Brendan Benson, “Metarie” (demo, cut from “Jet Lag”)
This isn’t an album I committed to memory. Other albums, I remember where I was, coming home to use my teeth on the cellophane packaging, gingerly popping the disc out of the tray for the first time, setting the disc into the white boombox I received for my seventh or eighth birthday. My memory of purchasing this is only half-formed: I can remember being at a record store in West Chester, in rainy March on spring break, with Claire. I remember I only went there twice, and on this visit I also bought the Metarie EP, and a David Cross album, all used copies, and that I got them because they were cheap, not because I was dying to listen. I remember first seeing an advertisement for Lapalco in a failed British alt music magazine of which I inexplicably had a copy, one of something like four issues even published, and Claire had one of the other issues from went she went to England, but those are things that have little to do with Brendan Benson. I do not remember listening to this on repeat, memorizing the lyrics, though I know I did. I do not remember choosing a favorite track, only that it wasn’t “Metarie.” I remember regretting buying the EP.
But I like the song now, and this version best. I like the way it roams, the restlessness, the quiet frustration of feeling unsatisfied. I don’t remember being in bed in the middle of the night, tired, but unable to fall asleep, because the insomnia was so bad at that age, listening to this with my headphones on and the volume low too, hoping my father wouldn’t hear it when up to get a drink in the middle of the night and berate me for not sleeping, and feeling trapped, and alone, and desperate to escape, not listening to this well enough to notice that it was there, waiting for me. I don’t remember any of it, but I know I ignored this song, when all I needed was to hear it. I know I didn’t listen, but I regret that now.
