Last month (ish) I watched two of my favorite music movies, both coincidentally released in 2000—Almost Famous and High Fidelity. I’ve been a fan of Hulu’s remake of High Fidelity too, but that will come later. I remember seeing these two movies on my Dad’s TV stand. The spines of the DVD’s always caught my eye. I’d pull them out to look at the covers when I got bored of the Littlest Pet Shops. Penny Lane’s aka Kate Hudson's sunglasses-covered face stared back into my starry eyes. Rob’s aka John Cusack's shaggy hair and weird expressions peeking over records. I loved these movies, still do. Watching them at 23, writing, not knowing what I’m doing, working too much or not enough, I felt differently. These are my thoughts, scribbled out as usual.
Almost Famous
My parents famously showed me “inappropriate” movies too early. They really loved musicals. Thankfully a lot of the movies went over my head, or my “ear muffs," which was my verbal cue to cover my eyes and/or ears. I just really liked the music, and dancing, and outfits. I loved Moulin Rouge, Across the Universe, Rent, and begged to watch Anchorman at ten years old.
As a kid, I was always excited to watch the hijinks of rock stars, Rolling Stone, and wanted to be in the hotel room with scarves over the lamps. But really, I wanted to be Penny Lane. I thought she was the coolest woman to exist. I still do in a lot of ways. Her hair was so cool, her jacket, her rockstar boyfriend. As a kid I thought she was a roadie, and in a lot of ways she was. I told my dad I wanted to be a roadie too and he’d laugh, knowing I was confused and probably slightly horrified that Penny Lane was my childhood idol.
After watching the movie at the ripe age of 23, my idolization shifted from Penny Lane to William. Although a part of me will always idolize Penny Lane. I realized I was jealous of William. The kid who got to go on tour, got paid by Rolling Stone and wrote a story. Let me repeat myself. THIS KID MADE $1000 FOR A 3000 WORD ARTICLE AND GOT TO GO ON TOUR ALL EXPENSES PAID.
I’ve never been paid for my work. It sucks. Being a writer is hard as hell. It takes a lot of work. It’s fun to say you’re a writer, but not always fun to be one. The career writers I spoke to earlier this year warned me about it. It’s left a pit in my stomach and insecurities swirling in my head about what if I’m not good enough to do this. I appreciated their self-deprecating honesty and was so grateful for their stories. I felt like a worn-out sponge, trying to soak in every bit of advice and info they were telling me. But during the movie, I just could not shake that William was getting paid at 14 and writing for Rolling Stone. I’m 23, not getting paid and still feel like a 17-year-old kid. The fictional '70s man, I’m jealous of them.
The next day, I went over to my friend Haley’s house and fixed my resume. I spent half the time complaining about how William was more successful than me. My dad called me and I gladly took his phone call as a procrastination opportunity. I ended up crying on the phone, muttering to the next victim about William. My dad still giggled, and honestly, if I was on the other line I would’ve too. A 23-year-old complains that their life isn’t like the movies. Classic. But, he picked me up and told me I was doing the right thing, and I got back to work.
I went home and thought about William and Penny Lane. I get to live out aspects of both of them. Which is honestly a childhood dream. I go to shows, get to say I’m on some sort of printed list where my last name gets confused. ‘Maybe it’s under Elms? Or maybe Fleming? Or maybe both?’ I get to be Penny Lane too. My fur-trimmed jacket hangs by the door. There are remnants of the music guy I dated lingering on my bookshelf. Scarves finally cover my lamps. Maybe Penny Lane still lives a little bit inside me, but I think William drives my fingers typing, the press wristbands that decorate my windowsill. The slight shake I have while holding my audio recorder. I don’t have a check from Rolling Stone, but I think I’m doing pretty good for myself.
High Fidelity
High Fidelity came next. I hadn’t watched it since I moved to Chicago. The original takes place in Wicker Park, the neighborhood I love and live in. My roommates and I were freaking out seeing Rob scream outside of the Damen Blue Line stop, Rainbo Club without its booths. A lot has changed in this neighborhood since 2000, but a lot stayed the same. There are still art galleries, music venues, and the insufferable boy who is dating someone way way too good for him. But, Rob’s record store is now a franchised second-hand clothing store….
Ironically, I feel this is quite fitting for 2024. Record shops replaced by a Buffalo Exchange knockoff. It got me thinking about what music journalism used to be, and what record shops used to really really do. They were tastemakers, forming opinions, and getting people to listen to different things. Now, everyone does it. Everyone can post a song on their Instagram story, which is honestly pretty cool. We all get to help form (whether you know it or not) other people’s tastes. My only hope is that you’ve made it this far in the article. Yet, I know when writing most of the time there’s a skim, a couple of lines you liked, and then you move on. That’s okay, I won’t scream outside the Blue Line because of it. I’m dramatic, but not that dramatic.
But again, even when I was pissed off at John Cusack’s Rob, I found myself understanding Zoe Kravitz’s Rob. I too want to call all of my ex’s wondering why we broke up. But, I won’t. Instead, I use her methodical playlist-making and got over-the-ear headphones because I thought they looked really cool on her. The first song is always the most important. But most of all I align with their shared notion of “What really matters is what you like, not what you are like...Books, records, films–these things matter.” And they do. Even though it’s shallow, I wouldn’t be writing this right now if it wasn’t true. I can’t tell you how many times I thought someone I was dating was close to my soulmate because we had the same music taste. But, I would be instantly crushed when they told me they hate musicals…it’s over at that point.
Almost Famous and High Fidelity delivered this beautiful image of a rock star, creative, music-driven life and doomed me to think that was the reality. And an easy one too. But, it’s hard. So hard. I love living in this rose-colored world. But, sometimes it gets me into some trouble. When the reality doesn’t really match up to my fantasy. Yet, I find glimpses of this dream world I’ve created. There’s a fraction of it when I write a really good line, or when I hear the hum of background conversation against a kick-ass guitar solo. It’s there again when my friends from the radio started their own zine. Or when the rotating doors of DIY venues always seem to be turning. It's there when I look to my right and see my roommates beaming at a show. Or when my dad and I are reminiscing about a show we went to. Or when my mom is explaining where she was when this Death Cab for Cutie song came out. Or when I finally got a wristband instead of X's on my hands. That’s why I’m still writing. I feel William pushing my shaky hands, forcing me to sit back at my laptop. Music is something to be shared and cried over and fanaticized with. I’ll keep doing it even with those doubts swirling. Half of the Penny Lane/William pipe dream being fulfilled is better than none of it at all.
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