Now I must start off by saying I am not really a U2 fan… I’ve never bought an Album, or as one can now say, I’ve never bought a song either. I don’t know the name of their albums, and I still hear songs on the radio and am surprised when they say, “that of course was U2”. Not only that I often use U2 in fearful analogies explaining I will know I am old when an 18 year old tells me they are indifferent about Radiohead.
All of that being said, this song is probably the first time I listened to a song, very very very loudly. With sub-wolfers.
(Do people read these things do I keep having to frame each story?)
As a freshman, being as I didn’t drive, and didn’t really know enough people to get a ride, I would take the bus home. It required that I take two buses. Walk a mile to grab the 8 to the cross town 11, a transfer that when timed correctly would take about 45 minutes, otherwise it was closer to an hour and a half. I soon learned that the only way to make this transfer work consistently was to run the first mile in order to make the 8 that came 15 minutes earlier, in order to best synchronize the transfer to the 11 with minimal waiting time.
Luckily I was in top soccer shape, and had a record in middle school of mile runs completed under 7 minutes and 30 seconds. So add a back-pack and casual wear and I should be able to get there in under 9 minutes.
The moment the last period would let out, I with my backpack filled, would take off in a run for the bus stop. This no doubt a peculiar sight.
I remember on one of my runs, a car filled with upper-class men, rolled down it’s back window as it slowed down, and yelled some sort of jeer at me. But in true Gump like fashion… “I just kept on running”.
So this became my daily ritual, on some days when the Bus was late, and thus ruining my transfer I would take it to my normal stop and in partial protest walk the remaining distance to my house, which was still in the ball park of 2 and half miles. And in one particularly bold day, of complete protest, I just walked the entire five and half miles home.
One day, perhaps now a couple months into High School, while sitting at the bus stop a white SUV pulled up and began to roll down it’s window. At first trying not to pay attention to it, I kept my eyes looking down the street for the bus. However once the window called my name, I had no choice. When I looked over it was Jamie Lee-Curtis offering me a large gulp size of Sprite with McDonald’s branding emblazoned all over it. This was a real introduction to private school. In the passenger seat, sat who I assumed was her daughter, however I would later learn was a member of her carpool. My normal response is to deny gifts when they are offered to me, but having been that it was a warm day and I did just run a mile with an extra ten pounds on my back, I did want the Sprite. It would be hard to refuse, when I was obviously sweating a bit with out seeming rude, so I accepted it and thanked her profusely, still confused at how she would even know my name.
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Eventually when Soccer season started, I was able to start getting rides home. A fellow Santa Monican, who went to the same middle school as I did, and who even played on the same club soccer team for a year or so, was also new to the school. He was an 8th grader, as the school incorporated 7th and 8th grade, and we were loose friends, but his older brother, a Junior at the time, was a virtual star on campus, and certainly a prominent personality on the soccer team.
Of the two brothers, (of which their where three total), the younger was seemingly a reaction to his older brother. While the older was an almost notorious extrovert, who was all too comfortable playing big man on campus, his younger brother, while still popular, was quieter and more introverted.
When practice ended the three of us would head for the his dark green Chevy Tahoe, that common late 90’s model that was virtually all right angles. Still barefoot he would throw his soccer shoes, without any bag loose, to roll around in what remained of his trunk as the rest was inhabited by massive sub wolfers. I would carefully maneuver around his collection of items strewn about the back seat, and politely rest my bags next to me. From the moment the car would turn on, the music would blast, often with windows down, and shortly there after, he would raise and rest his left foot outside the window. The foot would stay up while driving, he would continue to talk to us, without lowering the volume, instead choosing yell instead.
I would sit in the back seat, and being that my parents hardly listen to music, or let the volume control get any louder than a commercial break, I never had felt the kick of a sub-wolfer, nor so strongly. I could literally feel each beat in my chest.
Eventually, a pair of drum sticks became a part of the the paraphernalia rolling around the floor of his car, and he began to, again while driving, actually beat on different parts of the dashboard in accordance to the song, as if it were a drum set.
When the U2 album came out, it became that “Beautiful Day” was a song I heard every day, many times in a row, at nearly full volume, even long after the normal album honeymoon period should have ended. (Back when you were limited by what CDs you had available in your car.)
I remember the older brother, while it blared, would attempt to yell over it, imploring his brother to pay attention to the subtitles of the recording. “Listen to the background vocals, going out ‘day’!” (A note that still comes to mind when I listen to the song.) The younger brother almost annoyed and resentful that he would have to have these details pointed out to him, as if he didn’t already noticed them for himself.
While they didn’t hold the title of most combative siblings on campus they did certainly have their share of arguments. And the younger brother had understandably grown tired of the song, and some of his brothers overbearing brotherly advice. Often looking out the window attempting to be duck feathers in a pond of his brothers actions, until the ride was over.
That being said they later, after stints at NYU, started a band together, along with fellow Angelenos in New York. The younger writing songs, and playing guitar and the older, to play none other than the drums. The band actually is relatively successful and recently signed to Domino Records.
