A Song for the Evening
Nov. 8th, 2006 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
heidiIf you're 30 or older and British, you may remember Hue & Cry's Labour of Love or Looking for Linda from 1987 or 1989; otherwise, you've probably never heard of them at all.
Their album Stars Crash Down came out in 1991, but I didn't get a copy until the summer of 1992 when I traveled through Europe the summer after I graduated from college. I listened to it on a cassette tape on my walkman on trains through France, the Netherlands, Germany, Czechoslovakia and into Austria, where my friend Stacey and I got into a car to our hotel - Austria was our treat - three nights in a hilton thanks to free-room certificates my parents got when they used some frequent flyer points for free tickets earlier that year - and the cabbie was playing the BBC. They said Ross Perot had dropped out of the race, and the Democratic National Convention was set to start that day and we both burst into tears that maybe perhaps maybe Bill Clinton would win. Three nights later - our last night in the hotel - it was maybe three o'clock in the morning when they played the film I Still Believe In A Place Called Hope and I was up, watching it on CNN international, late in the day, after listening to Hue & Cry time after time in the days and days before.
It was all smiles and optimism and hope and I couldn't help but remember the year before, when I'd gone with my teacher Frank Luntz and the rest of my politics class to Washington for a day of amazing opportunities. We'd met Harris Wofford on the Senate side - he'd been named by Bob Casey, IIRC, to fill the seat of John Heinz after he'd been killed in a helicopter accident in Merion, we'd visited the Four P's, although I was still too young to drink, and we'd been on CSPAN for a videotaped discussion with politicos - Bob Shrum was there, and a Republican consultant whose name I only remember as Alex. There had been an article in the New York Times that day about how the Bush (Bush 41, remember) administration planned, under the guidance of Roger Ailes, to spread the homecoming parades for the soldiers from the Iraq War out through the 1992 campaign season so everyone would always think of President Bush the War Hero, and I asked about it - whether they thought it would work. It felt so cynical to me, and I couldn't imagine that it wouldn't, but all of them - the dem consultants and republicans - thought he'd probably at least try. But of course, if they tried, it didn't work then. It may have possibly worked for part of the last four or five years but it isn't working anymore.
So late in the day, mercifully someone cried, late in the day that these rooms will not hold you anymore.
That's from Hue & Cry's Late in the Day, and I'll send it to anyone who wants to hear it. That song - and others on that album - took me through the 1992 campaign, and they always make me think of those amazing days in DC in November of 1992 and January of 1993 and so many days after that. In the last few years, it's almost hurt to listen to those songs, or These Are Days from 10,000 Maniacs or All I Want from Toad the Wet Sprocket because they played those songs in DC during inauguration week, and I didn't know if the country could ever feel that way again. In 2004, I just played The Jam a lot, and bits of Buffy.
It's different now.
These are days you'll remember. And all I want is to feel this way. And I can't get laughter out of my head.
And tomorrow, I'm going to take the mix-playlist I made on my computer tonight, as the rightful descendant of the mix tape I made in January of 1993, and play it really fucking loud.
Their album Stars Crash Down came out in 1991, but I didn't get a copy until the summer of 1992 when I traveled through Europe the summer after I graduated from college. I listened to it on a cassette tape on my walkman on trains through France, the Netherlands, Germany, Czechoslovakia and into Austria, where my friend Stacey and I got into a car to our hotel - Austria was our treat - three nights in a hilton thanks to free-room certificates my parents got when they used some frequent flyer points for free tickets earlier that year - and the cabbie was playing the BBC. They said Ross Perot had dropped out of the race, and the Democratic National Convention was set to start that day and we both burst into tears that maybe perhaps maybe Bill Clinton would win. Three nights later - our last night in the hotel - it was maybe three o'clock in the morning when they played the film I Still Believe In A Place Called Hope and I was up, watching it on CNN international, late in the day, after listening to Hue & Cry time after time in the days and days before.
It was all smiles and optimism and hope and I couldn't help but remember the year before, when I'd gone with my teacher Frank Luntz and the rest of my politics class to Washington for a day of amazing opportunities. We'd met Harris Wofford on the Senate side - he'd been named by Bob Casey, IIRC, to fill the seat of John Heinz after he'd been killed in a helicopter accident in Merion, we'd visited the Four P's, although I was still too young to drink, and we'd been on CSPAN for a videotaped discussion with politicos - Bob Shrum was there, and a Republican consultant whose name I only remember as Alex. There had been an article in the New York Times that day about how the Bush (Bush 41, remember) administration planned, under the guidance of Roger Ailes, to spread the homecoming parades for the soldiers from the Iraq War out through the 1992 campaign season so everyone would always think of President Bush the War Hero, and I asked about it - whether they thought it would work. It felt so cynical to me, and I couldn't imagine that it wouldn't, but all of them - the dem consultants and republicans - thought he'd probably at least try. But of course, if they tried, it didn't work then. It may have possibly worked for part of the last four or five years but it isn't working anymore.
So late in the day, mercifully someone cried, late in the day that these rooms will not hold you anymore.
That's from Hue & Cry's Late in the Day, and I'll send it to anyone who wants to hear it. That song - and others on that album - took me through the 1992 campaign, and they always make me think of those amazing days in DC in November of 1992 and January of 1993 and so many days after that. In the last few years, it's almost hurt to listen to those songs, or These Are Days from 10,000 Maniacs or All I Want from Toad the Wet Sprocket because they played those songs in DC during inauguration week, and I didn't know if the country could ever feel that way again. In 2004, I just played The Jam a lot, and bits of Buffy.
It's different now.
These are days you'll remember. And all I want is to feel this way. And I can't get laughter out of my head.
And tomorrow, I'm going to take the mix-playlist I made on my computer tonight, as the rightful descendant of the mix tape I made in January of 1993, and play it really fucking loud.
