Is this what adults listen to?

1997 marked my first stab at a college education. Age 18, I left home, moved into my aunt’s house in the blue collar town of Coraopolis, PA, and enrolled in the Graphic Design program at the Art Institute of Pittsburgh. I commuted to school via public bus or a ride from my aunt. It was a bare bones way to obtain a degree, yet it reduced the amount of pressure and anxiety one might feel starting college. For someone who disliked every part of high school absent literature or art, this low stakes approach seemed worth a shot.

At school amongst my fellow commuters, I forged an easy friendship with Tanya. Seven years older than me, she was in the process of switching careers to join mine — which both validated my choice and lent her an air of wisdom. Veracious and a little bit jaded, everything she said had a subtext: “You’ll eventually be glad I told you this.”

In contrast to my sheltered existence, Tanya lived in her own apartment on South Side — walking distance from the bars, restaurants, and shops along lively Carson Street. It seemed quintessential for someone attending art school and a lifestyle I imagined for my future self. When I visited, most of our time was spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking. The passing years have whittled my memory of the scene into a montage: cafe table, delicate chairs, mismatched mugs, worn picture frames, blues, yellows, whimsy. In my mind’s eye, the scene was an indoor version of Van Gogh’s Café Terrace at Night.

Music was always playing at Café de Tanya. A subtle gasp at the revelation that I’d never heard Ella Fitzgerald, the problem was remedied in short order. It seemed perfectly grown-up and feminine to chat about our lives with her voice gently floating through the air. Although Ella was born decades after Van Gogh painted the terrace scene, her music would make an ideal backdrop for that scene too. Something like “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.”

Tanya also introduced me to a then-brand-new album from Lucinda Williams, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. I was immediately struck by the honest sound of it. On Car Wheels, Lucinda was in charge of, and in touch with, her emotions; critical of past relationships without being whiny. She was breezy, wistful, and subtly cool. She seemed to be trying the perfect amount, a feat I aim for in my own life.

Is this what adults listen to? I wondered. Is that why they seem so much more grounded? Situations have come to pass; they’ve dealt with them and moved on. They’ve come to terms with, you know, stuff, and now they get to be the olders and wisers. Lucinda was 44 when I was 18. Tanya’s numerical age was closer to mine yet from their combined influence, I took a psychological stride toward a more independent life.

These sounds were the perfect yin to my yang of Modest Mouse and At The Drive In. Left to my own devices, I preferred to freak myself out with songs about one-eyed dogs and stampeding mastodons.

Lucinda was comfort, a new and welcomed feeling for me. If memory serves me, I never shared my own musical choices with Tanya. Instinct told me that she probably wouldn’t feel inspired by angry young men yelling about concepts.

The timing of this post was largely inspired by a serendipitous read through Lucinda’s memoir Don’t Tell Anybody The Secrets I Told You, aptly named after a lyric from Car Wheels. Currently, I am the same age as Lucinda was when that album was released. Again I find myself drawn to her during a time where I need to take strides — now toward a more expressive and creative life. At my age, it seems crazy or impossible to make that kind of pivot and expect people to notice or care. Thanks to Lucinda’s inspirational journey, I will forge ahead as planned.

From the book, I feel an extra kinship with her for reasons that will remain undisclosed, perhaps for now, perhaps forever. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one who carries a lifetime’s worth of emotions — some of which aren’t mine — on my back. Maybe my writing will help lighten the load.

Were you inspired by an album at a pivotal emotional time in your life? Did it become meaningful for you again later? I’d love to hear about in the comments below.

To quote the great James Hoffman, thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day.