They Might Be Monkeys!

I have been having something of an existential crisis lately. While I have suffered for years with some relatively minor depression and anxiety issues, every once in a while some kind of a stressor kicks those minor issues up a notch. It gets so bad that all I can really do is morbidly observe the passage of time (which seems to get faster every year) and know that each day is one day closer to the end. I am left wondering what it is that I will leave behind.

I have some great childhood memories. As a musician, I find that I am most connected to the soundtrack of my youth. I still vividly remember my father introducing me to Led Zeppelin because he was dismayed that I was starting to like Whitesnake in elementary school. I may never be able to thank him enough, although he has since made up for it by teaching my sons to like Three Dog Night. (If I ever hear "One is the Loneliest Number" Again...) As I reached my teenage years I got into Pearl Jam, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, and the like. When I feel most vulnerable I return to the music that got me through my vulnerable teenage years. It is almost like a fountain of youth, returning me to those days. I have in these moments...

It just occurred to me that this may be the absolute worst piece of drivel I have ever written, and that I had better get to the point of this inane, rambling, self-absorbed, pretentious, self-important, overly introspective piece of horse-shit attempt at not having to pay for actual therapy excuse of a blog post before the only two people who actually read this blog get scared away and all I'm left with is a proverbial session of talking to myself in the bathroom in the dark (not that I do that, mind you -- especially not while laying down in the tub).

I did mention that I'm in kind of a bad place right now, didn't I? Anyway, on with the blog! You may have noticed that the title of this post is "They Might be Monkeys!" This title comes from the combination of the term I use for my little miscreants... I mean angels, and the name of the band I turned to when my grunge filled fountain of youth faltered. That's right, it's They Might Be Giants. I used to love that band. I had a copy of their album Flood on cassette that I literally wore out with my Walkman. I knew all of the words to all nineteen (yes nineteen!) songs on that tape.

On a lark I happened to purchase a copy of Flood on CD the other day. Two things floored me about this album almost immediately. The first was that according to the date on the back it was released seventeen (SEVENTEEN!) years ago. I mean, I still remember when it came out! It was not that long ago. The second thing that floored me was that I could sing along to every song on the album, even though I probably hadn't heard them in the last thirteen years or so (since I replaced my Walkman with a Discman and started listening to grunge). It's weird how simultaneously young and old that made me feel.

Anyway, They Might Be Giants has been residing in our minivan since its purchase, and like Pink Floyd, The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, and The Who (from my father's youth) as well as Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, The Spin Doctors, REM, The Choir, The 77s, and Counting Crows (from mine) They Might Be Giants has become a staple of muti-generational Baker musical consumption. All three of my children now know every word to "Istanbul". I couldn't be more proud.