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This is a music story. Give it time, it’ll get there.

WRITING TO REACH YOU:

It’s October 3, 2001 and I’m riding the PATH train to NYC for only the second time in the last 3 weeks. The train has just stopped between the stations of Christopher Street and 9th Street. As we patiently await the train to start moving again, a sudden jerk happens. And then it happens again. A look around the train finds very nervous faces, wondering what’s going to happen next. What happens next is the train eventually starts rolling again and gets to 9th Street without incident. I’ll be getting off a stop later, 14th Street. Still, I’m nervous to be on this train.

The first time I was on the PATH again was a little over a week earlier, September 22 to be exact, riding with my cousin Brian and his wife Dana into NYC. They had joined me prior to that at Mulligans Pub in Hoboken, where I was living at the time (Hoboken, not the pub), to watch a rugby match between Ireland and Scotland. The match started with the playing of each country’s national anthems and then, unbeknownst to me at the time, the American national anthem followed by a moment of silence. I’ve never heard such beautiful silence in a pub before. Ireland lost the match that day, but it didn’t matter. We were out of our apartments, and the Scots always make for a fun match and rivalry. We kinda love each other, as Braveheart had shown. My love for the Scots will come up again. 

WHY DOES IT ALWAYS RAIN ON ME?

We decided to go into the city afterwards and walk around a bit and get a bite to eat, settling at a Mexican place just off of Washington Square Park. Margaritas, chips and salsa and some quesadillas are quaffed, and soon we are hugging each other and going our opposite directions, thankful to have seen each other and to be able to hug some family. The hug will come just a little bit too soon.

As I’m walking back to the PATH station at 9th Street, I cross through Washington Square Park, a walk I’d been hoping to avoid, but decide it needs to be done. The area around the arch is now like many other areas in downtown NYC, a shrine to the missing. Walls of posters and leaflets of people whose loved ones found the best picture of them that they could find and affixed them to the arch with words like “MISSING” or “HAVE YOU SEEN…” or “LAST SEEN AT…” After about 10 minutes of looking through them all, I decide to begin my journey back to the PATH station, but then one last look captures the face I’d hope to not see: my roommate’s sister, her big smile and bright eyes staring right at me. I’d seen this picture of her before, but only on the leaflets in the apartment I’d been sharing with 3 others.

Our apartment had been ground zero for the family of my roommate, as they were doing the full rounds of hospital visits hoping to find their daughter, their sister, their niece, their cousin. Many of them lived in Pennsylvania and made treks back and forth many times over the ensuing days. I tried to do the best I could to make them comfortable by making sure our apartment was stocked with things they might need: towels, soft drinks, water, clean bed sheets and blankets, etc… Soon after, I didn’t need to do it anymore. They stopped showing up. Their search was over.

My walk back to the PATH station should’ve been no more than 5 minutes, but it will take 20, because this is the first time in 12 days that I’ve been able to have a private moment. I stopped on 9th Street on the steps of a brownstone and sat myself down and lost it. I cried for about 10 minutes. A kind soul walking by with some friends actually came up to me, didn’t say anything, and just put his hand on my shoulder. I touched his hand, looked up at him, took a deep breath and said “Thank you.” Eventually I would make my way back to the PATH and get the train back to Hoboken. Only two stops away, but like my second ride, filled with sudden stops and jerks between stations, terrifying me. This was a time of terror afterall. I worked at Exchange Place in Jersey City at the time and we unfortunately had a direct view of the WTC. I saw most of it, heard all of it. A lot of terror. My ride ends in Hoboken, and I randomly run into my friends Ann & Steve (in town from Massachusetts), Doug and Maria outside of the station. They’re about to go to the city and pay respects at the shrines and vigils set up in Union Square park. And for the second time in 25 minutes, I melt down and throw myself into their arms.

LAST TRAIN

I’m getting off at 14th Street in order to meet up with my friend Jo, where she is having dinner with some mutual friends. She and I will be attending the Travis concert at Radio City Music Hall that night. This will be the first concert/gig that I’ve been to in the last three weeks. If you knew me then, I was probably going to about 10 shows during that same time frame. We meet at a place called Chat and Chew, and this is the first time I’ve seen Jo or our friends in the last three weeks. Pleasantries are exchanged as are the questions of “How are you holding up?” to each other. It might have been the first time that I said I was alright but that, of course, was a lie. I wanted a return to normalcy that wasn’t going to happen, but dammit, this concert tonight is going to be a step towards that, right?

We get to our seats at Radio City, where the opening act is a band called Remy Zero. In all honesty, I don’t remember anything about their set that night, including if we were even there to see any of it. Remy Zero was a band that, during that time frame, seemed to be the opening act for almost every Britpop band that was on tour at that time. Supergrass? Remy Zero opened. Morrissey? Yup, them again. No disprespect to them, they just didn’t make too much of an indent in my musical psyche.

ALL I WANNA DO IS ROCK

Soon the lights are dimming and Travis is about to take the stage to what seemed like polite golf claps. It wasn’t that the audience were unappreciative of them. We just didn’t know how to react anymore. Am I allowed to dance? To sing? To show joy? Are we allowed to have fun anymore? What do I do? This was a dilemma that even New York institutions such as Saturday Night Live and David Letterman were struggling to deal with. All I wanna do is rock! Can I? The answer: Yes, you can, but it’ll take some time. Let it ease in.The first smile occurred as the band took the stage and walked to the front of it and did something I’ve never seen at the beginning of a show before: They gave US a standing ovation. The four of them, for a good 30 seconds, just happy to see our faces, knowing that for some of us this was our first attempt at something lighthearted in the last 21 days, applauding the audience.

“We’re so happy to see your faces. We know a lot of events were cancelled around here, but there was no way we were going to cancel this show. We’re here to try to put some smiles back on your faces tonight and are so glad to be here.”These words are paraphrased, but essentially was the message from Fran Healy, Travis’s lead singer, and for the moment, I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he COULD put a smile back on my face. And then the show started with ‘Sing’ the first single from their latest album “The Invisible Band,” and Fran and Travis had already done it. I smiled. Also, I sang.

SING

And sing more I did. For the uninitiated, Travis started as a very Britpoppy, guitar based band, before giving way to their emo side and melancholy to write some rather lush and fuller songs. They’ve often been referred to as Radiohead-lite, particularly given their association with producer Nigel Goodrich. An unfortunate tag, I think. They were Coldplay before there was a Coldplay, and I mean that as a positive, irregardless of your feelings about Coldplay.

The set continued with selections from their three album catalog, many tugging at my heartstrings, but even allowing me to sorta dance a bit. Example: their biggest hit, “Why Does It Always Rain On Me,” obviously has a title straight out of the Morrissey songbook, but also a song construct from the Smiths canon: lyrics that hit the emotional buttons of sadness, self doubt and worth (“Even when the sun is shining, I can’t avoid the lightning”), yet a rhythm and melody that allows for happiness, including a chorus that, every time I’ve seen Travis, has led to me, the rest of the audience and Fran to pogo dance. Yes, the show started with me singing and the main set ended with me dancing.

HAPPY

The encore started with a song that was the general feeling that I was hoping to attain from seeing this show, “All I Wanna Do Is Rock,” a foot-stomping, fist-pumping rocker from their first album. And those two things I did. A faithful cover of ‘All The Young Dudes’ followed before Fran and the boys decided to bring tears back to our face, but this time they were good tears. Fran stated that they’d spent part of the day at Ground Zero volunteering, and that every single penny from the show was being donated to one of the WTC funds. I love these Scots. Oh, did I happen to mention that Travis are from Scotland? I told you it would come up again.

And then as if they knew that the setlist that they’d put together was a musical therapy session for 5,500 people who needed it, they closed the show with a rocking song from their first album with the perfect title of “Happy.” And it was probably therapeutic for Travis as well, as the chorus over and over sings “I’m so happy, that you’re so happy.” And for the first time in a while, I was closer to that feeling. A few weeks later, U2 would play 5 fantastic shows (I was at three of them) at Madison Square Garden and receive rightful praise for bringing the right balance of levity and music to a sad city. You may have heard that a lot of cops and firemen are Irish.  Yeah, a lot of them needed those shows. And they got it.

But for me, it all started with this Travis show. The show ended and Jo and I walked out into the night, knowing we had just had a great therapy session. A kiss and a hug goodnight, and a train ride back to Hoboken for me followed. This time I would get on the PATH train at 33rd Street, the end of the PATH line. The station was emptier than I was used to, as this was still early in the return to normalcy process.

The train left the station and I couldn’t help but feeling a little happier than I’d been. But I was also feeling a tremendous sense of guilt, knowing I was returning to an apartment where my roommate’s return to normalcy would never actually be achieved. Nor would it be for me, but nowhere near what he was going through. My guilt was then jolted by the train suddenly stopping between 23rd street and 14th street. And then a sudden jerk. And then a brief return to a feeling of terror. But then a reminder of this being the PATH train. This happens all the time. It’s normal. A new normalcy.

For BS and CS