#1 record

[jt1674]

[girlreviews]

Review #474: #1 Record, Big Star

“I never travel far, without a little Big Star”, is the saying that goes, or rather, the lyrics from The Replacement’s ode to Alex Chilton. It’s true though. Big Star are my favorite band. While I disagree pretty adamantly with the order, all three of their records are in the Rolling Stone’s Top 500. I find that immensely satisfying. One thing Rolling Stone and I agree on – apparently — is that Big Star are special. I could talk possibly forever about the Big Star story, but it’s a rare occasion that I happen upon anyone else who knows, cares, or is interested. Which is pretty much part and parcel of the story itself. It’s part of its charm in a way.

I learned about Big Star the way everyone does, or at least did. Someone put a song on a burned CD for me (previously it would have been a mixtape, but this was the early 2000s and this is what we did). It was that fuckin’ boy, okay? And it was around when we actually met. He was trying to impress. He made me this CD, it was plain white, and it had scrawled on it in his stupid fucking handwriting “Summer Promo” with some little patterns doodled around it. Thirteen was the third track and it instantly became my favorite. I fell in love with it, and with Big Star, and that was it. I remember almost all of the other tracks, they were mostly trash. He gave it to me before fucking off for several weeks over the summer – to Bible camp, ha – and the douchebag didn’t ever have enough money to keep his cell phone with credit to call or text. By the time he got back he already was like, “sorry, dumping you”, and so began the 3 to 4 years of hellish on-off controlling, jealous, rage abuse from a boy who didn’t want me, and constantly cheated on me, but couldn’t stand to see me move on or be near anyone else. Who am I kidding, he didn’t say sorry.

Some years in, he had moved away but this all continued. He was back in town – and we were together at this point – and days into his visit he hadn’t called, texted, nothing. He eventually showed up, only to inform me that he had tickets to see an artist that we both loved, Kathryn Williams, at a very local venue, and that he was taking another girl. My father had to physically restrain me. Later that evening, my boy best friend just so happened to call me and said he and his parents were going to that same show, had a spare ticket and would I like to go. I said yes. When I arrived, I sat several rows ahead of my “boyfriend”, and he saw that I was there with my friend, a boy, who in his opinion, I was not allowed to spend time with. Then. As if by magic. Kathryn Williams covered Thirteen. Beautifully. I really do remember that in that moment, knowing that I wasn’t ever going to ever be able to let myself tie songs I loved this much to people that hurt me on purpose if I wanted to continue loving them. I turned around and looked at him as if to say “you will never get this song from me”. I’d love to say that was the end of it all, but it wasn’t.

In the Street also lives within #1 Record, and during my teenage years, That 70’s Show was such a breath of fresh air. We all loved it. I had really fond memories of watching that show with my friends. I used to download it illegally and we would all watch it in my room around my computer. The theme tune was performed by Cheap Trick in the show, but I always loved that Alex Chilton and Chris Bell were in the opening credits, and as I understand it, it earned them money in syndication. However, Chris Bell was already dead, and Alex Chilton died with not a great deal to his name. So maybe it didn’t help. It’s probably the way that most folks know Big Star, even if they don’t know it. I’d encourage you to listen to their original version of In the Street. It’s fun, and honestly would have been a better fit for the show if you ask me. Also, it’s got so much cowbell it’s just silly. Sadly — sadly isn’t really the appropriate word here — That 70’s Show and the majority of its cast are now mired by the actions of convicted rapist and Scientologist Danny Masterson. Fond feelings are now replaced by anger and sadness for his victims and bitter disappointment in his castmates for continuing to support him and his church’s actions.

Skip forward a few years, and that boy is finally out of the picture, but a new nightmare begins. I’ve pointed to this in a few previous reviews. A job with a boss, and that boss is no good. We’re not going to get too far into that here. But there was this time, I was working my seventh day in a week a fourth week in a row (!) at a trade show. I forget why, but the subject of music came up, or I was listening to music on my break, or something like that, and this guy wanted to know what it was I was listening to. He was in his 40s and in a previous life, he had very briefly and with a great deal of mediocrity enjoyed some commercial success in a band. I’m being quite generous in saying that. He liked to overstate that success. A lot. Anyway. It comes up that I’m a fan of Big Star, and this garners his attention (more so than usual), and earns me some respect as a “real music fan”. I’m at work, I’m exhausted, I’m paid 8 pounds an hour, and this man was my ride to and from some hotel trade show at the Heathrow Airport. Finally, the day is over, and we’re leaving. On the way to what I think is home, he tells me that his wife is out of town, and his bandmates are in town, and that he isn’t going to take me home, he’s taking me to his house to hang out with his band. It may surprise you to learn that I, an 18 year old girl, did not want to hang out by myself with five 40-year-old men, only one of which I actually knew. The thing is, I actually didn’t have any choice. At all. This is one of those things where I most certainly look back and think “Jesus christ, that was fucked up”, and at the time I recognized my discomfort, but I didn’t have enough of a voice or know what to do about it. He was my boss.

So there I was, at his house, just kind of stuck. They all got fucking white girl wasted. And they had set up recording equipment – I assume their entire weekend plans were to fuck around and record music. Well. He made me sing. He made me sing Thirteen. He recorded it. They played. I was shaking. Mortified. Terrified. He wouldn’t let me leave until I did it. Then I was allowed to be sent home in a private car. I feel really sad for myself when I think about this. I’m not sure how not one of those men thought it was strange that I was there, or that my discomfort was so obvious, and that not one of them thought I should be at home. In hindsight I get the feeling my boss wasn’t someone people felt comfortable standing up to. That’s no excuse, in my opinion.

In weeks following, he showed me the mix he made of the recording, and I hated it. Hated. It. To be clear: I sang it beautifully. Every single one of those men was surprised by what came out of my mouth, and they all shut the fuck up for awhile, because I sang it beautifully and they weren’t expecting it. I hated it because of how it was created. I hated it because he bastardized it with a bunch of weird added effects and elongations that were insults to the original. From that day, until I left that job to go to university, I was encouraged to not bother with school and let him manage my music career, and my aspirations of college and helping people were “a stupid waste of time”. I thank myself every day that I had no desire to take him up on his ridiculous offer, and that saying no required no second thought. I can’t imagine what would have happened to me had I said yes, but I know that it would not have been good. That wasn’t the last of that guy, either, unfortunately, but I did go to school and I did graduate before he had the opportunity to fuck anything else up again.

Again, I revisited that notion of never letting anyone ruin a song or a band for me. But, in writing these reviews, I have come to realize that the memory being attached to a song or an artist has served a really valuable purpose for me. I know that this shit really happened, because the song/artist makes me think of this memory. That’s how I know. It’s validating and it’s helpful to actually catalogue all of this in this particular way. I can believe myself. If I ever didn’t before, I do now.

At the end of 2022, I was able to see Big Star (well “Big Star”), perform all of their catalog live, for the 50th anniversary of #1 Record. In Memphis. Mike Mills of R.E.M., Pat Sansone of Wilco, Jon Auer of the Posies, and Chris Stamey of the dBs, playing alongside original drummer and only surviving member, Jody Stephens. Over the years – whether in the UK or in the US, so many Big Star events had come and gone. Movie showings, one-off shows, tributes, whatever. And no matter what, somehow, something always stopped me from catching them. Not this one. No fucking way. I was really overwhelmed, and overcome, to think of all of the things that had to happen in my life since I first heard Thirteen on that burned CD under my loft bed in England to put me in Memphis, listening to these songs live, finally, in my Thirties, knowing those absolute assclowns that I’ve written about above are well behind me and can’t hurt me anymore.

[batteredshoes]

Big Star | Give Me Another Chance

[dailyalbumrecs]

#1 Record - Big Star

Big Star's first album, #1 Record, is fantastic and I highly recommend it for anyone who's into power pop and 70s rock. This is a band that Alex Chilton was in, who was a really cool musician. The song In the Street was covered as the theme song for That 70's Show. My favorite song is The Ballad of El Goodo.

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Spotify:

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