Nash, King, Blackie, and Me
Nearly every song on Urge Overkill's seminal album Saturation reminds me of some turning point in my life. Well, maybe not a turning point per se, but some important occurence. This record has been tied in with my post 1993 existence in a kind of weird way. It's a fabulous record, but certainly not my favorite. For some reason, it just has a tendency to reappear. I was first introduced to it when I was listening to 105.9 coming out of Lawrence in high school. They played "Sister Havana", and I was hooked. It was a great tune. Big guitars, nice riff, etc. Anyway, I didn't buy the record, and after awhile I forgot about it, but since that point that song always seems to remind me of high school, especially those innumerable half-an-hour car trips into Lawrence to Hastings, or downtown, or wherever.
A few months after that UO came to Lawrence, to Liberty Hall. I remember buying a ticked anxiously and going to see the show with some friends. Luckily, one of us was presented with a free copy of the CD (not me), so now I had access to the whole thing. I didn't like it so much, for a while, beyond "Sister Havana" and "Positive Bleeding" (which is a great song), but my friends played it so much that the rest of it started to seep into my consciousness. Time passed, we started getting into the Cure, so UO pretty much was put on the back-burner.
Off to college. Because I didn't myself own it, the next time I heard the record was sitting in the car of my future wife, close to the time we first met. (This must have been sometime during my first year, maybe over Christmas break?) I remembered liking those tunes from a few years ago, so she graciously let me listen to it as we drove wherever we were driving. Partly because of this, partly because of other things you can probably guess, I was interested in riding in her car more and more often. I like to think she left the UO CD in there to entice me. She probably just kept forgetting to take it inside.
Eventually I found my own copy. Kyra and I moved off to Boston for me to try my hand at graduate school. Once again, I put the record off to the side. (I was mostly listening to 1950s and 60s era jazz at that point.) But the program in Boston neared completion, time to go somewhere new. My applications to Ph.D. programs garnered me two acceptances: Columbia and UCSD. I basically ignored the Columbia offer; Kyra didn't want to live in New York. But I took the opportunity to go to see UCSD anyway for a campus visit. I took one CD with me, one I hadn't listened to at that point in over a year: UO. And boy did I listen. For the five-or-so hour plane ride I must have listened to that record eight times. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend, like going back in time. Things were so uncertain: Kyra was insisting that I take a deferment, I didn't know if UCSD would let me. I didn't know if we'd have to spend a year apart. I like to think I was calmed down, put back in control of myself by that record.
During the UCSD trip, two songs were going through my head: "Good Time Boys" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and "Heaven 90210" by UO. But the latter, actually, helped me make my decision, I think. At one point I took a walk by myself down to the cliffs near the department. As I stood there watching the sun go down, I felt kind of romantic, a little Californian. I went back inside and committed to UCSD.
Back in Boston, Kyra and I got engaged. I pushed for "Heaven 90210" as our last song at the reception. Turned down. I thought the line: "thinkin' a' movin' on back to Kansas" was apropos. Oh well. Finally we arrive in San Diego. Kyra still has her copy, and I have a copy as well. Turns out they are both in the car when it's stolen, all CDs lost. Luckily, however, I still have that ripped copy on the computer, which I listen to obsessively.
My obsession becomes desperation. Kyra decides to leave, and with it, take my access to UO. I tried to burn the record to CD, but for some reason I didn't have the right security clearance or something. One of the worst memories of that time was sitting at that computer for hours trying to figure a way to get the CD in a format I could use. To no avail. That year I left San Diego to take a post-divorce tour of the midwest. I bang out "Heaven 90210" on my mother's piano when I feel the need to do so. It's a pathetic exercise, I know, but I think it helped.
I don't know why I'm bringing this up. The record is out of print now, I was able to garner a used copy for a couple bucks somewhere. It makes me a little sad that this record that was so connected to the big events in my life is now out of print. That's the way of the world, I suppose. There appear to be over 90-some used copies on Amazon. Pick one up if you get the chance.
A few months after that UO came to Lawrence, to Liberty Hall. I remember buying a ticked anxiously and going to see the show with some friends. Luckily, one of us was presented with a free copy of the CD (not me), so now I had access to the whole thing. I didn't like it so much, for a while, beyond "Sister Havana" and "Positive Bleeding" (which is a great song), but my friends played it so much that the rest of it started to seep into my consciousness. Time passed, we started getting into the Cure, so UO pretty much was put on the back-burner.
Off to college. Because I didn't myself own it, the next time I heard the record was sitting in the car of my future wife, close to the time we first met. (This must have been sometime during my first year, maybe over Christmas break?) I remembered liking those tunes from a few years ago, so she graciously let me listen to it as we drove wherever we were driving. Partly because of this, partly because of other things you can probably guess, I was interested in riding in her car more and more often. I like to think she left the UO CD in there to entice me. She probably just kept forgetting to take it inside.
Eventually I found my own copy. Kyra and I moved off to Boston for me to try my hand at graduate school. Once again, I put the record off to the side. (I was mostly listening to 1950s and 60s era jazz at that point.) But the program in Boston neared completion, time to go somewhere new. My applications to Ph.D. programs garnered me two acceptances: Columbia and UCSD. I basically ignored the Columbia offer; Kyra didn't want to live in New York. But I took the opportunity to go to see UCSD anyway for a campus visit. I took one CD with me, one I hadn't listened to at that point in over a year: UO. And boy did I listen. For the five-or-so hour plane ride I must have listened to that record eight times. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend, like going back in time. Things were so uncertain: Kyra was insisting that I take a deferment, I didn't know if UCSD would let me. I didn't know if we'd have to spend a year apart. I like to think I was calmed down, put back in control of myself by that record.
During the UCSD trip, two songs were going through my head: "Good Time Boys" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and "Heaven 90210" by UO. But the latter, actually, helped me make my decision, I think. At one point I took a walk by myself down to the cliffs near the department. As I stood there watching the sun go down, I felt kind of romantic, a little Californian. I went back inside and committed to UCSD.
Back in Boston, Kyra and I got engaged. I pushed for "Heaven 90210" as our last song at the reception. Turned down. I thought the line: "thinkin' a' movin' on back to Kansas" was apropos. Oh well. Finally we arrive in San Diego. Kyra still has her copy, and I have a copy as well. Turns out they are both in the car when it's stolen, all CDs lost. Luckily, however, I still have that ripped copy on the computer, which I listen to obsessively.
My obsession becomes desperation. Kyra decides to leave, and with it, take my access to UO. I tried to burn the record to CD, but for some reason I didn't have the right security clearance or something. One of the worst memories of that time was sitting at that computer for hours trying to figure a way to get the CD in a format I could use. To no avail. That year I left San Diego to take a post-divorce tour of the midwest. I bang out "Heaven 90210" on my mother's piano when I feel the need to do so. It's a pathetic exercise, I know, but I think it helped.
I don't know why I'm bringing this up. The record is out of print now, I was able to garner a used copy for a couple bucks somewhere. It makes me a little sad that this record that was so connected to the big events in my life is now out of print. That's the way of the world, I suppose. There appear to be over 90-some used copies on Amazon. Pick one up if you get the chance.
posted by dd0031 at 7:12 PM
5 Comments:
good times, good times. i think i have a copy of that CD. i think they were from chicago or something like that, so they got a lot of airplay around here for a while. but they died out pretty quick. anyway, yeah, i have pretty much no sentimental attachment to that album (although i did hear Positive Bleeding in a bar a few months ago and really dug it. Much more than i thought i should). But i liked your stories nonetheless. Music can really make or break things sometimes.
Dale, this story is magnificent. It (as well as finishing my Mill paper) made my night. Thank you.
enjoyed your post; UO are back together and writing new material - maybe their next release will tie-in with another big romance in your life! good luck!
I'm with Adam. Great post.
Thanks for posting your experience with UO. Events in my life has been in parallel with their work since the mid-eighties. For example, the woman I ended up marrying lives near 63rd Ave in Cottage Grove, MN.
In my opinion, UO is some of the most sublime in all of modern music. Take care and good luck to you.
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