It was 2007 when some friends of ours took a trip to Miami (just a family vacation, certainly not trying to evade a murder investigation, nothing to see here). One night, during dinner and drinks with his goodfellas Paulie Walnuts and Beansie (a “stand-up guy”) along with some lovely young ladies, Tony Soprano introduced us to the idea that “remember when…” is the lowest form of conversation:
A couple of thoughts here. Almost 20 years later, I think our national discourse has proven that there are many forms of conversation way lower than “remember when…” Also, I kind of get where Paulie is coming from, especially now that I’m only 11 years younger than actor Tony Sirico was when he filmed that scene (typing that sentence made me want to reach for the sambuca). Most people, as they get older, look back on their earlier days fondly, with or without rose-tinted glasses. I still tell the story of how 18-year-old me (along with others) was chased by police through an embassy garage for trying to steal a newspaper machine at an hour when only bad things happen (I assume the statute of limitations has expired).
Point is, we call them the good ol’ days for a reason, even if (as Billy Joel sang in an otherwise lame song) they weren’t always good. It’s why for a lot of music fans (and certainly the most insufferable) the earliest stuff, the albums that first brought a band to life, are always the most precious. Everyone knows Pavement went downhill after Slanted. Kid A is fine, but it’s not The Bends.
These were among the thoughts I had upon listening to the new Wild Pink album, Still Coming Down. Actually my first thought was, damn this is good. Really good. Maybe the best work they’ve ever done. But bigger picture, Wild Pink is a band that seems to get better with each album, not a single one disappointing enough to inspire a “remember when…” type of look-back to the early discoveries.
