Black Cat on March 26? Let's go see how well (or poorly) Lou Barlow has aged.

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A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.