This must be the place: ‘And I’m breathin’ clean fresh air today, I’m alive’
The backroads outside of Hot Springs. Garret K. Woodward photo
The title of this column comes from a lyric in a 1968 song by R&B sensation, the late Johnny Thunder. Although it wasn’t a radio hit at the time, it has become a cult classic, a number that (truly) reinvigorates the soul. Trust me, track it down. You’ll get it.
And, as per usual, when the sun is shining as I exit my humble abode apartment in downtown Waynesville, I find that I press play on my truck stereo and blast “I’m Alive,” right as I roll down all the windows and let the gentle breeze of the unknown day swirl around me.
Heck, even Bob Dylan felt the same way about “I’m Alive.” So much so, he even mentioned it in a 1969 interview with Rolling Stone magazine. RS publisher Jann Wenner asked Dylan if there was any new music striking his fancy as of late. Dylan noted “I’m Alive,” with Wenner unaware of it.
Dylan replied: “Never heard it either, huh? Well, I can’t believe it. Everyone I’ve talked to, I’ve asked them if they’ve heard that record. It was one of the most powerful records I’ve ever heard. It’s called ‘I’m Alive.’ By Johnny Thunder. Well, it was that sentiment, truly expressed. That’s the most I can say... if you heard the record, you’d know what I mean.”
Thus, within this past week, I found myself on assignments that took me down two beloved roads here in Western North Carolina, S-curve routes that take time and patience to properly navigate, but more so this realm of transit meant to enjoy in your own time and at your own pace — N.C. 209 from Waynesville to Hot Springs and U.S. 276 from Waynesville to Brevard.
To preface, as a lifelong music freak (an utter “slave to the groove”), any opportunity to cruise and blast some music will always be taken advantage of, especially if it involves checking some things off my work “to do” list in terms of people, places and things. Crank the tunes and push the pedal down, hands steady on the wheel.
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And, as with any of y’all music freaks out there, our musical taste knows no bounds, right? Mine is, literally and figuratively, “all over the map,” whether it be Texas western swing or Australian psychedelic-rock, Scottish singer-songwriters or Los Angeles hip-hop, Memphis R&B/soul or Oregon indie-folk. To that, the decades encompassed go all the way back to the 1930s, all the way up to something released this very day. I want to hear it all. And I’ll try to.
So, while I found myself zooming up and down N.C. 209 and U.S. 276, my Spotify “On Repeat” playlist on shuffle, the sunshine and warm breeze coming in through the truck cab, I started to think, perhaps even daydream, about the “when” and “why” of these specific songs that are in constant rotation — in my vehicle, in my mind. Each subsequent selection seemingly conjuring numerous memories.
First up was the 2010 radio smash “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People. It came out when I was 25 years old and has become an eternal melodic earworm for us millennials coming of age then. At the time, I was scraping by as a young writer in my native North Country of Upstate New York. Making peanuts for small pieces in the local newspaper. When I hear “Pumped Up Kicks,” I immediately think of lazy summers on Lake Champlain and late-night shenanigans in the dive bars of my native Plattsburgh.
Next, the 1993 alt-rock staple “Low” by Cracker. When that iconic, goosebump-inducing selection spills out of the speakers, all you can do is sing along at the top of your damn lungs, “I’ll be with you, girl, like being low/Hey, hey, hey, like being stoned.” Memories of middle/high school in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Running around the backroads of Clinton County, my cronies and I smoking cheap joints and waxing poetic about how we want the trajectory of our young lives to go.
“Bubbles in My Beer” by Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys (1947). When I immerse myself into any of “the good stuff” (Hank Williams, Kitty Wells, Webb Pierce, Ernest Tubb, etc.), a million images roll across my field-of-vision, dancing atop the dashboard while in motion. Most of those images are of my time wandering the west, whether that period of my life as a rookie journalist (2008) roaming Idaho, Wyoming and Montana, or nowadays as I traverse the mesmerizing endlessness of the Rocky Mountains and beyond.
And yet, that initial love of those “old cowboy songs” came from my late grandfather (1920-2007), who adored those singers and always had them playing whenever I’d visit him as a kid, some old western rerun on the TV in the corner of his house in my hometown of Rouses Point, New York. He and I connected deeply on the music, with my memory of him forever encapsulated in those rhythms and words.
The “On Repeat” list goes on and on, as does the road, eh? When I hear “Reach Out I’ll Be There” by the Four Tops (1966), I think of riding around Plattsburgh with my mom as a youngster, heading to some department store, the sounds of KOOL 105.1FM blasting out of her long gone Toyota Corolla. Or “It Might Be Time” by Tame Impala (2020), my wanderings and ponderings in the midst of the pandemic.
Then, there’s “Slow Burn” by Kacey Musgraves (2018), a song that soothed my broken heart following a painful breakup, which rippled across my existence with tremendous force. The melody has now become this support pillar of sorts for the beating muscle in my chest. Lots of those types of songs are also pillars for my hopeless romantic self, too, especially anything by Blitzen Trapper (“Lady On the Water,” “Ever Loved Once,” “Baby Won’t You Turn Me On”).
“Cut Your Hair” by Pavement (1994). Sheesh. Talk about a pillar melody (more so band) in my existence. I didn’t really dive deep into Pavement until I was in college in Connecticut (2003-2007). And I vividly remember taking the Metro-North train by myself from New Haven to New York City one day as a freshman. I bought the album “Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain” at some record store in Times Square, the sounds of “Cut Your Hair” in my headphones as I strolled the city, wondering just what the future might have in store for me.
Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.
