So I’m at the library with the kids, and of course they’re making Britney Spears and the San Francisco zoo tiger look well-behaved by comparison.
Therefore, I only have a few precious seconds to flip through the CD stacks for good records I’m too cheap to buy. (Oooh, Ryan Adams. Hello, Hold Steady.) That’s when my hand comes to rest on something so shocking, so brutally nostalgic that I quickly look around to make sure no one has seen me linger on this record.
Ted Nugent. Double Live Gonzo.
Two thoughts enter my head. “What is this doing in a place of learning?” and “God, I loved this album.”
So I don’t care if somebody sees me. I’m borrowing this record. My original vinyl copy is long gone, tossed after bands like The Clash and Gang of Four made Ted Nugent seem hopelessly lame. Also long gone, three other icons of the 70’s double live oeuvre: Kiss Alive, Frampton Comes Alive and Sknyrd’s One More From the Road. (I still have The Tubes’ What Do You Want From Live”)
Later that day, for the first time in nearly 30 years, I put “Double Live Gonzo” on my stereo. Suddenly it’s 1978 and I’m in my bedroom, cranking up the volume. How did my parents put up with this? Ted screaming “Anybody wants to get even a little bit mellow can get the &*%# outta here!” and “This is for all that fine Nashville %^&*#”
It makes me realize how little leverage I have as a parent when my daughters start listening to gangster rap or some other awful genre that hasn’t been invented yet. I listened — no, reveled in — the worst of the worst. Worst, as in best. And I turned out alright. Sort of.
I now have to return “Double Live Gonzo” but two impressions will stay with me. Some band should cover “Great White Buffalo.” And right now, thanks to the USA Patriot Act, the federal government knows I borrowed DLG from the library. And to them I say, “Yank Me, Crank Me!”