#abrhs

Clipping of my review of a December 9, 1989 concert by The Feelies at The Paradise in Boston, as published in the March 1990 issue of my high school newspaper, The Spectrum.

While I’d moved on to a different school as of the 1989-90 school year, I kept writing for Acton-Boxborough’s high school’s newspaper for most of that year. Not only did my new school not have a newspaper, the editor at my school hadn’t yet recruited enough new writers to fill the gap. (I’d written four pieces, filling an entire page-and-a-half, in that issue alone.)

I was so excited when The Paradise added an afternoon all-ages show for The Feelies, so I could attend. My visits to this club were few and far between due to their stringent 21+ policy, something I experienced first hand when trying to get in to see The Go-Betweens on their 16 Lovers Lane tour.

Clipping of my local music column, as published in the February 1989 issue of my high school newspaper, The Spectrum.

Here’s another somewhat embarrassing excavation of my teen music journalism. I wrote the local music column for my high school newspaper... not that anyone cared about my ramblings about the exploits of obscure Boston bands. (What did I think this was, The Noise?) But hey, I had fun writing it. (Kind of like this blog, huh?)

Anyway, in this issue I gave coverage to the big deal that was CMJ’s “best new music in the USA” compilation, issued by RCA Records, featured a whopping four bands from Boston. Then I went on a ramble about weird band names. And I gave a shoutout to Nightstage for hosting a good share of 18+ shows, all of which I had no problem attending as an 18-under.

Also of note here is my first Pixies mention. While their debut album had come out the year prior, I felt compelled spread the good word about this band that surely suburban Acton teens had not yet discovered:

Clipping of my local music column, as published in the March 1990 issue of my high school newspaper, The Spectrum.

While I did write record reviews and concert reviews for my high school newspaper, I was most excited about my local music column. I was able to scrape together the bits of information I’d managed to gather from the radio and fanzines like The Noise into my own rambling take on Boston’s music scene, all while projecting my budding scenester persona. Check out this sixteen-year-old’s  world-weary take on Boston rock clubs:

And now it’s time for...Adventures in Clubland...brought to you directly from the dark and smoky enclaves of those tiny musical meccas, home to all nightcrawlers sporting fake hair colors, fake stories about the band (”so then, after the show...”), and fake IDs.

What followed was my snarky “review” of a recent makeover of a favorite rock club:

Over at T.T. the Bear’s in Central Square, Cambridge, there have been major changes in the club’s appearance. I mean, now this place actually looks respectable! More than that, even. Hey, there’s paint on the walls! And check out that game room with a pinball machine, a pool table and...a fireplace? In place of the defunct air hockey table at the back of the room now stands a tiled enclave for the mixing board and sound equipment. No kidding. At least the back room is decorated with a wide assortment of scribbles, scrawls and pictures...

Clipping of my review of the 1989 Blake Babies album, Earwig, as published in the March 1990 issue of my high school newspaper, The Spectrum.

First, our copy editor was... not the most detail-oriented person. Can you tell? I mean, getting the name of the album wrong is pretty bad. That most definitely was not part of the copy I turned in for this piece.

This review appeared in the same issue of my newspaper as my Feelies gig review I wrote about yesterday. As with most issues, I took up more than my fair share of column inches. But hey, I was discovering new music left and right and had a lot that I wanted to write about. No matter that my audience was suburban teenagers who rocked out to Aerosmith and Pink Floyd. I was here to preach the gospel of Boston indie rock!

My prose here was perhaps a tad overwrought, but I do like this particular passage:

Juliana Hatfield’s voice is... so sweet and innocent. So it’s startling to hear these bitter sentiments that she alternately croons and spits out with equal parts sly knowing and pure venom.