Right Down the Middle

I had a toxic relationship with rock music in the late 90s. I felt disappointed and let down by the promise of rock, and I resented what it had become. I lived the dream of underground rock in the 80s and early 90s, and I believed in its power. Then it became an unremarkable radio format in a matter of just a few years.

Do I blame radio? Do I blame the labels? Do I blame the Telecommunications Act of 1996 or Bill Clinton? Yes. And no. The success of underground rock is to blame. We reached the fabled mainstream then disappeared into the bland entertainment of mainstream entertainment in the late 90s.

Underground rock remained underground, of course. It’s still there, always simmering away and occasionally boiling over. But the music we’ve come to know as alternative rock got so good and then it got so bad, so fast.

I held onto my dream of making it in music into the late 90s. I wanted to crack the code and get on the radio, to keep making my living making records. The problem is I hated most of the alternative rock I heard on the radio. How could I possibly expect to succeed in a genre I don’t even like?

Then in 1999—just before I went in to make my final album before quitting music—I heard “Out of My Head” by Fastball.

Months earlier, I’d paid close attention when “Closing Time” by Semisonic broke through. I knew those guys, they were close with my good friend Ed Ackerson. I admired Dan Wilson’s songwriting, though not nearly as much as I do now. Still, it wasn’t my style. I liked it, but I wasn’t inspired.

But “Out of My Head” was more in my lane. I loved that song the first time I heard it. I’d enjoyed their single The Way, but now I could see what they were up to. There’s real songcraft—with complex harmonic structures. It’s more sophisticated songwriting than we’d become accustomed to hearing. It’s more harmonically interesting and compelling than “Sex and Candy” or “Iris.”

Not only could I imagine writing OOHM, it’s similar to songs I was writing at the time, like “Home” and “Eva Braun.” I’m not saying my songs are as good as OOMH, but they have a similar feel and approach. I made those records without being influenced by Fastball, but I suppose one could be fooled.

I bought Fastball’s 1998 album, All the Pain Money Can Buy, and I listened to it quite a bit. I got excited when Fastball scheduled an in-store performance at Magic Platter, an independent record store where I used to work. This was right before I started law school, while finishing up my bachelor’s degree. My friend Don VanCleave owned the ultra-cool chain of Birmingham stores. These days Don is in Nashville, a successful and widely admired artist manager.

I feel the need to publicly thank Don for his generosity every time I have the chance. While working just a couple days a week, he put me on real health insurance for the first time since I dropped out of Berklee.

Since I worked at the store, I always helped for the in-store performances. Those were all hands on deck. We had a lot of fun, the Platter had the best work culture of any job I’ve ever had by far. We hung out with the bands, smoked and drank, made friends. I was so excited for Fastball.

When the band arrived at the store to set up, I gave them a half-hour or so to get situated. Then I approached Tony Scalzo, the guy who wrote OOMH and The Way. I wanted to talk to him about songwriting, see if we listened to the same stuff. I went up and introduced myself, said, “Hey, I’m John! I love your songwriting!”

He didn’t look up. He was focused on some magazine in his lap, and he just said, “Thanks.” That was it.

It hit me hard. I was embarrassed, I must have sounded like some kind of glad-handing record store guy. They all seemed a little grumpy as they sleepwalked through their set. I felt a loss after that. I stopped listening to the album.

Now I can still see this scene with some emotional detachment through the window of my 32-year-old brain. But it’s stupid, and I’m actually embarrassed all over again—embarrassed for my own weird reaction.

The reason I recognized his reaction is because I’d spent years on the other side of the interaction. I can easily imagine myself being annoyed at having to truck out to some strip mall in Alabama to play for twenty people. I can appreciate not wanting to engage with the record store employees. Should I have said hey, I used to be in The Lemonheads? I’d been out of the band just over a year—I didn’t want to talk about it.

It’s embarrassing because I loved this song so much that I developed a one-sided friendship with the songwriter. Then when he didn’t acknowledge me, it exposed the my folly. Tony’s excused; he didn’t owe me anything. Maybe he was a dick, or maybe I was just way too sensitive. I’m leaning towards the latter.

But of course, I never managed to get on the radio—so I moved on. I have a lot more empathy for musicians now. I understand that it’s hard for everyone. Back in those days, I had a jealous streak. I was locked into the success and failure paradigm. I don’t feel that way anymore. I have my family. I love my life. I don’t have any reason to feel jealous of anyone.

I listened to All the Pain Money Can Buy again, and it holds up. I was surprised to see that I’ve met the producer, Julian Raymond, numerous times in Nashville, where he’s a high-profile A&R guy at Big Machine.

I got really excited in 2016 when OOMH was interpolated on a huge hit song, “Bad Things” by Machine Gun Kelly and Camila Cabello. I imagined Scalzo—who I believe still plays in Fastball—getting that news about his song. It must have been surreal.

“Bad Things” reached #4 on the Hot 100—18 years after OOMH. “Bad Things” credits seven writers including Scalzo, whereas he wrote OOMH on his own. I hope he made some money—his melody and chord changes are carrying most of the load in Bad Things. And as a final reveal—slowing down the changes to OOHM in Bad Things reveals that the song has more or less the same chord changes and pattern as Pachabel’s Canon.

Next essay: how many hit songs rip off Pachabel’s Canon? It’s public domain, have at it. Music is magic.