Athens

Before I moved, I blogged one night about the process of letting go of the periphery of one place as you are leaving. As was the case on many nights, I was having a really tough time with the process. As is usually the case, the fear and time leading up to the event were actually far worse than the event itself. In particular, I noted how the voices of the newscasters in the place where I lived at the time would gradually begin to “sound less like old friends and more like long lost acquaintances.”

I guess I am a creature who is more susceptible to the influence of sound than any other sensory stimulus. There are other sounds that I recall from having lived in Athens for so long. In particular was the music that used to play on the government access channel - a channel which was my default background noise when the Weather Channel became, um, boring? The somewhat not newsworthy “news” and reminders of often disregarded city ordinances would display in Print Shop-esque panels, while second-tier pop performers from the 50’s would croon second-tier songs (with the occasional Bing and Frank mixed in for good measure). The local commercials (that were not for athletics) also tended to contain music that was or was closely derived from jazz, in spite of the town’s hipper musical contributions of the last twenty-five years.

My outings in Athens for the first several years I was there were usually to jazz shows. I experienced Squ@t and Gr0gus in their formative years, as well as great performances by Steve D. and several others (a few of you will remember “Lush Life,” “M0rgan LeFay,” and several of you will remember “Six Shades Blue”… great memories). My first significant jazz education was also in Athens. Those things only assisted this sort of subconscious association of jazz with Athens. (Aside: This is kinda strange, but a pretty successful songwriter frequently shows up at the events I attend here. When conversation arises about my view of Athens as my hometown, he without pause screams “Pylon!!!” to indicate his fandom for one of the classic Athens bands that never quite got the publicity that some of the more universally famous local groups got, though it is still a permanent part of the town’s musical fabric… not to mention that they have been playing together again of late).

There is a commercial that plays on Nashville cable for a local show that is little more than an infomercial for middle-of-the-road dining establishments. The infomercial itself is advertised frequently, and the theme song for both is uptempo swing (half note = 132) performed by a four-piece combo (drums, bass, a very well-played jazz guitar, and muted trumpet) that totally reminds me of that music.

Whether it is a stroke of marketing genius or simple opportunism because of the town’s name, I still totally associate Athens with the term “classic.”

I am over the fact that I don’t live in Athens. I feel fine here. But when that commercial plays, I think about Athens. I think about Athens, and I think about how lucky I was to have lived there for so long. And when I do, I pine for the next time I am standing at College and Broad on a 65-degree slightly breezy spring night with a person or people with whom I enjoy being. I fondly remember the Christmas lights on the trees, or walking past DT’s or the Georgia Bar as a door briefly opened and music and angst spilled momentarily onto the street only to be contained again as the door sprang shut. I recall sitting outside Bissett’s when I could afford it and Broad Street Bar and Grill when I couldn’t, flirting with my Jack and Coke, (linky, are we?) a friend, and a pleasant evening that wasn’t a Thursday or a football gameday.

I don’t know when I’m going to make it back. Current circumstances seem to indicate that it might be quite a while. But every time that commercial plays, I’m back there for a few seconds. I remember a few specific moments – moments that I made a concerted effort to remember for this very reason.

I’m doing a very poor job of saying this, but I love simply thinking about that place. I love remembering that feeling. I like to think that I can still do what I want while keeping a home there some day. But more than anything, I’m very happy that I have a place with which I can associate so many pleasant memories (and that I can conveniently forget the unpleasant ones). Though it is actually only my adopted hometown, it’s really cool to be “from” somewhere like that. And I can’t wait to get back, and I’m smiling just thinking about it.

Guess I'd better get to work if that's going to happen, huh?