So I'm scouting a location for an upcoming shoot. It's set in a big post-production facility, and the people there were nice enough to let the cast - Gary, Michele (both of L-Bomb infamy) and our newly cast Adam (infamous in his own right) come in and take a tour, ask questions and generally get a feel for the environment. Next, the plan was to grab a quick drink/bite and rehearse the scenes for rewrites.
We never really made it out of the bar.
Not that it wasn't productive. We talked about character backstories over drinks and got to know one another better - always good to do. And the plain truth is, I trust these guys. So as it neared 8PM and our window for rehearsal started closing, we were fine just bullshitting about movies, music, a little Schwartzenegger-related politics and horrible iPhone reception (hard to believe, but it's true - they suck).
Some highlights: Michele had never seen a picture of James Taylor not bald. Adam just bought the first TV of his adult life. Gary admitted that he really liked Billy Joel. And at the mention of Mr. Joel, I had an instant overpowering memory of one of his songs; A live cut of "Summer Highland Falls" from the album "Songs in the Attic." Yes, it's opening lines are among the most over-used yearbook quotes in the history of the educational system and yes, I first heard it on a mix tape my high-school girlfriend made for me, so the pang is built in. But the pang was undeniably there.
Now, it's been a long time since I actually heard the song. I recall a kind of unfounded, "damn this was written about me!" relevance, and the moment when the bass kicks in making my head tingle. But that was then, and then was a lifetime ago. Was it all glorified memory of youth and love and time and place? I wasn't sure. I did suspect however, that this track would be like the old friend you see every few years but no matter how long the absence, the conversation picks up right where it left off.
So after saying our goodbyes and while walking home, I did what any self-respecting, smart-phone carrying techno-dufus would do. I YouTubed it.
Billy's Long Island accent, horrible 1977 hair and the old friend living in that song were right there to greet me.
If this finally makes me an honorary FLID (look it up), so be it. If you never cared for Billy Joel, this may not change anything. Just don't tell me the guy couldn't write a song. Anyone who makes me feel the two above-mentioned extremes simultaneously can't be all bad.
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